Rock Rebel Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  An excerpt from ROCK KING

  About the Author

  Also by Tara Leigh

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletter

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

  Copyright © 2018 by Tara Thompson

  Excerpt from Rock King copyright © 2018 by Tara Thompson

  Cover design by Brian Lemus. Cover images © Shutterstock. Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

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  twitter.com/readforeverpub

  First published as an ebook and as a print on demand: December 2018

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBNs: 978-1-5387-1283-2 (ebook), 978-1-5387-1284-9 (print on demand)

  E3-20181018-DANF

  E3-20181005-DA-NF-ORI

  #metoo

  Enough said.

  Acknowledgments

  I always say that I’m going to write the acknowledgments as I’m writing the book. From plotting to drafting to first-round edits, second-round edits, then copyedits…the process is loooong. Spoiler alert: I never do. (Plus, by the time this book goes to print, there will be many more people I wish I could thank.) So, please forgive me if I miss anyone!!

  A huge thank-you to my agent extraordinaire, Jessica Alvarez of BookEnds Literary Agency. Your critiques and career guidance are invaluable!

  Lexi Smail—you have been an absolute dream to work with and have spoiled me for all future editors. Thank you for seeing the potential in this series and for inviting me to join the Forever family of authors. Many thanks also to the rest of the Forever team: the talented cover designers, the publicity team, Kallie Shimek, and everyone else who has played a role in bringing the Nothing but Trouble boys (and the women who love them) to life.

  To my readers—you are EVERYTHING!!! I love reading your reviews and I value your honest feedback! And all those messages/posts/tweets/e-mails you send as you’re reading—they make my day! **hugs** In so many cases you have become friends. Thank you for letting me into your lives!!

  To all the amazing bloggers and author assistants who have championed this series—you are all rock stars! Melissa Teo (Booksmacked), I adore you for a million reasons. You are an incredible cheerleader for contemporary romance books and their authors—and the best stalker PA ever! Sarah (Musings of the Modern Belle), you are not just a belle; you are da bomb! Amy (Obsessive Book Whore), your enthusiasm is infectious, and your trailers are fabulous!! Maria (Steamy Reads), thank you for your encouragement and for coming up with a gorgeous Nothing but Trouble design for swag bags!! Tijuana (Book Twins), I love feeding your paperback addiction with my Nothing but Trouble boys…and I am (not-so-patiently) awaiting my nickname, lol! Candi Kane, you are an absolute powerhouse and beyond generous with your time and expertise. Serena McDonald, thank you for always having answers to my endless questions, for always pointing me in the right direction, and for your hilarious minions while reading! Sara Cunningham, thank you for pimping me all over! Sue Bee, from my very first book, you have been a valuable sounding board. Thank you for all of your advice and encouragement and especially for your unfiltered honesty. Tina, Karen, Sophie, Crystal, and Vicki (Bookalicious Babes Blog), you’ve created one of the most supportive places for newbie authors. Mary (USA Today HEA), your excerpts and features are my go-to source for finding new reads. My interview on your blog was definitely a career high—but meeting you in person was even better!

  There are so many authors who have been beyond generous with their time and expertise—if I named them all, I might fill as many pages as this book! However, Alessandra Torre, your invaluable website www.alessandratorreink.com is a must for every new author, and you have built a virtual cheering section via Facebook. Al Jackson, thank you for setting the bar when it comes to rock-star romance. Sierra Simone, thank you for taking sexy to a whole other level. My In the Loop Group authors—love you ladies!

  To RWA and everyone I’ve met through this incredible organization.

  Shelly Bell, for loving Landon so much that you recommended him as your favorite “dirty talker”!

  Lauren Layne and Anthony LeDonne of Last Word Designs, thank you for my gorgeous logo and website, www.taraleighbooks.com!

  Jessica Estep of Inkslinger PR—you rock! Thank you for your insight and hard work.

  Devyn Jenson, you know how to do everything!!!! I count my lucky stars for you!

  Moments by Andrea, thank you for the fabulous head shot.

  To my aunts Jill and Joan—I love seeing all your posts of support!!

  I am lucky to have a great group of girlfriends surrounding me. You know who you are—and I’m sorry for ignoring your calls when I’m writing!

  Nancy Valente, I cannot thank you enough for sharing your story about those hollow-stem wineglasses. They were the “awww” factor in Dax and Verity’s romance!

  My neighbor Cindy, you are a wonderful friend to me and an absolute blessing to my kids. Moving next door to you was one of the smartest decisions Stephen and I ever made! Thank you for being one of my first readers!!

  Grandma, you left me nearly twenty years ago, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss you. For any smokers reading this—put the cigarette down. Think of the people in your life who will one day watch you struggle to breathe and, when you lose that battle, will miss you desperately.

  Thank you to my mom for never tearing all those “bodice rippers” out of my hands as a teen/tween and to my dad for showing me what it means to
work hard. (Who needs weekends or vacations, anyway?)

  Stephen, thank you for being a wonderful husband and for supporting my dreams. I love you. Logan, Chloe, and Pierce, thank you for being such great kids and genuinely considerate of my writing time. I am blessed to be your mother.

  Our lives are enriched by our sweet rescue puppy, Pixie. The wonderful organization that brought Pixie into our lives is Goofy Foot Dog Rescue, and if you would like to welcome a dog into your family or donate to their organization, please visit their website: www.goofyfootrescue.org.

  And if you would like to see more pictures of Pixie (and who wouldn’t?), please sign up for my newsletter at www.taraleighbooks.com—she’s my writing buddy!

  Prologue

  Verity

  Let’s face it—in our lives, there are a lot of days that don’t matter much. Days that go like this: wake up, eat some stuff, do some stuff, say some stuff, go back to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. Years from now, will we remember any of it? Doubtful.

  And then there are days—probably only a handful of them over an entire life—that we remember everything. What we ate, what we wore, what we said, what we did, who we were with. An entire day, down to the most minute detail.

  Because those days are important. Because everything we do on those particular days matters. Because we know that every day to follow hinges on that day.

  For me, that day was today.

  I hardly slept, but I was up well before my alarm. I took my time with my hair and makeup, then dressed in the outfit I’d painstakingly assembled last night—Versace blouse, Céline pants, Gucci belt, Jimmy Choo peep-toe heels.

  No tight dress or towering heels or smudged mascara for me today. I wasn’t going to a nightclub, standing among strangers with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The cigarette had only been a prop, of course. I knew better than to take chances with the only thing that couldn’t be taken from me, signed over to someone else, or smothered into submission. My voice.

  My voice was the reason Travis Taggert had agreed to see me.

  It sure as hell wasn’t my reputation.

  Shortly after returning to L.A., I’d sweet-talked my way into one of Travis Taggert’s legendary parties and couldn’t believe my luck when I saw the stage that had been set up in his Beverly Hills backyard. Seizing my chance, I’d grabbed the microphone in between acts and belted out an early Gwen Stefani hit, which had captured Travis’s attention from the first note.

  Had I sung one of my own, I might have been booed off the stage.

  My name wasn’t worth much in this town anymore.

  Swallowing the bitterness gathering at the back of my throat, I turned a critical eye toward the mirror, studying the pull of designer fabrics across my body. Expensive armor made of silk and lace and leather.

  A frown carved a shallow line across my forehead as I scrutinized every inch of my appearance. Was it obvious I was trying too hard—or was it just the look in my eyes that screamed of desperation? My nervous fingers fumbled with the slippery mother-of-pearl buttons. I shrugged out of the top, throwing my entire outfit across my bed.

  And then I started over.

  I had plenty of time—my meeting wasn’t for several hours.

  But after I finished trying on every item of clothing in the house, only to wind up in exactly the same outfit I’d started with, I saw that I’d used up nearly all of it. Thankfully Beverly Hills wasn’t a big zip code, and I didn’t live far from my future manager’s office.

  At least, I hoped Taggert would agree to take me on as a client.

  I needed him.

  If there was anyone who could restore my tarnished reputation and get my career back on track, it was Travis Taggert. Whether he could be convinced I was worth the effort…I wasn’t so sure.

  Sliding behind the wheel of my white Range Rover sport—not that it was in my name; nothing I’d ever earned was in my name—I checked my reflection one last time in the rearview mirror, smoothing down a few flyaways before shifting into gear. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hair anymore. On The Show, I’d been contractually obligated to keep it long. And like the good girl I once was, I’d obeyed.

  I wasn’t such a good girl anymore.

  I’d nearly hacked it all off at least a dozen times in the past month alone. I was so sick of being The Girl from The Show—a once-beloved child star my former fans now loved to hate. Or, if not hate, then at least dismiss as an overindulged, unremarkable Hollywood flame-out.

  Could I really blame them?

  My wake-up call had come last month. Even now, cocooned within a luxury SUV, thousands of miles away from the place where I’d finally hit rock bottom, my spine shuddered with revulsion.

  Never again would I put myself in a position to be so vulnerable. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but I knew now that if I didn’t clean up my act and take care of myself, no one else would bother.

  Forcing a confidence I didn’t feel, I parked the SUV and stepped into the agency’s sumptuous office with my head held high and my shoulders back. Most talent managers lined their lobby with head shots of their clients. At Travis Taggert & Associates, they didn’t have to. Taggert was the best in the industry, and everybody knew it. And I still had talent. I was sure of it.

  A hunger that had nothing to do with not eating since yesterday churned in my belly. I wanted to be someone again.

  Someone important.

  Someone admired.

  Someone safe.

  I gave my name to the receptionist and took it as a good sign that she stood up from her desk and escorted me to Travis’s office rather than have me cool my heels in the waiting room.

  “Verity Moore.” Travis’s voice boomed as I was ushered into his personal sanctuary. Rather than the handshake I’d expected, he gripped me by my shoulders, kissing me on both cheeks before gesturing at the chairs facing his desk.

  Sunlight poured in from the window at his back, making me squint uncomfortably as I adjusted to the glare. I’d sat across from desks like this often enough to know it was on purpose, a not-so-subtle show of power that would disappear only if I became his client.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I began, my tone steady, my smile bright. Betraying none of the nerves quivering beneath my skin.

  “Of course, of course.” Travis waved his hands expansively, as if he would take in anyone off the street. Hardly the case, and we both knew it. “So, you were previously managed by your mother, correct?”

  He sighed at my nod, silently transmitting his disapproval. Bad idea.

  So I’ve learned.

  “I’ll be honest, you’ve surprised me. And I’m not often surprised.”

  “Oh?” I braced myself for the worst. What did he know? What had he heard? What had he seen?

  “It’s been what—three years since The Show ended?”

  “Two,” I corrected.

  “Same difference. I’ve seen your picture in plenty of magazines since then, and the paps still have a hard-on for you…but I haven’t heard your name up for any shows. No pilots, no modeling contracts, no upcoming gigs. Why is that?”

  I cleared my throat, relieved that the pictures he alluded to weren’t the ones I’d been worried about. “I wanted to move away from TV to focus on my singing career. I took a bit of a break from the industry, but I’m ready to come back now. I really feel—”

  “You’re ready to come back?” Travis gave a throaty chuckle, his gold Rolex glinting as he rubbed the dome of his shaved head. “This business doesn’t operate like that, and you know it. But”—Travis held my gaze, his dark eyes silently appraising my motives—“I can make it happen, if you’re willing to put the work in.”

  “I am. More than willing, actually.” My stomach gave a lurch at the words tripping from my mouth. Not that willing. There were things I wouldn’t do for my career. Not anymore.

  But Travis didn’t leer at me from across his desk or give any indication that he expected me to crawl
beneath it. Instead, he pointed a small remote at his window and lowered the shades to half-mast, then picked up a pen. “Okay, let’s talk about what you want, and how we’re going to get it.”

  I pressed my lips together, restraining my triumphant grin into a more professional Mona Lisa smile.

  I was Travis Taggert’s newest client.

  Chapter One

  Dax

  Being back in New York City had me on edge.

  These were my old stomping grounds. I’d been born and raised here, in the rarified air of the Upper East Side. I attended LaGuardia High School for the Performing Arts, then Juilliard.

  I wasn’t supposed to become a rock star.

  Hell, until six years ago, I hadn’t played anything but classical music.

  Which was when wearing a suit became the exception rather than the norm.

  Swearing at my reflection, I fumbled with the knot of my tie. I wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours. Only within the snobby circles of classical musicians was a multi-platinum, Grammy Award–winning musician looked upon with disdain, as if playing sold-out arenas filled with thousands of adoring fans was some sort of rebellious phase.

  With a last tug at my collar, I left my hotel room. As I headed down the hall, my phone buzzed in my hand.

  Shane: Dude, you’re in NYC!

  Me: Yeah, just for a couple of days.

  Shane: You free tomorrow night?

  Me: Not sure yet.

  Shane: K. If you are, come over.

  Me: The new place, right?

  Shane: Yes. Bring whatever chick you’re not telling me about.

  I smirked. Now that Shane was head over fucking balls in love, he wanted everyone else to be, too.

  Fat chance. I was definitely a lost cause.

  Me: I’ll let you know.

  The elevator doors slid open, and I darted aside just in time to avoid the kid who burst from the car and streaked down the hall, someone I assumed to be his harried nanny chasing him. With a sigh, I shoved my phone in my pocket and jabbed the button for the lobby. It didn’t change color. I pushed it again. Nope, still bright yellow. Realizing that every button was lit up, I cursed again. No wonder the kid had run. He must have pushed every damn button before he took off.