Bryce E-Book

L.A. Witt

• Herausgeber: GallagherWitt Publishing LLC
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Alec

I don’t do love. I don’t do relationships. What I do is tour with my band and enjoy the life we worked so hard to earn. When I’m home, my favorite escort is always happy to join me in bed.

Except he’s not an escort anymore. He has, however, hand-picked someone to replace him. I’m dubious because I hate change, but I’ll give this new guy a chance.

And I will not fall in love with him.

Bryce

This escort gig is seriously intimidating, and the last thing I expect is for my first client to be a literal rock star.

No, scratch that—it’s the second to last thing I expect.

The last thing?

How fast and hard I’m falling for him.

Gentlemen of the Emerald City

Bryce is Book 3 of Gentlemen of the Emerald City, a sexy series centered around the high class, high-dollar Gentlemen of Seattle’s most exclusive escort service. Each book is full of snark, sass, and sweetness, and like any Emerald City client, you’re guaranteed a happy ending.
 

Leseprobe

Bryce

Gentleman of the Emerald City

L.A. Witt

Contents

About Bryce

Acknowledgments

1. Alec

2. Bryce

3. Alec

4. Bryce

5. Alec

6. Bryce

7. Alec

8. Bryce

9. Alec

10. Bryce

11. Alec

12. Bryce

13. Alec

14. Bryce

15. Alec

16. Bryce

17. Alec

18. Bryce

19. Alec

20. Bryce

21. Alec

22. Bryce

23. Alec

24. Bryce

25. Alec

26. Bryce

27. Alec

28. Bryce

29. Alec

Epilogue

The Gentlemen of the Emerald City Series

The series continues!

Book 4: Marco

Sneak Preview: Marco

Also by L.A. Witt

Also by L.A. Witt

About the Author

Copyright Information

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Bryce: Gentlemen of the Emerald City series, book 3

First edition

Copyright © 2021 L.A. Witt

Cover Art by L.A. Witt

Editor: Leta Blake

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at [email protected]

ISBN: 978-1-64230-116-8

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-50402-606-0

Created with Vellum

About Bryce

Alec

I don’t do love. I don’t do relationships. What I do is tour with my band and enjoy the life we worked so hard to earn. When I’m home, my favorite escort is always happy to join me in bed.

Except he’s not an escort anymore. He has, however, hand-picked someone to replace him. I’m dubious because I hate change, but I’ll give this new guy a chance.

And I will not fall in love with him.

Bryce

This escort gig is seriously intimidating, and the last thing I expect is for my first client to be a literal rock star.

No, scratch that—it’s the second to last thing I expect.

The last thing?

How fast and hard I’m falling for him.

Gentlemen of the Emerald City

Bryce is Book 3 of Gentlemen of the Emerald City, a sexy series centered around the high class, high-dollar Gentlemen of Seattle’s most exclusive escort service. Each book is full of snark, sass, and sweetness, and like any Emerald City client, you’re guaranteed a happy ending.

Acknowledgments

Hat tip to Michael Ferraiuolo for lending his expertise with the music industry, particularly recording, touring, etc. Any errors in that area are mine.

Chapter 1

Alec

After eight long months on tour, there was nothing in the world I loved more than coming home to my own bed. Less than fifteen minutes after I’d walked through the door last night, I’d faceplanted in my own familiar pillows and comforter, and I’d slept harder than I had in months.

Now I was waking up as the sun poured in through the windows. Ahh, that was what I’d needed. And I could enjoy it for the next… Well, the next however long I had before I was on the road again. My manager insisted again and again that the next tour was “in the works,” but she’d been vague as hell about much of anything aside from, “You all better get back in the studio and get recording as soon as you get home.”

They’d probably give us a week at most to recover, and then the pressure would be on. While we’d been on the road, we’d spent a solid portion of our downtime figuring out the next album. I was the type to write a shitload of songs, which we’d then pare down to the ones we wanted to include in the album, and by the time we’d headed home, we’d narrowed the field to about twenty. Over the next week or so, we’d trim it to the requisite twelve, plus a handful for the deluxe edition. Then we’d record, and if we knew what was good for us, we’d record fast, because the powers that be had decided this album needed to be released on an accelerated timeline. Why, I didn’t know. Probably because they were sadists, and not the fun kind.

I sighed into the stillness of my bedroom.

“Be a rock star,” they said.

“It’ll be fun,” they said.

I wiped my hand over my unshaven face. I loved my job. I really did. And it was amazing to finally be at the level we’d all been dreaming about since we’d started annoying Zane’s parents by practicing in their garage in high school. But goddamn, the politics and pressure could go to hell sometimes.

At least we were starting to see some decent money. We’d quickly learned—mostly from the jaded veteran musicians we’d opened for in our early days—that getting a record deal was not the same as making bank. We’d been so broke by the time we’d released our third album, we’d all been ready to pack it in and go back to playing in clubs for free beer. But then some singles off that album had done really well, our shows had started selling out, and our merch had started flying off the shelves. None of us were exactly living like kings, but I had no complaints.

Touring was draining, though, and the only thing I loved better than being onstage was returning home to my own bed. I’d been lucky this time around—there’d been a couple of brief breaks during the tour where I’d been home for a few days before heading back out on the road. The last visit home had been a good three months ago, though, and I was beyond grateful that the tour was over. I’d just try not to think about the fact that we’d be heading out on another one sooner than later.

Ugh. We should not have agreed to rehearse the new tracks as much as we had while we were on the road. It had strained my voice and everyone else’s hands, and it had cut into our precious downtime. We’d made a ton of progress, but at what cost? And now that we were home, we had no excuse to drag our feet because we had our own recording studio, which meant we didn’t have to record around anyone else’s schedule. In the eyes of the people on high, that meant there was no earthly reason why we couldn’t get this thing done in record time. (Besides my voice? Everyone else’s hands? Our drummer’s back? Minor details, I know.)

And I just knew that an accelerated album meant they were going to shove us back out on tour as quickly as humanly possible too. Which… I liked touring. I loved it. But Jesus fucking Christ, let a man relax once in a while.

I groaned and rubbed my eyes. I wouldn’t think about that part right now. There was a lot of work to be done between now and when we hit the road again, but at least for the next week, none of us had to do anything except relax. And I knew exactly how I was going to spend at least part of the time.

Now that I’d had some sleep, it was time for some coffee, and then I wanted to find some company for this evening. After that grueling tour, I needed to get laid, and fortunately, I had a guy I could ping when I was in town and horny. No games either—click, book, meet, fuck. Simple and easy, just the way I liked it.

Some of my bandmates turned up their noses at hiring someone for sex, but they liked hooking up on the road, and that was not my style. I never felt right bedding fans. Roadies, bandmates, opening acts—all off limits. Plus I was usually just too damn tired to even think about getting it up. Performing onstage energized me, but I tended to crash afterward, and I crashed hard. No post-show partying or fucking for this guy.

I also liked sex to be uncomplicated. My job and my schedule were chaotic and stressful enough—I was more than willing to pay to skip all the games and bullshit and go straight to sex.

With another groan (okay, I might’ve been being a bit dramatic, but it was the morning after a tour—don’t judge me), I got up, shuffled into the kitchen, and made myself a cup of coffee. Then I promptly returned to bed, nestled against the pillows and under the duvet, and fumbled around on the nightstand until I found my phone. I pulled up the app that rivaled food delivery apps for my absolute favorite—Gentlemen of the Emerald City. I hadn’t logged in for a few months, so it made me verify my password. Annoying, but it was part of keeping my account and private information secure. Emerald City was hardcore when it came to data protection and privacy—I knew of three similar apps that had had data breaches, but not EC.

Once my account was unlocked, I logged in so I could hit up the one Gentlemen in particular I’d saved as a favorite. He was the only one I ever hired anymore. I knew him. To an extent, he knew me. We could just cut to the chase instead of feeling each other out.

But when I opened my Favorites tab, there was just a dark screen with You haven’t saved any favorites yet.

My shoulders dipped. Damn. Cole’s profile was gone? That must’ve meant he wasn’t with Emerald City anymore. Or he’d blocked me. I couldn’t think why, but… Well, it didn’t matter. He was gone.

Well, shit.

I tried to ignore the spike of anxiety. This was hardly a crisis, and I understood that guys came and went, but I hated change. Fucking hated it. The prospect of getting to know a new Gentlemen made me tired and anxious; it was less exhausting than finding someone on Tinder, but I craved simple and easy right now. What if I didn’t like the next guy? What if we didn’t click? What if I couldn’t find someone who appealed to me? Or what if I did, but he declined my booking? Why was my heart going this fast over something as stupid as this?

Because it always does.

God, that was the truth. Any time something bumped the status quo out of alignment, I had an irrational but inevitable internal freak-out. What else would be changing? What else would I have to adapt to? What else—

Right then, I noticed that there was a red dot by the envelope icon at the bottom of the screen. Curious, I tapped it to check my messages. It was probably the usual notification that my membership had renewed, along with an alert about the latest login. Those were there, but so was another message—one from Cole.

With no clue at all what to expect, I tapped it.

Alec,

I’m leaving Emerald City, but I didn’t want to leave you high and dry. Instead, I’d like to rec another Gent to you. He’s new to the company, and I can personally vouch for him. ;) Check out Bryce. You won’t be disappointed.

Best,

C.

Oh. Well. That was an interesting development. Still frustrating, though. Cole was so damn hot, and we’d been a great match in bed. Finding the right escort was like finding the right doctor—once you found a good one, you never wanted to let them go. But sometimes they moved on.

I sighed. It was what it was, so I’d have to do the thing I didn’t do well—deal with it.

I was curious, though, about the guy he’d recommended, so I tapped the link to Bryce’s profile.

Immediately, my disappointment took a backseat to some serious interest. If this guy wasn’t a model, he should have been, because wow.

Bryce was Black with a mouthwatering physique and mischievous brown eyes. Six-two according to his profile, so a few inches taller than me, and his photos…

Oh my God.

My mouth watered as I thumbed through the pictures. He was smoking hot. His black hair was shortish, as if he’d had something close to a high-and-tight at one point, but he was letting it grow out. He was built like he knew his way around a gym, and he had an easy, gentle smile I could write songs about. If he ever looked at me the way he looked at the camera, I’d probably come in my damn trousers. Okay, maybe not—I was seriously horny right now, so I was on a hair trigger, but I was pretty sure I could stay in control enough not to go off because a guy looked at me.

Or not. What did it say when just flipping through his profile and drooling over his pictures had me hardening like a teenager who’d stumbled across an adult magazine?

And then there was the part where Cole could personally vouch for him. Oh, wow. The thought of these two fooling around didn’t do a thing to chase away my hard-on. It was a shame Cole had left the company—I came to this app to pay for sex, but I’d have paid some serious cash to watch the two of them go at it while I touched myself. Especially since Bryce’s profile said he was vers, and I knew for a fact that Cole was too. Regardless of how I felt about participating in anal, I loved watching it, and I didn’t imagine there was a porno on the planet that could outdo Cole and Bryce fucking each other senseless.

I closed my eyes and shivered. Okay, yeah. Bryce was definitely worth checking out. It would be just my luck that his calendar would be full, though. Only one way to find out.

I tapped Book this Gentleman.

To my surprise, he had a wide-open calendar—including tonight.

I went through the motions of booking him, and then I stared at my phone.

Change stressed me out, even when it was something this minor in the grand scheme of things, but this could still work out all right. Bryce wasn’t Cole, but maybe that was okay. I’d just keep telling myself that and hope for the best.

“All right, Bryce,” I said into the silence of my bedroom. “Let’s see if you stack up to Cole’s glowing recommendation.”

Chapter 2

Bryce

You have received a booking! Please confirm your acceptance.

My jaw actually fell open at the sight of the message on my screen. My profile with Gentlemen of the Emerald City had been active for like two weeks, and today… Holy shit, I had a client?

I quickly opened up the app. Oh, he wanted to meet tonight? For real?

Nice. Except I was nervous too. I’d definitely have to talk to Cole because all those doubts I’d had before about whether I could do this, or whether I wanted to do this, were back in full force. He’d be able to talk me down. It wasn’t that I was going into this against my will or that I thought it was a bad idea. It was kind of like going for a high dive—I wanted to, but I damn sure had a few second thoughts when I stepped out onto the board.

My heart beat faster as I tapped the client’s profile. There were no photos, and there wasn’t much information except that he was bi, didn’t give or receive anal, occasionally drank, and liked weed. Kissing was a must. He took PrEP (so did I). There wasn’t anything that would make me say no to him except that there just…wasn’t much there at all.

That was when I noticed I also had a message in my inbox, and when I tapped it, it was from the client.

Hi,

I don’t put photos on my profile for privacy reasons, but since you came highly recommended from Cole, I’m attaching one here.

I hope to see you tonight,

Alec

The name made my teeth snap together. We weren’t supposed to talk about clients with anyone, but Cole and I were tight, and he’d mentioned Alec before. He’d even cleared it with Anita because he was planning to refer the client to me, and wanted to make sure I was onboard.

Alec. The guy Cole had called his “irregular regular.” He’d book Cole constantly when he was in town, but then he’d disappear for weeks or months.

Because he was on tour.

With his band.

With 7 Dragons.

I opened the photos he’d attached. He was a lean white guy with tattoos everywhere, amazing almost-green eyes, and his trademark ink-black spiked hair. That sexy, coy grin was definitely familiar.

Oh God. No doubt about it—this was that Alec. I knew who he was, and not because Cole had let a few things slip about him. Everyone knew who this guy was. His name, his face, his band.

I exhaled, sitting back as reality sank in. “You have got to be shitting me.”

7 Dragons wasn’t just some local band that opened for bigger acts, or an indie band that all the pretentious assholes loved because no one else knew who they were. They had been up until like two or three years ago, but then their last album had basically exploded, and now they were big. Sold out arena big. Grammy-nominated, MTV Video Music Award-winning big. You know those music festivals with the posters listing all eighty million bands who’d be playing, and you could tell how popular a band was based on how far up the poster they were listed, how big the font was, and if they got their own trademark font instead of the festival’s generic one? 7 Dragons was always in the top three lines, in font everyone recognized from their albums and in a size you could actually read. They weren’t Schadenfreude or Alien Emissary, but they were well on their way.

Everyone knew who 7 Dragons were, which meant everyone knew who Alec Snow was.

And how the hell was I supposed to process him being the first guy to ever book me on Emerald City? Because I was already intimidated as hell over this whole escort gig.

Alec fucking Snow? Seriously?

I definitely needed to talk to Cole. I needed him to talk me down and tell me this wasn’t the disaster I was painting in my head.

Of course, that was easier said than done these days.

Cole didn’t live in this crowded split-level house anymore. He’d moved in with his boyfriend, and I’d moved into the upstairs room he’d vacated. The room that had been Luca’s before his. We’d kind of joked that this was the room for escorts waiting to fall in love with clients, but I was pretty sure that lightning wasn’t going to strike a third time.

What I was also sure of was that Alec Snow expected me in his bedroom tonight. I was supposed to satisfy that guy?

Gulp.

This whole escort gig had already made me nervous enough. I hadn’t expected my very first client to be a literal rock star.

Guess we find out tonight if I’m really cut out for this job.

What I needed was some advice, so I sent Cole a text:

You got a few minutes to FaceTime?

He responded with a FaceTime request. When he appeared on the screen, he was lying back in bed, one arm behind his head on the pillow. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Not much. But, uh, so hey, that client of yours? The semi-regular you referred to me?” I swallowed. “He booked me.”

Cole’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah? Alec?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. For tonight.”

“Well, I did recommend you to him, so…”

“Right, but… Fuck, dude. This is intimidating as hell!” I shook my head. “First client ever, and it’s a damn rock star who’s been with you. That’s a lot of pressure!”

Cole smiled and made a placating gesture. “Relax. This is good! He’s your first client, but I know him, and I know he’s not some asshole or creeper.”

“Yeah, but sex with you kinda raises the bar, you know?”

He laughed softly and gestured again for me to calm down. “Don’t sell yourself short, baby. I wouldn’t have recced this job for you if I didn’t think you could swing it.”

I swallowed. He had a point—Cole wasn’t one to blow smoke. If he thought I was good enough to endorse to this guy, then he must’ve believed it himself. But still. “Okay, I know confidentiality is a big thing, but throw me a bone. Can you tell me anything about him? What kind of stuff does he like? What doesn’t he like?”

Cole pursed his lips. He was probably hesitant—aside from giving me a tiny bit of information before he’d sent the referral to Alec, he never talked about his clients, and I totally got why. Then he exhaled. “All right, since he knows I referred him to you, I can probably tip my hand a little.”

I raised my eyebrows, my heart speeding up. “Should I take notes?”

He laughed. “No, I don’t think you’ll need to do that. Honestly, he doesn’t bite or anything.”

“What does he do?”

“Well…” Cole grinned. “I doubt you’ll ever find a man who gives head as enthusiastically as he does.”

My lips parted. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. Dude isn’t kidding when he says he doesn’t do anal at all—giving or receiving—but he will suck your brains out your dick and then beg you to let him do it again.”

I stared at Cole, waiting for him to tell me he was punking me. There was no way. Alec Snow? Really? I mean, I’d been with a lot of guys who liked sucking dick, but the thought of this larger-than-life rock star basically begging for a mouthful of my cock was—

Okay, it was fucking hot, that was what it was. But it was also hard to believe.

“Hand to God,” Cole said. “I don’t know if he’s got an oral fixation or what, but he’s all about blowjobs. And kissing. He loves kissing.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“He’s really easygoing, I promise.” Cole sobered. “He’s intense, though, I won’t tell you he isn’t. Especially if he’s been on the road for a while. He’s not mean or demanding or…” He shook his head. “You can just tell he’s really desperate for human contact, and it’s… It’s intense. It’s hot and it’s fun, but I usually feel a little hung over the next day, for lack of a better description. Like I’m… I don’t know. Touched out? Like I really don’t want to be touched?”

“Wow. Good to know.”

“That’s usually just the first or second night after he’s been on the road. And I think his tour is over, so he’ll probably be around for a while. He’ll probably book you a lot between now and when he goes out again.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. The idea of being booked repeatedly by Alec Snow was still intimidating, but the financial side? Ooh, I could live with that. Even two or three bookings would make a huge difference for me. Repeated bookings over the course of months—fuck yeah. Come to Daddy.

I looked at Cole. “That assumes he likes me, though.”

Cole smiled. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He winked. “Trust me.”

I gulped.

“You’ve got this, babe. Don’t sweat it.”

Easy for him to say.

But I sure hoped he was right.

Alec Snow’s house wasn’t at all what I expected. Then again, houses in this city were stupid expensive, so maybe even rock stars stuck to more middle-of-the-road real estate in the name of not dropping millions on a shoebox condo or a giant palace on Mercer Island.

What he had was a smallish gray bungalow in Madison Park, just beyond Capitol Hill. It was one of those World War II era houses that were common in neighborhoods like this one and Magnolia, and it was tucked into a yard with tons of plants surrounded by a low stone wall. He must’ve had a caretaker or something to keep up with the plants while he was gone, because everything looked healthy and lush.

There was a small driveway beside the house, which was where he’d told me to park. The one-car garage’s door was closed, so that was probably where he kept his car. I was admittedly kind of curious what he drove. Had he saved money on the house so he could splurge on a sweet ride? Or was he going for the unassuming, normal guy thing?

Guess I’d find out.

I turned off the engine and paused to steel myself. My nerves were back with a vengeance, and I quickly replayed my conversation with Cole in my mind. I was overthinking this. I knew I was overthinking this. Alec may have been a rock star onstage, but as Cole had reminded me multiple times this morning, he put his pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. In the bedroom, he was just a guy. A lonely, touch-starved guy who liked to suck dick and would probably keep putting money into my bank account between now and his next tour if I impressed him enough. No pressure or anything.

Heart thumping, I got out of the car.

The walkway was lined with neat rows of small white bricks, which seemed to be all that was holding back a pair of plant-heavy flowerbeds that wanted to take over the path. The yard was exploding with colors since it was spring, and a few bees buzzed from blossom to blossom while a couple of hummingbirds hovered beside one of three bright red plastic feeders hanging from the eaves. There were a few other bird feeders, as well as a bird bath that was actually clean and full of water instead of mossy and gross like they tended to get in this area. At the foot of the birdbath were some smaller ceramic dishes full of water, and an exceptionally fat gray squirrel was currently drinking from one.

Was this the right place? Or was I about to show up on someone’s grandma’s doorstep? I felt like that could get a little awkward.

I was leaning heavily toward that being the case right up until I saw the sign above the doorbell:

No Solicitors—violators will be forced to listen to my demo tracks.

I laughed. Okay, yeah, I was probably in the right place.

Which meant… oh, boy. Here came the nerves with a vengeance.

I took a deep breath. Straightened my jacket and tie. Cleared my throat.

Then I rang the doorbell.

My heart pounded in time with the footsteps approaching on the other side, and I held my breath as the lock turned. Then the door opened and—

Oh.

Wow.

That…

That was definitely Alec Snow.

He was shorter than he always seemed on TV or in interviews. Maybe five-eight or so? At least three or four inches shorter than me, plus one since I was wearing shoes and he wasn’t.

He was definitely Alec Snow, but… not.

He didn’t look at all like his stage persona. I mean, it was obviously him—even without the makeup, his lips were full and gorgeous, and he had eyelashes for days framing hazel-leaning-green eyes. But he was dressed down in a plain black T-shirt and comfortable-looking jeans instead of his signature leather pants. His dyed-black hair was always artfully mussed or spiked, but today it was slicked back as if he’d finger-combed it while it was wet. In fact it might still have been wet. I kind of wanted to run my fingers through it and find out. Was I going to… get paid to do exactly that? Wow.

Alec shifted, then extended his hand. “You must be Bryce.” The low, smooth voice was seriously sexy in person. So was his accent, which was British of some sort, but hell if I could guess where exactly he was from.

I shook his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m Bryce. And you’re…” Holy shit. You’re Alec Snow. I swallowed. “Alec?”

His smile was a million times hotter now than it was on red carpets and airbrushed magazine covers. Possibly because this one was directed at me. “I’m Alec, yes.” He released my hand. “Come on in.”

I followed him inside, and as I took off my shoes, I looked around. Wow. The interior of his house was as colorful and vibrant as the yard. Some people had prints of bland pastel landscapes, but the paintings on his wall were bright and vivid. One was abstract. Two were landscapes—one of sharp, snow-covered mountain peaks, the other a sprawling desert set against an intense red sunset. He clearly liked seascapes too—an enormous painting of crashing waves was above his fireplace, and there were three smaller ones that were similar.

His living room furniture was black leather with scarlet red throw pillows with intricate geometric designs in black and white. The carpet was a dark red, and his coffee table and entertainment center were sleek black with chrome accents.

This was definitely someone who preferred dynamic and lively over pale and bland.

My kind of décor.

“You like a lot of colors,” I said.

Alec laughed, sounding almost shy. “I’m not a fan of…” He flailed his hand a bit, as if he couldn’t quite land on the word. “Placid.”

“I can see that.” I gestured over my shoulder. “Your garden, too. That’s impressive. Especially keeping it that nice in this climate.”

He smiled, glancing past me. “I do like it. My sister gets most of the credit for its survival. She does an excellent job keeping it trimmed and alive while I’m on tour. I do my best, but I sometimes think if it were up to me year-round, it would be long since brown and wilted.”

I chuckled. “Same here, and I can’t blame being on tour. I’m like a houseplant serial killer.”

Alec laughed with more feeling, and oh, wow, he was a lot prettier than I’d realized. This more human version of him—not the stage version—was… fuck.

And I’m getting paid to let him suck my dick? Well, hell yeah.

Unaware of my brain going a million miles an hour, Alec gestured at the yard again. “The house just had a regular lawn when I moved in, but I needed more color and life.” He chuckled. “When you spend huge portions of your existence in planes, buses, and hotel rooms, you develop a certain appreciation for…” He waved a hand at our surroundings.

“I can only imagine.”

“Let’s just say I’d spent one too many nights in that pastel hell.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. He didn’t seem to know either. Oh fuck. How did we do this? Was small talk a thing? Anita and Cole had both said to put the client at ease, chat, build rapport, but…

Where the fuck was ‘how to build rapport with a goddamned rock star so he’ll pay to suck your dick’ in the employee handbook?

Alec cleared his throat. “So, um. Why don’t we sit down and have a chat? Would you like a drink?” He paused. “No alcohol, I know—company policy. But water? Coffee?”

“Um…” I wanted to say no because I didn’t want to impose, and despite my coffee addiction, I didn’t need anything to make me more jittery, so coffee was out. But now that he mentioned it, my nerves were making me a little parched. “Some water would be great. Thank you.”

He smiled. “All right. Have a seat.” He nodded toward the black couch and its red pillows. “I’ll be right back.”

I sat down. Alec disappeared into his kitchen. As he moved around in there, I stole the opportunity for some slow deep breaths.

I was here. I’d met him. So far, so good.

I could do this.

Right?

Chapter 3

Alec

In the kitchen, I filled both our glasses from the pitcher of filtered water. After I’d put it back in the fridge, I paused to pull myself together.

Cole had been hot as hell. Just a glance at his pictures on the Emerald City app had always been enough to make my pulse race. He was gorgeous, and he’d been a great time in bed.

But Bryce?

Holy shit.

He was beautiful. He just was. I’d been with men I could write songs about. I could write an entire album just about Bryce’s eyes. That shy smile was… bloody hell. His was a face I absolutely wanted to be staring up at while I had his cock down my throat.

As much as I hated change—dear fucking God, I despised it—I decided I could live with Bryce taking Cole’s place in my post-tour relaxation routine.

After taking a steadying breath, I collected the water glasses and joined him.

I handed him a glass and sat down beside him.

“Thanks.” He made a subtle toasting gesture, then took a drink.

“You’re welcome.” I rested my own glass on my knee and watched him. “So you and Cole know each other, then?”

Bryce nodded. “Yeah. We actually dated for a while.”

“Did you?”

“Mmhmm. We split up… Oh hell, I can’t even remember. A year or two ago. But we’re still good friends.”

I quickly did the math in my head. “So the two of you were dating? Even while he was…”

“While he worked for Emerald City?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.” Bryce shrugged. “We were friends before we dated, so I knew what he was doing and what I was getting into. It was cool.” He chuckled. “He’s actually the one who encouraged me to get this job.”

“And he…” I hesitated. “The two of you discussed… me?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, given the company’s explicit policy of strict confidentiality.

“Not directly. He said he had a regular client who he thought would be a good fit for me, and he asked if it was okay to recommend me to him. To you.” Bryce’s smile was a little sheepish. “He kept the details pretty vague, and I had no idea who you actually were until you booked me.”

“Oh.”

“But once I saw your photo…” He swallowed. “I definitely knew who you were. And I’m not gonna lie—it’s wild to see you in person. After… You know…” He gestured at the television.

I smiled as some warmth rose in my face. “I’m just as human as the next person. Perhaps less polished in the flesh than…” I mirrored his gesture at the screen.

“Less polished?” Bryce studied me. “What do you mean?”

“Well, any time you see me on a stage or in front of a camera, it’s after a team of stylists and makeup artists have worked their magic, and most of what comes out of my mouth has hours of rehearsal behind it.”

“You wouldn’t know it. You make it look easy.”

Laughing, I said, “That’s the idea—rehearse until it looks so easy, everyone watching thinks they could do it without blinking.”

“Kind of like the Olympics.” He chuckled. “Like when you watch a figure skater or something and think, pfft, that doesn’t look so hard because they’re barely breaking a sweat. Then you get on skates and… It’s harder than it looks.”

Nodding, I laughed. “Exactly. And you’ll find that many of those athletes have some early performances they would just as soon never landed on YouTube.” With a grimace, I added, “I can relate.”

Bryce grinned. “Really? You?”

“Oh, dear God, yes.” I huffed as I brought my glass up to my lips. “I’m sure some of them are out there, but they’ve stayed mercifully obscure.”

“What about interviews, though? Those always seem—I mean, not that I cyberstalk you or anything, but I’ve seen a few of them.”

“You and everyone else. And to be quite honest, most interviews—the ones I do, anyhow—aren’t as off the cuff as they seem.”

“They’re not?”

I shook my head, leaning forward to put my drink on a coaster. “Most of the time, we have an idea what they’re going to ask about. They’ll throw in some surprise questions here and there just to keep us on our toes, but they’re usually not trying to trip us up too much.” I paused, then rolled my eyes. “Though some of those assholes on the red carpet…”

“They’re jerks?”

“Ugh. God. They love to try to catch us off guard with some wild question about our personal lives or some lyric they think means something it doesn’t. Most of the time, they’re fun and I’m pretty good at thinking on my feet. But there’s nothing quite like standing there with a face full of cameras, bantering with reporters, and then having someone ask some horribly intrusive question about my drummer’s relapse with alcoholism, or if the allegations about me being ‘inappropriate’ with this other singer are true.”

Bryce’s eyebrows rose. For a second, I thought he’d ask if they were true, but then my brain caught up and I remembered why he was here. There were certain lines Gentlemen carefully didn’t cross.