Claiming Addison (5 page)

Finally his eyes meet mine. “Enjoy the view?” I raise my eyebrows at him, and then watch as he swallows hard, but all he can manage is a slight nod. “I’m Addison.” I hold my hand out to shake his and watch as the fire in his eyes smolders briefly then fades away. He stands and I see I was right, he’s not that much taller than I am, in fact we’re nearly eye to eye, but the four inch heels I’m wearing are helping that.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says with a sly smirk and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“She’s rather hypnotic, isn’t she?” I hear one of the guys say, though I don’t know their voices well enough to decipher whether it was Kyle or Talon who spoke.

“You boys seriously need to get laid,” I tease them all.

“We’re trying,” they all spout back in unison and just like that the sexual tension explodes on the bus and I know without a doubt that I’m screwed seven ways from Sunday, big time.

“My eyes are up here, buddy,” I say to Mouse and he shakes himself out of his trance.

“Sorry,” he says rather sheepishly. “I’m trying to decide which I want to lick more, your slit or that beautiful bust…”

“Jesus, Mouse, knock it off. Y’all are a bunch of damn pigs,” I hear someone say, not seeing who said it, but judging by the tone, I’m assuming it’s Talon. My judgment is confirmed when he stands up and stalks towards us, grabbing Mouse’s shoulder. “Seriously, back off.”

“A bit testy, aren’t we, mate? Saving her for yourself?” Mouse raises his eyebrows at him.

“No, she’s a woman, she’s here to do a job and she deserves our respect. She’s been on this bus for all of twenty minutes and every single one of us as already eye fucked her at least once. You’ve had your turn, now shove off. We have a meeting.” Talon pushes against Mouse’s shoulder.

I smile at Talon’s act of chivalry, but I can’t say I’m fooled. I sense a hint of jealousy in his push off of Mouse and I wonder exactly where that’s coming from. Then again, like he said, they’ve all tried to eye fuck me since I boarded. For some reason, the idea of them all eye-fucking me sends a thrill through me.

“Alright, boys. Let’s get this over with. A few rules.” They all take a seat, except for Kyle who remains leaning against the counter in the kitchen. “First of all, I’m not your mother. I won’t tell you what to do or when to do it, but if you step out of line, get your dick stuck in something you shouldn’t, I will be the first to jump your ass. I am here for your protection and more than anything; I’m here to keep your noses clean and out of the tabloids. Which, based off of my introduction to you all, is going to be more work than I ever imagined.” I look at all the guys, whose eyes are pinned on me, but interestingly enough, not on my lady bits.

“I won’t get in your way, I’m here to help in any way I can.” I look at Kyle when I say that, trying to convey that I will help him with things unrelated to PR work.

Dex lets out a hot whistle. “Except for the pinky between your legs, Dex,” I tell him. That garners some whooping from the rest of the guys, but Dex looks pissed. I smirk.

“It ain't no pinky, sweetheart. It’s an anaconda,” he bites back.

I snort. “Please, any man who refers to his junk as an anaconda obviously has a pinky in there.”

He stands up, grabbing his belt buckle. “Want me to show you?”

Kyle pushes him back into his seat. “Knock it off.”

“She started it,” Dex argues back at him.

“Great, what are we five?” I'm snarky with him. “I am not here to service your dick, Dex. I am here to keep your nose clean and help you make a name for yourself.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he sulks.

“Look, I know your last guy was an idiot, and for that I’m sorry, but you’ve got twelve weeks of hell coming up and all I want to do is help make it easier. I’ll be working on some sponsorships that will make you guys even more money, but I can’t do that if you go off half fucking cocked and blow a good reputation. If you fuck up, it’s my ass that has to deal with it. So a little word to the wise, Dexyboy, don’t piss me off.”

This meeting certainly isn’t starting off the way that I wanted it to, but I think I’m getting my point across. “I don’t care who, where, when, why or how; you’re fucking rock stars and y’all have the same damn reputation. It’s inevitable, but wrap your dicks before you stick it. No girls or guys, if that’s what you’re into, on the bus within two hours of leaving because I will not enjoy dragging them off the bus by their hair. If something happens that I need to know about or that could potentially turn into headline news, you better suck it up and tell me because once it’s out there, I can’t do anything about it. I can, however, stop it from happening. This means no pictures, no videos and no giving them your phone number and you sure as shit better not give them mine. If one of your little sluts calls my phone, I will have your balls with a side of bacon in the morning. Got it?”

There is a collective ‘yes ma’am’ that comes out of each of their mouths, but the trance in their eyes is beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. I have the feeling that if I asked them to lick the floor clean, they would. But it doesn’t make me complacent that this is going to be an easy ride.

“I’m not trying to be a bitch, or come down on you guys, but this is your first major nationwide tour. The fans are going to be crazy, the press starving for anything you want to feed them, so unless it is an approved press conference, no talking to the press. In other words, don’t feed the animals,” I tell them.

They nod their agreement. “I have a question.”

I want to roll my eyes because-well shit-because it’s Dex. “Yes,” I say calmly.

“What happens if we talk, unapproved?” he asks.

I’m impressed, a logical question. I shrug. “Nothing really, depending on what you say. The problem with talking to one reporter verses dozens at a time is that there is no one to corroborate what was said. Your words can be edited or twisted, or god only knows. Reporters are hungry and relentless jerks that will take anything you say and try to twist it around. Remember too that any chick who’s trying to crank your chain-,” snickers fill the small space, I ignore them, “has the potential to be a reporter.”

“Are you trying to scare us straight?” Mouse asks.

I laugh. “Absolutely. They’re a waste of time.” More laughter and I roll my eyes. “No, Mouse, I’m not. I’m just trying to make you aware of the fact that you’re no longer small town boys playing in a bar in the middle of Podunk nowhere. You’re famous, you’re rich, you’re fucking rock stars, and girls will do anything to get you between their legs.”

“You sound like you know from personal experience,” Kyle says with a rather straight face, but his eyes are wrinkled in the corners, giving me the impression that he’s joking around.

“I’ve been around musicians for more than seven years, some who are extremely famous and some not so much. With the exception of the females, it’s a musician’s M.O. And when a girl has that much power over someone rich and famous, they’re going to do anything.” I shake my head. “Look, I didn’t mean to turn this into an anti-sex campaign, but the truth of it is that your dicks are what will get you in trouble every time. So please, just watch yourself, and come to me if anything happens that you can’t control.”

“You got it,” Talon says without hesitation.

“Okay, moving on. We have standing reservations in both Phoenix and Albuquerque; I need to know where you guys would like to stay after the Phoenix show Sunday night. If we take off for New Mexico on Monday morning, we’d be there early afternoon and have all day Tuesday and then Wednesday before the show. If we stay in Phoenix, we don’t need to leave until Wednesday morning, so I need to know what you’d like to do?”

“Stay in Phoenix,” Talon says and everyone else nods.

“Alright, I’ll make the arrangements. Now, onto this morning’s press conference.”

The rest of the meeting lasts another twenty minutes. I give the guys some pointers on dealing with the press and answering questions. After about five minutes of debate, they finally agree that Talon will be the one to call for the questions. Also there is the matter of a large receiving line of fans standing by for autographs. If they decide to sign, take pictures or whatever, then everyone needs to be back on the bus by ten forty-five in order to get out of here by eleven for the two-hour drive to San Diego. The other plus side to being downtown is we should, with any luck, have less traffic to deal with.

The press conference goes off without a hitch. The band spent the better part of an hour answering questions, most of which revolved around their new album and when it will be released. Weirdly, Talon turned to me to answer that question. It was awkward, but I think I handled it pretty well. “Right now their focus is on the tour. Once the tour is over, the band is scheduled in the studio to work on it. Vicious Records will have more details in the coming months.” That was my response and by ten I had an email from Trinity congratulating me on fielding the question. She spent a good portion of the email telling me that she knew I was right for the job.

So now we’re on the bus. God, I feel like a second grader being on a bus. I haven’t done this in a long time and it is going to take some getting used to. We were on the road five minutes before I traded my heels for flip-flops because moving buses and stick heels do not mix well.

We received a police escort out of downtown and down Highway 5 until we were pretty close to Disneyland, which was kind of cool. Through the two-way radio chatter between the two buses and one of the roadies’ campers, we learned that there was a line of cars about a mile in length following behind us. It was at this moment that it hit me how big 69 Bottles really is, and the fact that I am shacked up on this tiny forty foot bus for the next twelve weeks with them is mind boggling.

Around noon I received a text from Sam telling me that she and Jess were at the airport and would be taking off in about an hour. She gushed over how cool the plane was and how high class she felt.

An hour after that, just as we were getting close to our destination in San Diego, I got this.

Sam: OMG UR NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHO JUST BOARDED THIS PLANE!

Me to Sam: I’m going to take a guess that it’s Cami.

Sam: AND TRISTAN FREAKIN MICHAELS! THEY’RE COMING TO SAN DIEGO FOR THE CONCERT!!!

Holy Shit! “Kyle!” I shout from my bunk and I hear heavy feet coming down the bus quickly.

“Jesus, woman, what the F?”

“Sorry, momentary panic.” I show him the text from Sam.

“You’re shitting me?”

I laugh. “I wish I were. What do we have left of the VIP passes?”

“Just use yours,” he says.

“I can’t.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Look, and if you repeat this to anyone I’ll make a new hat out of your balls, but my girlfriends and I were supposed to drive down to San Diego today for this fucking concert.”

He busts out laughing. “Of all the things I could’ve pegged you for, a fan certainly wasn’t one of them.”

“Huge fan,” I say deadpan and he all but falls to the floor laughing.

“What’s going on in here?”

Shit, it’s Talon. “Nothing.” I sober quickly but Kyle has no intention.

“Addison’s a fan.” Oh my god, traitor. I go beet red.

“You weren’t supposed to fucking say anything,” I bark at him.

Talon just stares and laughs, “I would’ve never guessed, at least not with the way you were busting everyone’s balls earlier. Most fans don’t do that.”

I laugh. “No, they don’t, but while I am a huge fan of your music, I didn’t find out until Tuesday that you’re a Bold client, let alone the fact that I’ve never looked at any pictures or really read anything about you guys before coming on board today.” He’s shocked at my revelation. “I never really have time for personal investigations of rock stars and once I found out about coming on board, I didn’t have enough time to get through the packet of information. Besides, I don’t like tainted opinions of clients, I’d rather form my own.”

Talon smiles and his cheeks turn slightly pink. “So, you’re a fan?”

I look him square in the eye. “Huge.”

“You want an autograph?”

“Oh my god.” I bust out laughing. “Is that how you pick up the chicks?”

“Hey it works, Red, trust me.”

I laugh a little more. “I don’t doubt it. But no, I don’t want an autograph, I’m sure by the time this tour’s over I will run away screaming.”

“God, I hope not,” he says with that sweet sultry voice of his and I want to melt into a pool on my bed. My nipples tighten and once again my pussy moistens with wanton need, a desperate need for Talon Carver.