Read The Last Love Song (A BWWM BDSM Romance) Online
Authors: Lyn Rosella
The Last Love Song (A BWWM BDSM Romance)
Get excited! Romance enthusiast Lyn Rosella is here with her debut novel.
Zenaida. She only needs one name. She’s the ultimate diva, an award winning singer, the Baddest Bitch, the boss. Always in control. She’s beautiful, rich, famous. She has everything she wants.
And yet, she isn’t happy.
Zenaida goes through staff members faster than a box of tissues. Nobody can please her. Nobody can live up to her standards.
Until Vaughn.
Zenaida is the boss, but Vaughn wants the diva on her knees. She has the voice of an angel but he only wants to hear her whimper his name. Everyone else always tells her “yes,” but Vaughn wants to make her beg.
Strong wills clash and sparks fly. He awakens a need within her that she didn’t know was there. But the spotlight has a way of revealing secrets, and the pasts they longed to leave behind will come crashing back into their lives.
With her pride, her image, her whole career on the line, just how deep does she dare to fall?
This is a standalone novel, no cliffhangers!
Copywrite 2015 Lyn Rosella
This book is a work of fiction; any names, places, and/or situations portrayed within are products of the author’s imagination; any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
This book contains mature content that is suitable for adults only.
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“I don’t do love songs.”
This interview was getting on my nerves. It was the same as every interview before it - “Why don’t you do love songs? Have you never been in love? Can you tell us about the rumors regarding your firing half of your staff last year? Did you really punch a fan in the face?”
I didn’t do love songs because I wasn’t a sentimental person. I had been in love before, yes, but it had been a waste of time. I did fire half my staff over the course of the year but they all deserved it. And I punched a
stalker
in the face, not a fan. Couldn’t I just send this woman a transcript of my last interview and save us both a bunch of trouble?
“Thanks so much, Zenaida, it was lovely to meet you.”
Oh gosh, is it over already?
I must have answered the rest of the questions on automatic pilot. I shook the blond woman’s hand as I rose from the uncomfortable hotel room chair. Why did it seem like journalists’ budgets were getting smaller and smaller? They used to take me out to dinner and drinks before I answered their list of questions. Now I was lucky if they made any plans at all. Half the time they wanted to come to
my
room to speak. As if I would ever allow that.
“Where’s the car?” I demanded as soon as I stepped out of the room. Members of my staff waited just outside the door. I didn’t even look at them as I passed through the small sea of bodies crowding the narrow hallway. I was a busy woman and didn’t have a moment to waste.
“It’s waiting out front,” my first assistant Lexi said just over my shoulder. She tossed her meticulously straightened hair over her shoulder. The green-eyed biracial beauty could have been in front of the camera in some capacity herself if she’d just smile once in a fucking while.
“Good.” I slipped on my sunglasses. My second assistant, the freckled, red-haired Gavin, bolted down the hall ahead of us to summon the elevator. We were also flanked by three bodyguards, and my stylist had tagged along for good measure. My manager and driver would be outside waiting with the vehicles. I would have had more staff with me if I could stand it, but frankly I was trying to cut back. I needed to fire less people - and that meant hiring less in the first place.
We rode the elevator in silence. If I didn’t speak, they didn’t speak unless it was something important. Idle chatter would get on my nerves.
Yes, it’s true. I, Zenaida, was a huge diva. The baddest bitch any of these unfortunate souls had ever had the misfortune to work for. Lexi was incredibly smart and driven, Gavin a sweet boy just brimming over with charisma, and I’d had them both pick up dry cleaning and fetch me lunch that very week. They were so overqualified - and so starstruck I wanted to slap them.
I wasn’t always such a hard-ass. Some would say that it was just a show, a PR stunt, an elaborate act to gain as much media attention as I could. Some would say that the fame and the money all went to my head.
And some - or rather, one person in particular - would say that it was because with all my hard work, all I’d achieved, I was still missing something.
That “someone” was my mother, and that “something” was a man, according to her.
I didn’t think about it. I didn’t have
time
for a man. I was checking my watch and preparing to gripe about the speed of the elevator because after the interview with the blond blogger, I had exactly twenty-five minutes to get down to the studio across town to appear on a live afternoon talk show, after which I had to rehearse for a concert that I would perform that very evening for some dull corporate event. The men and women there wouldn’t listen to my music. They’d simply tell everyone they knew that they’d seen me in order to make themselves feel hip. I hated those types of events, but my goodness did they pay well.
“Lunch?” I asked Lexi as soon as we were on the road. Only one of the bodyguards rode in the short limo with Lexi, Gavin, and I. The other two would ride in the SUV leading the way. I’d have another car following behind us later that evening on our way to and from the concert. It could get pretty scary out there sometimes.
“Lunch is already waiting in your dressing room,” Gavin said, “We ordered from that sandwich place that you like, got you a couple different ones to choose from.”
“The stylists will be on standby as soon as you get there so they won’t keep you waiting,” Lexi said.
I looked between their young and eager faces and almost complimented them on a job well done. The day was going smoothly so far.
Still, there was a lot of time left for a screw-up. I’d save the praise for sundown. Instead I nodded at them and silently watched LA roll by through the window.
