Tight, short skirt. Thigh-high boots. Vanessa played her part to the hilt. Matt knew the type well. Fucked plenty just like her before he knew better, but now, he wasn’t the least bit interested.
“I’ll leave you to it,” CJ said with a wink, and then he left.
He was sick and tired of his bullshit, too. The dude might be their manager, but ever since they left their old label, it seemed like he wasn’t acting in the band’s best interests—only his own.Shame. He’d been with them from the beginning, but perhaps it was time to part ways.
Vanessa tipped her head, indicating the leather wingback chair across from him. “May I?”
“Sorry.” Matt nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“You have a gorgeous home. The other guys, too. Magazine-worthy, all of them.” She gazed around her, and crossing her legs, propped her iPad against her knee. “I’ve noticed each of you has your own flair—a unique style. What does your house say about you?”
What the fuck kind of question is that?
He glanced around his living room. Navy blue walls. Artwork he’d picked up on his travels with the band. Faux animal skins. Turkish rugs. Antiques. The silver disco ball Kit got him last Christmas sat on the hardwood floor by a fireplace filled with candles.
“I dunno.” He leaned forward, shrugging. “I fill it with things I like to look at.”
Glancing up from her iPad, Vanessa blushed.
No, sweetheart, I didn’t mean you.
“I don’t see any photos anywhere,” she said, glancing at the white carved mantel. “How come?”
“I have some. Just not in here.”
“Oh.” And she uncrossed her legs. “Are you going to take me on a tour?”
“I think not.” He sat back. “This is as far as you go. I prefer to keep where I shit and sleep private.”
“I can respect that,” she said, twisting her hair around her finger. “CJ tells me you just had a birthday.”
Some journalist you are. A quick Google search and you’d have known that.
“Yeah, a week ago.”
Bo was right. Vanessa could’ve done this interview over the phone. He was annoyed now that she didn’t.
“Happy birthday.”
Matt gave her a polite smile. “Thanks.”
“Did you celebrate with your family? Your girlfriend, perhaps?”
For fuck’s sake.
“My family.” He’d throw her a bone. Maybe then she’d quit asking such lame questions. “Chloe made a fantastic dinner for all of us—seared scallops with lemon butter sauce. It’s my favorite. And Bo’s girl, Ava, she baked me a cake. Chocolate.”
“Oh, I see.” Biting into her lip, Vanessa tapped away on the iPad. “You’ve never spoken publicly about your family. Not that I could find, anyway.”
“I haven’t, and I’m not going to, either,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. Cocking his head, Matt shook it. “None of them are alive. The band is my family, and that’s all anyone needs to know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She placed her iPad on the table beside her. “No girlfriend then?”
“No.”
