The rest of the room disappears in an instant, and I only see him, walking with confidence toward the podium. His dark denims hug his long, lean legs, and his vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt is molded to his toned abs and impressive chest and stretched firmly around rippling biceps. Both arms are covered in tattoos, and one of his eyebrows is pierced.
When I first saw photos of him with his newly shorn hair, I was disappointed he’d chopped off his long blond locks, but now I see how very wrong I was. Cut tight at the sides, and slightly longer on top, there is no more hair left to hide behind, and his flawless features are on full display.
Ryder remains, to this day, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
He flashes his trademark smile, one I know is orchestrated for the public, because his eyes don’t light up the way they used to when he smiled at me, but half the women in the room still visibly swoon, totally taken in by the act.
I’m in a daze as he takes his seat alongside the other band members, and I can’t drag my eyes from him. It’s as if I’ve been transported back into my teenage body, and every emotion I felt the first time I laid eyes on him is waylaying me again. That invisible pull I always felt in his presence tugs on my heartstrings, adding to my pain.
No amount of preparation could’ve equipped me for this.
“Are you okay?” The man beside me whispers, peering at me with a mix of concern and wariness.
It’s only now I realize my entire body is shaking and a few tears have escaped my eyes. I swipe them away quickly, fixing a smile on my face. “I’m fine. I just got some bad news before arriving,” I lie. He seems to buy that, turning away and refocusing on the press conference which has just kicked off.
I try to listen, to take notes, but my concentration is screwed, and my eyes keep returning to Ryder of their own volition.
He casually leans back in his chair, answering questions when directed to him, and his passion for music still comes across loud and clear as he discusses plans for their next album and tour. But his whole demeanor changes when anyone asks anything personal, and he instantly shuts down.
In between questions, he looks distracted, shifting on his seat in a way that makes me wonder if he’s high. He continuously scans the crowd, his brow slightly furrowed, and I duck my head down on several occasions when his gaze wanders in my direction.
When their manager brings the event to a close, I glance at the page in front of me, groaning when I see the measly three things I’ve written down. The guys better give me something good in private, or Harrison will fire my preoccupied ass.
The band members leave the stage to a rapturous round of applause, and I hang back in the crowd until I’m sure they’re long gone. This also grants me time to give myself another little pep talk. However, my nerves are still frayed as I make my way to the top of the room. At this point, I’d just rather get this over and done with. There is nothing I can do to stop this train wreck from happening. Not unless I want to lose my job, and I can’t afford to.
Before I lose my nerve and run out of the place, I force one foot in front of the other and approach the podium. When I introduce myself to Rod Hemsworth, shock splays across his face, and that reaction tells me a lot. “I’m taking it Ryder doesn’t know I’m standing in for Mikayla?”
He composes himself rapidly, thrusting out his hand. “Forgive me, Ms. Williams. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wasn’t aware Ms. Evans wasn’t joining us.”
“She went into early labor,” I explain, “so Harrison asked me to step in. I hope it won’t be a problem, and I can assure you of my professionalism.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His smile is kind and warm, and it helps to settle my nerves a little. “Ryder has told me a lot about you, and it’s truly wonderful to meet you at long last.” I can’t mask my surprise, and he notices. “That surprises you?”
I nod. “I can’t imagine why he would have discussed me with you or anyone.”
He scrubs a hand over his neatly trimmed beard as he considers how to respond. “You have been one of the most influential people in his life.”
What a crock of shit, but I smile, like expected, nodding politely. “Should we get started?” I ask before I decide to jettison my career by hightailing it out of there.
“Absolutely.” He ushers me forward, and we head out through the same door the band exited.
I’ve heard that Rod is one of the nicest managers in the business, and by the time we arrive at the suite where the band is waiting, I concur, even if half of what he said went in one ear and out the next. It’s difficult to concentrate on conversation when my heart’s about to take flight from my chest.
I wipe my clammy hands down the front of my dress as Rod escorts me into the presidential suite, repeatedly telling myself I’m a professional and I can do this, in the hope it might actually stick.
When we enter the main living area, only three members of the band are present. Ryder is noticeably absent, and a strange combination of relief and disappointment washes over me.
No wonder the guy downstairs was looking at me like I’m insane, because I’m so highly strung it feels like I’m about to snap.
Garrett Jones is the first to approach me, his eyes drinking me in with obvious pleasure as he steps forward, taking my hand without invitation and bringing it to his lips. I think I hear Rod sigh, but I could be mistaken.
Gosh, Garrett is really fucking hot in the flesh. The videos and pics I’ve seen of him do not do him justice at all.
With his cropped dark hair and piercing green eyes, he’s working a completely different look to Ryder even if they share a love of tattoos and eyebrow piercings. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he says, by way of introduction, and I fight an eye roll.
“Aren’t you a walking cliché,” I retort, more calmly than I feel, clutching the strap of my bag like it’s a lifeline.
“Never pretended to be anything else,” he quips, gesturing at himself. “What you see is what you get.” He leans in closer to me. “Liking what you see yet?”
