Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (5 page)

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are." He laughs. "It's cute."

I stare back at the hairstyle. "It's too much. I'll look silly."

"You'll look hot." His fingertips brush my shoulder. "But do whatever makes you happy."

He thinks I'll look hot. I press my eyelids together, attempting to imagine myself as the kind of woman who could pull off such a bold style.

Tom runs his hand through my hair, pulling it back to approximate the length of the cut. "You should do pink. To match your cheeks." He shifts, looking me in the eyes. "Do you want to do it?"

I do. I want to do something different.

Tom brushes a stray hair behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheek. "Then what are you waiting for? Do it."

He makes it sound easy. I'm sure, for Tom, it is that easy. He wants something, he takes it. No hesitation. No second guessing. No doubt.

"Willow!" A hairdresser with a messy pixie cut and a sleek black dress calls my name.

Salvation. I stand and nod goodbye to Tom.

"I'll be here," Tom says.

"What a nice boyfriend, waiting for you. Wish my husband would do the same." She smiles. "I'm Gina."

We shake hands. I don't correct her.

"You know what you want?" she asks.

My gaze goes to Tom. He's half looking at his phone, half looking at me. Those green eyes, that smile on his face, the lines of the tattoo peeking out from his v-neck...

Yeah. I know what I want.

And it's different.

It's really fucking different.

M
y hair is short, just past my chin, and the tips are pink.

It's perfect.

I'm not that naive girl who didn't know better. I'm dangerous, sexy. The kind of girl who demands what she wants. An edgy photographer who doesn't take shit from anyone.

I thank the stylist as she pulls back the cape. It takes me a full minute to regain my senses.

Tom is at the counter, not quite flirting with the receptionist, but certainly soaking up her admiration.

"Oh my Gosh. That song... what's it called?
No Way in Hell
. That one's my favorite. The beat is amazing. Even my friends who only listen to dubstep like it."

"Thanks, honey." He leans closer, smiling at her.

"And the lyrics... Oh my Gosh. Sweet. Is it really true that... what's his name? Your singer. Did he really write that about his girlfriend?"

"Yeah. He's crazy about her."

"What about you? Crazy about anyone?"

"Nah, I don't do that kind of thing."

She giggles. "What's the lyric in the song?" She starts humming. "No way, not me, I don't do this kind of thing?"

"That's it.

Tom smiles but there's a hint of irritation in his expression. He must be tired of hearing this over and over again.

She hands back his credit card.

What the hell is his credit card doing out?

He signs the receipt and hands it back to her. "Thanks a lot, honey. I'll pass the compliment on."

"Sure." The smiles falls off her face as she looks at me. She leans in closer, to whisper. "Is that your girlfriend?"

"No. Just a real good friend. Thanks for taking such good care of her."

"It was all Gina." She giggles. "But Gina only listens to country. I doubt she recognizes you."

"What are you doing paying for me?" I ask.

"It's no big deal."

"It's a big deal to me." I look at the flirty receptionist. "How much was it?"

Tom grabs my wrist as he makes puppy dog eyes at her. "Don't tell her. She's real demanding."

She nods, attentive, ready to follow any order he has. "Of course not. Bye, Tom!"

He shoots her a flirty wave as he pulls me out of the store.

His hands go to my waist. He holds me in place, my body pressed against his.

Dammit. I'm not going to let lust distract me from my point. I swallow the sigh rising in my throat. "Tom Steele, how much was that?"

"About two hundred dollars."

"What?"

"I tipped well." He runs his hand through my now chin-length hair. "You look great. Badass and sexy."

I look badass and sexy.

Deep breath. "Okay. I will pay you back as soon as I get a job."

"About that."

"Yeah?"

"Let's talk over lunch. There's a Thai place around the corner. Or would you prefer something different?"

"I don't want to talk over lunch. I want to pay you back."

"You will. Later. I trust you for it."

"Fine. Thai is good." My stomach growls at the thought of that spicy eggplant dish. "But I'm paying."

"Whatever you want."

"It's super cheap, isn't it?"

He nods.

***

A
fter we order—the eggplant dish for me, shrimp curry for Tom—I check my email on my phone.

Oh, God. It's here. A reply to my application. I take a deep breath. That was too fast. It's either great news or terrible news.

Here goes nothing.

Dear Willow,

Thank you for applying. You show great promise. Unfortunately, we've selected another candidate with more experience.

Best of luck

No.

No, no, no.

I drop my phone on the table and look towards the floor. What the hell am I going to do now?

"Hey. You okay?" Tom

No. "I didn't get the photography job."

"Sorry, kid."

I need to clear my head before I think about this. There must be something I can do, something better than playing Drew's shadow indefinitely.

I grab my camera and line up a few shots. The neatly arranged hot sauce. The steam coming off a bowl of noodles.

And Tom, staring at me with an expectant expression.

"You sure we can't do nudes this time?" he asks.

My cheeks flush. I'm nervous enough that the rejection only barely stings. Tom is quite the subject. I mess with the blinds until the lighting is just right and snap half a dozen shots.

"What's the point of these?" He sets his elbow on the table, leans against his palm, bored.

Impatient, demanding Tom. He looks great on the screen. The pictures are bursting with personality and he's barely doing anything.

"Practice for me." I line up the condiments and take another few shots. "You owe me for that paying for me bullshit."

"How can I owe you for paying for you? That doesn't make sense."

"You know it does."

He smirks. There. Photographic evidence that he knows he's wrong! Ha. My triumph is over quickly. Tom grabs the camera from my hands and taps a few buttons on it.

I try to grab it back but he stands and holds it up.

"Don't look at those," I say.

"You take naked self-portraits?"

"No."

"Then why not?"

I struggle to come up with an explanation. My pictures are personal, but I need to get over that if I'm ever going to be a professional. "Never mind. It's fine."

"These are good too." He hands back the camera. "I have a proposition for you. We have a photographer for our shows. Hazel. She's been talking about taking on an assistant for the tour. Would you be interested?"

"Hazel as in Hazel Alexander?" She's a legend of portrait photography.

"Yeah, that's it."

God, yes. I almost bite my tongue. I almost forget how to breathe. "Yes. Of course."

"Cool. I'll call her after we eat."

"Call her now."

He cocks a brow. "Demanding again."

"Call her now, please."

"Maybe... not sure what I get out of it." He smiles. "Maybe if you make it worth my while."

"Anything."

"Thought you'd say that."

God, his look is smug. I want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

Tom shifts back, slides his knees open to that
blow me
position. "I need to do a little work rehabbing my image. Since my—" He motions to his crotch. "Haven't been going home with lingerie models on my arm. Tabloids are forgetting how much they love me."

"So, what, you need to go to the clubs and dance with other celebrities?" I ask.

"And I need someone to capture it." He points to me. "Someone who will look natural on my arm." His eyes scan my body. "No offense. Cause you look good in that tight sweater. But the women I have on my arms tend to dress a bit more—"

"Slutty?"

"Tsk. Tsk." He shakes his head in mock outrage. "So judgmental of women who show off their tits and ass."

"I'm not judging. If I had any, I'd show off."

Tom's eyes go straight to my chest. He doesn't even pretend he's not staring.

"You have some." Desire spreads over his face. "Bet you look damn good naked. Was hoping to get you that way when I saw you in my room."

My cheeks flush. I look for a sign he's joking, but there's none. "You do realize that platonic friends don't have these kinds of conversations?"

"Who cares what people usually do? Our friendship, our rules."

That makes sense. Kind of.

"If it bugs you, I'll stop." He makes eye contact. "You want me to stop?"

My cheeks flush.

Tom smiles. "Didn't think so."

"I would like you to get to the point. Please."

His gaze goes to my chest for a long moment then it's back to my eyes. "I need help maintaining the rock and roll image. Should only be once every couple weeks."

"Okay."

"You're judging again."

I shake my head. "Just curious."

"Things go better if the press is talking about me taking home a lingerie model than if they're asking why we canceled our second tour or looking for my biological mom or realizing Miles was MIA for three months."

"Oh."

"Yeah. The other guys, they don't want attention unless it's about their musical talents. Miles, when he was single, he didn't mind so much—the playboy thing. But it's better if people don't look too close. They see the cracks."

"You're keeping the attention on your slutty ways so no one bothers your bandmates?"

He nods.

It's sweet in a strange way.

Tom may be a bad boy, he's a hell of a great guy.

"I want the pictures you sent me. For my Instagram." He smiles. "There are gonna be a lot of vibrators running out of battery tonight."

He's effortless with that claim.
Hey, I'm Tom. Women are going to masturbate to my photographs tonight. No big deal.

Wait. He thinks women are going to masturbate to photographs I took? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended.

"How do you want me to credit you?" he asks. "Do you use your real name or a stage name?"

I can't use my real name. Bradley might look me up. Okay. Might as well do like Drew and channel the dark knight. "How about Willow Wayne?"

He laughs. "Like Batman?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Just didn't think you were into rich guys who beat people up." He pulls out his phone.

"Are you going to pay me?"

"Sure. Let's say, I get you for five sessions. A thousand bucks each session."

I can't have heard that right. A thousand dollars per session. That's insane. I can afford a new camera, new lenses, new lights. I'll be halfway to startup costs for my own studio. And that's before whatever salary I get from Hazel.

I nod. "Yes. God, yes."

"You're gonna need some different clothes. For when we go out."

"Sure. Anything."

"You shouldn't let me know how bad you want it." He leans closer. "If I was less scrupulous, I'd take advantage of that."

My breath catches in my throat. "You're not scrupulous."

"True." His gaze goes to my chest. "And I don't have to blackmail my way into getting laid."

"Of course."

"But still. You've got a lot to learn about negotiating."

I nod. Sure. I'll learn about negotiating. Anything as long as I can have this job. "Can we call Hazel now?"

"It's kinda fun making you wait."

"Please."

"I bet you look good begging on your knees."

Lord help me, I'm more than willing to beg on my knees for the chance to work with Hazel Alexander. "Don't tempt me. I'll do it."

"Don't. If you get on your knees, I'll get ideas."

Yes.

So.

Many.

Ideas.

Tom dials his phone and holds it to his ear.

Damn. Voicemail.

I'm still waiting to figure out what the hell my future holds.

T
he mall is bright, clean, totally void of personality. Dark tile floor, high ceilings, big windows letting in the desert sun.

My eyes stay glued to Tom's jeans, to the pocket where he keeps his phone. Hard to remember what we're doing here. Hazel still hasn't returned his call.

She needs to say yes.

I have no clue what I'll do if she doesn't say yes.

The air conditioning sends goose bumps over my flesh. I rub my biceps with my palms to fight a shiver. It doesn't help. A
brrr
escapes my lips.

Tom slides his arm around my waist, pulls my body into his.

It's not cold anymore.

It's scorching.

This is not at all appropriate for platonic friends, but God knows I'm not about to point that out. His body feels good.

Too good. My mind goes blank except for this loud voice screaming
more.

I step aside. It's the only way to keep my wits about me. We're ten feet from a chain department store. I guess we're here for clothes. So I can look like the proper kind of hit-the-clubs woman who belongs on Tom's arm.

My gaze goes back to the front pocket of his jeans.

"Willow. Hello." He waves his hand in front of my face. "What's interesting in my pants? Besides the obvious."

I say nothing.

"If you want me to whip it out, you should ask. Staring won't get you anywhere."

Whip it out? Seriously? The man is deranged if he thinks I'd actually ask that.

"You okay?"

I shake my head. "What if Hazel says no?"

"She won't."

"How do you know that?"

"You want me to call her again?"

"Of course."

"Hmm... I don't know. What's in it for me?"

"Please."

He lets out a soft groan but says nothing about it.