Rock Hard Love (3 page)

I worked, finding it even harder to get into a rhythm today than
I did the day before. I was still working on Peter’s stuff when he invited me to lunch so we could talk. I went reluctantly. On top of it all, I felt like I’d stolen a client from him even though it wasn’t my choice. He took me downstairs to the deli on the first floor of our building and we both ordered a chicken salad sandwich and matzo ball soup. Sal, a retired firefighter from New York, ran the deli. It was a dream of his since he was a boy, but he just couldn’t take the New York winters anymore so he wound up here in Southern California.

“I’m sorry Peter,” was all I said as we found a table.

“For what?” he asked as if he honestly had no idea what I was talking about.

“For stealing James and Battery away,” I said and Peter laughed.

“I know you had nothing to do with it. This is just more of Victoria’s games. I’m not sure why James asked for you to represent the band, but I can guess. Victoria sees it as an opportunity to rid herself of you and punish me for some reason. She doesn’t like you very much,” Peter said stating the obvious.

“You think? What is her problem
, anyway?” I asked. Peter sighed and he looked sad.

“Samuel Roland was a magnificent man.
He loved doing what he did and really cared about his clients and they all loved him back. So did his employees. He spoiled his kids too, especially his eldest daughter. Unfortunately, Victoria took it all for granted. He called her princess and I’m pretty sure she took that literally. She thinks she’s the center of the universe and she is more concerned about being in control than she is about her clients and what they want,” Peter explained.

“That’s too bad. So why does she hate me?” I asked.

“Who knows? You’re pretty, young and smart. Maybe she sees you as some kind of threat,” Peter offered. I didn’t know how I could be a threat, but Victoria didn’t really need a reason. I think she got off on messing with people.

“So why did James ask for me?
To get at Victoria? Am I some pawn?” I inquired since Peter seemed to have some secret knowledge.

“I don’
t think James would do that. I think he’s got a crush on you,” Peter replied. I blushed and looked away. Even with Peter, I couldn’t get away from James and the way he made me feel.

I’m glad you’re not angry.
I know you can’t help me in representing Battery. I’m doomed,” I said, changing the subject.

“Simone, you’ll do fine.
This job is as much about taking care of our clients and their egos as it is about negotiating and representing them. You’ve got the right mix of talent to pull it off. You proved yesterday that you’ve got a mean streak when you shut down Victoria. It took all I had not to stand up and applaud. I wish I had more of that in me,” Peter said. I got up, went to Peter and hugged him.

“Thanks, but I’m not sure why I did that,” I told him.
I wasn’t about to tell Peter about James and the way he made me feel, but I wasn’t even sure if that’s why I called out Victoria.

“It was the right thing to do.
And if you need help, you can call me at home. Fuck Victoria,” Peter said and I laughed. He didn’t cuss often. He wasn’t a Quaker or anything, but he had a wife and kids and I think he was just out of the habit or maybe he was just getting more comfortable around me.

“Thanks.
You’re the greatest,” I said and Peter seemed to puff up a little. As we ate, he gave me some general advice and told me a little about James so I’d know what to expect. Apparently, James wasn’t the partier he used to be, but he still was a little wild. He’d been married and divorced but he didn’t have any kids. He liked to get his way and usually did. I should have been wary, but Peter’s assessment did nothing to quench my confusing desire for him. In fact, it might have made it worse.

The afternoon went by far
too quickly and as five o’clock approached, I found myself dreading my dinner meeting with James even as my body seemed to anticipate seeing him again. Nerves and sexual tension left me feeling unbalanced and shaky. I’m sure the gallon of coffee I’d consumed during the day in the hopes of taking comfort in the heavenly drink and the routine didn’t help. Probably not the best idea, I know. Then I got a call at four-fifty-seven.

“Miss Navarro? You have a client waiting in reception,”
came the ominous announcement. I thanked the receptionist and took a deep, cleansing breath as I hung up the phone. I stood and unconsciously checked my clothing. A gray tweed pencil skirt, a white blouse and black pumps that were more comfortable than they appeared. Then I looked in the little mirror on the wall next to the door. My hair looked fine after a little mussing but I wasn’t satisfied with my lip-gloss, so I applied some more. Was I meeting a client or going on a date I wondered as I primped. I didn’t want to answer that question.

I found James in the lobby standing and chatting up the receptionist.
I hadn’t seen his butt yesterday but now as he leaned over the reception counter, his black jeans showed his tight, defined ass in all its glory. I fought the urge to let my mind wander and instead caught his attention, surprised at the sharp feeling of jealousy as he talked to the girl behind the counter.

“Simone, you look
smokin’. Do you always dress like that? Damn,” James said and I tried my best not to blush but was wildly unsuccessful. The blonde bimbo of the week behind the reception counter scowled as James turned his attention to me instead of her. “You ready?” James asked as he came towards me. I nodded as he approached and I felt as if he was about to kiss me but instead his hand found the small of my back and he led me out of the reception area to the elevators.

“You like meat?” he asked abruptly as the elevator doors opened.

“Huh?” I asked not quite sure where that came from.

“Meat, steak, burgers, ribs
, you know, meat,” James clarified.

“Oh, yeah.
I’m from Idaho and not the uppity part. Our house was surrounded by cattle pastures,” I explained.

“
Cool, Benny has a place near Stanley. It’s nice up there. Steaks it is,” James said as the doors closed. He turned to face me and I instinctively backed against the side of the elevator car to put some distance between us. It didn’t work and James came way to close for comfort, so close I could detect his amazing musky, masculine aroma. James, in turn, inhaled deeply as he towered over me seemingly savoring my essence. He didn’t say a word as he stood over me and sighed. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. James smiled down at me, a devilish grin, and then led me from the elevator with his hand on the small of my back again. I swear I don’t know how my knees didn’t give out as we walked through the lobby.

~4~

“Is that yours?” I asked as we exited the building. Parked out front in the loading zone was the biggest pickup truck I’d ever seen and I’m from Idaho.

“Like it?” James asked
like a proud father.

“Um, how do I get into it?” I asked.
It was a Dodge Ram, with four doors and a long bed - as I said, I’m from Idaho - with tires that nearly came to my bust line. It was all black, the wheels, the paint, the windows, everything. It wasn’t the lack of door handles that worried me; it was getting into the cab with my tight skirt without aide of a ladder. James pulled the keys to the behemoth from his jeans and pressed a button on the remote. The door clicked and swung open on its own as a set of steps unfolded from underneath the cab. James stood next to the steps and offered me his hand.

I admit I was impressed.
Trucks were a big deal in Idaho and James’ pickup would have been the envy of just about every man in my small town under the age of thirty-five. I took his hand and carefully placed a foot on the bottom step and then the other foot on the next. James used his other hand to help me in, placing it on my waist. I sighed as his strong hands touched me and I felt weak again. I looked at him, his eyes nearly level with mine even though I sat in his lifted truck. What was it about him, a man that by all accounts I should have had nothing but disdain for, that drew me to him and made me feel so vulnerable and excited in his presence?

James closed the door and walked around the pickup. I luxuriated in the fine leather seats, each with a small guitar embroidered into the backrest.
As I looked around, I noticed the back window had a life-sized guitar etched into the glass and the truck had speakers crammed into every open spot throughout the interior. I didn’t know it then, but that etched guitar was James’ favorite, the same one he’d been playing since he was in high school.

James climbed in, not bothering to use the steps, and closed his door.
He fired up the engine, a diesel I was sure by the rumble and noise, and said, “Buckle up, little girl.”

I did and after James buckled his
own seat belt, he slammed the truck into gear and off we went. I couldn’t help but smile as we towered over the downtown traffic. This reminded me of home and high school. Almost every boy had a pickup, as did my dad. I remembered riding around with dad and with my only boyfriend in their trucks and it always made me feel special, like I was somehow more important riding above everything in a truck. However, none of them was like James’ truck.

“This is amazing, James,” I told him
barely able to keep the wonder out of my voice. He smirked and with an empty lane in front of us, he gunned the engine and threw me back in my seat. I squealed and laughed despite myself as he let the truck coast down the road. That one moment represented the way I felt about James. I was thrilled, scared and my blood pumped through my veins in a rush of excitement.

“She’s my baby,” James said proudly and pat the dash as if the truck was alive.
I smiled at this big, rough and tumble rock star petting his truck and calling it his baby. We took Sunset Boulevard - yes, that Sunset Boulevard - towards West Hollywood. James told me he had a steakhouse up there and I assumed he meant a favorite of his. “You mind if we listen to some music?” James asked.

I should have known better but I told him that I didn’t mind.
It was his truck, after all. He turned on the stereo. Growling vocals and shrieking guitars suddenly filled the cab and I could feel the resounding bass in my chest. I hated this stuff, but he was the client so I endured it. After a while I asked, “Is this Battery?”

“What?” James shouted back.

“Is this battery?!” I shouted again. James looked at me again as if he didn’t hear so I asked one more time. “Is this…,” I began to yell, enunciating each syllable, only to have James turn off the stereo leaving me yelling, “…Battery?” in a silent cab. Nice! I was thankful he shut the noise off and I repeated at normal volume, “Is this Battery?”

“I heard you.
I just can’t believe you don’t know Battery when you hear it,” he said.

“Sorry, I don’t like that heavy metal stuff,” I said.

“What do you listen to? No, let me guess. Brittney Spears and Katie Perry? Please don’t say Cold Play,” James said as an exaggerated grimace crossed his face.

“Yeah, so what?” was my response.

“Fuck! My new agent listens to bubble gum pop and doesn’t even know what my music sounds like? We’re going to have to indoctrinate you and quick,” he replied.

“No thanks.
I can’t handle that noise,” I replied a little miffed that James seemed to be making fun of my taste in music.

“Noise?
Really? Wow, thanks! You know how to make a client feel special,” he replied in mock pain. I rolled my eyes and remembered why I didn’t like guys like James. He huffed and turned the stereo on again, but this time he found a song that I actually kind of liked. It was still raw, with a pounding beat and distorted guitars but it was slower and melodic and he didn’t have it on nearly as loud.

“Is this Battery?” I asked and now James rolled his eyes.

“Yes!” he replied seemingly annoyed. “You really don’t know my music?” he added.

“I’ve probably heard it but I know I don’t like it.
Besides, you picked me. You put me in this situation. If I needed to know your music by heart, you should have asked,” I retorted, my temper flaring as James implied this was somehow my problem.

“You’re right.
Truce,” he said as we pulled into the parking lot of a fancy steakhouse. I nodded and a valet helped me down the steps that appeared as he opened the door. I didn’t recognize the name of the place, but then again, I didn’t spend too much time in West Hollywood on my salary.

“Miss Navarro,” the valet
said helping me from the cab. How did he know my name?

“Thank you,” I said as James joined me.
James tossed the keys at the valet, a young man maybe just out of high school, probably a university student. He looked like he’d be more comfortable on a surfboard than the dress shirt and slacks he wore. The valet caught the keys and his excitement was palpable.

“Take care
of my baby, kid,” James said referring to his truck and then handed the valet a hundred dollar bill.

“Thanks, James.
I saved the back corner of the lot for you and nothing will get anywhere near your baby. I swear,” the young man replied as if he knew James. Again, I admit I was impressed. What girl wouldn’t be? No matter how abrasive or uncouth James could be, seeing a man with the power he apparently had was kind of arousing. We went inside and the same thing happened. The hostess, a blonde of maybe thirty in a crisp white blouse, short skirt, tights and heels, all in black, approached James as if she knew him.