Too Many Rock Stars: Violet's Story: Access All Areas, #1

By Candy J Starr

I have one cardinal rule: I don't date rockers and, since I work at a club surrounded by them, that means I don't date at all.

My overbearing boss keeps a tight watch to ensure I never break that rule. Which means I have to keep local rock god Razer at arm's length, no matter how tempting he is. I tell myself I don't have time for love anyway.

That changes when a mysterious stranger in tight leather pants enters the scene.

I didn't ask to get stuck in a crazy love triangle -- and I sure as hell didn't put myself up as a prize in a rock competition -- but when it becomes the only way to save my job, and the jobs of my friends, I can't say no.

Now my biggest problem is too many rock stars.

 

This book is a complete story without cliffhangers in the Access All Areas series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Candy J Starr
• Release date: Aug 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781519988829

Candy J Starr

This short story is an exclusive for my VIP subscriber list only. If you're not on my mailing list but would love to read more great stories by me, sign up here: http://candyjstarr.com/join-my-mailing-list/  --- Candy J. Starr used to be a band manager until she realised that the band she managed was so lacking in charisma that they actually sucked the charisma out of any room they played. “Screw you,” she said, leaving them to wallow in obscurity – totally forgetting that they owed her big bucks for video equipment hire. Candy has filmed and interviewed some big names in the rock business, and a lot of small ones. She’s seen the dirty little secrets that go on in the back rooms of band venues. She’s seen the ugly side of rock and the very pretty one. But, of course, everything she writes is fiction.

Book preview

Chapter 1  VIOLET

FRIDAYS! WORST DAY of the week for me.

I worked as a band booker for Trouble, the hottest rock club in town. Every other day of the week, I loved my job. But not Fridays.

On Fridays, I had to get the gig listings and advertising copy to the music press before the lunchtime deadline. That meant a whole load of paperwork and coming into the club at the crack of dawn so I could get all that paperwork done. Every week I planned to do it early. Every week it never happened.

Instead, I left the club at some ungodly hour on Thursday nights, grabbed a few hours’ sleep then rushed back in Friday mornings, all blurry-eyed and grumpy.

Just a few hours, Violet, I told myself. Just a few hours then you can nap on the sofa.

I took a big gulp of the coffee in my hand before getting the key out of my bag. I needed to steel myself. At any other time, the club buzzed but, in the early morning, there was nothing but stale beer smells, coldness and the thought of something lurking in the shadows.

That stale beer smell hit me full force as the door opened, as familiar as life itself.

The downstairs part of the club was a regular bar. Bands played upstairs.

The windows facing the street had been painted over. No one wanted a night of drinking ruined by the first rays of dawn. Some punters had scratched their initials in the paint, though, and slivers of light criss-crossed the manky carpet.

I had a ritual every time I entered this place alone: flick on the lights, lock the door, tiptoe-run through the empty barroom. In my head, I sang a song to stop myself thinking about how the booths in the corner might shelter vagrants or that some intruder might pop up from behind the bar.

Slipping through the staff only door behind the bar, I faced a whole pile of other dangers. The weekend stock came in on Thursdays but no one had time to put stuff away. That meant finding my way through precariously stacked booze cartons.

Those cartons blocked the stairs lead up to the band room, my secret stairs so I could get up to the band room without having to squash my way through a packed crowd. I kept telling the bar staff not to let them load stuff there but they always forgot. Once again, I’d have to haul those cartons somewhere else before

The cool room rumbled. That place scared the bejesus out of me, even more than the deserted bar. Maybe I'd seen one too many movies about people being locked in cool rooms. I never went in there and tried to ignore its existence.

Glass crunched, like someone walking over it. I froze, heart pounding. My coffee fell from my hands.

The cold room? Someone had broken in?

Shit.

Some punk kids trying to steal the booze or a homeless person wanting shelter?

If they wanted the booze, they could take it. No way would I put my life on the line to protect it.

But what if they didn’t know that? What if they thought I’d try to stop them?

I fished in my pocket for my phone. If I made a call, the intruder would hear me but I could text.

My heart raced so fast, fingers wouldn’t work.

The door of the cool room slowly swung open. Running seemed the safest option but my legs couldn’t move. Not even the short distance to my office.

I had nothing to use as a weapon. I swung around, looking. The broom? Where’d it gone?

Then Drew walked out of the cool room. Drew, the bus boy hadn’t worked at the club long. Nice kid but such a screw-up.

Hey, Violet, he said with a lopsided grin.

I exhaled. Drew, you dumbass.

He gazed at me through the hair covering his face, clueless about why I’d be so jumpy.

You scared the shit out of me and made me drop my coffee. I bend down to pick it up, hoping the lid had protected it from spilling completely. What are you doing in here so early?

Drew gulped. You know that expensive imported beer that no one orders? Well, when I was cleaning up last night, I somehow smashed a case of it.

And?

Drew smashing stuff wasn’t exactly news. He reddened and looked away but I didn’t care enough about the beer stock to lecture him about it.

I bought some more to replace it.

Drew! That stuff costs a fortune. Why didn’t you just tell Chuck?

Even though I asked, I knew exactly why Drew hadn’t told Chuck. Chuck owned the club and was the biggest prick boss to ever draw breath. Chucklehead we called him. Everyone who worked at Trouble hated Chuck, and Chuck had already threatened to sack Drew twice this week.

So, Drew had obviously decided to replace the beer at his own expense rather than risk one of Chuck’s hissy fits, but Drew earned a pittance. That beer would be two night’s wages for him.

Drew sighed. I wasn’t even sure how he’d carried a case of beer in here. He was such a spindly kid. I wasn’t sure where he’d bought a case of beer, either. He must’ve gone to an all-night place after work.

What are you doing now? I asked then looked in the cool room. Beer and smashed glass cover the floor. To clean it up, Drew would have to move everything out, mop the place and then move it all back. It’d take him hours.

I want to get all this cleaned up before Chuck gets in, he said. Do you know when that’ll be?

I shrugged. You know he breezes in when he feels like it.

If he turns up in the next few hours, can you cover for me? Drew asked.

Sure thing.

He didn’t need to ask. Everyone working at Trouble covered for each other when it came to Chuck. He was such a jerk, and mates looked out for each other.

I took another look at that cool room. Shit, Drew had made a mess. The poor kid would exhaust himself cleaning it out before his shift even started.

Frowning, I considered helping him. But I didn’t have time. I had enough work of my own to deal with.

I walked into my office. Calling it my office was a total overstatement. It was an office in the way that offices have desks and chairs and that people work in them but that was about it. My office was little more than a broom closet, buried deep in the back of the building. It had thin wood panel walls, one with a hole punched through it, and it reeked of booze and mildew.

I had a ratty old desk and a chair. The sofa I used for my naps had been dragged out of the club when it'd gotten too busted up to be safe. There was a hole under the cushions and, if you didn't sit on it just right, you could end up buried. I'd thrown a blanket over it so my skin didn't come into contact with the fabric, because fuck knows what cocktail of body fluids had ended up on it.

Drew sighed. He’d been here as late as I had last night. Even if he screwed up, he really did try his best and he copped the worst of Chuck’s rages.

I glanced at my sofa. The promise of that nap later tempted me so hard. If I helped Drew out, I’d barely have time.

I turned on my crappy computer while Drew ran water to fill the mop bucket. If he mopped before sweeping the glass out, he’d get all the broken glass embedded in the mop. Any fool would know that.

I could just put on my headphones and ignore him. He’d learn the hard way.

Drew, maybe you should sweep the glass out first.

He ducked his head through my doorway. Sure thing.

Scribbled notes covered my desk. All that stuff had to be added to my spreadsheet then put into a bunch of emails. And this old computer ran so slow that it’d take forever. The stupid thing still whirred into start-up mode.

I downed the rest of my coffee then walked to the door. Drew hauled a crate out of the cold room but couldn’t find anywhere to put it.

If I didn’t get the listings done on time, I’d be the one Chuck yelled at, not Drew. I couldn’t worry about him. Not when I had my own shit to think of.

Then I groaned.

It’d be so much faster with both of us working. I got up with one last sorrowful look at the sofa. It’d be a long day.

Get me some rubber gloves, Drew, I said. I’ll help you clean out the storeroom.

Thanks, Violet.

I might regret this later but the glow of Drew’s grin told me I was doing the right thing.

Chapter 2  VIOLET

I WOKE UP CRANKY, AS you do when someone disturbs your precious dreams. Who the hell was in my office anyway? This was the off-limits part of Trouble, even when the club was open – which it shouldn’t be yet, judging by the quiet of the place. I jumped up, ready to brain the intruder with whatever was closest to hand. I reached out and found my boot, hurling it at the spot the noise had come from.

Shit, Violet, what was that for?

It was Razer, one of the rockers who played at the club. Of course, it was Razer. The staff here knew better than to interrupt me and most of the bands didn’t even know this office existed.

Razer, what the hell are you doing in here? Get the fuck out.

I’d told him a bunch of times not to disturb me at work but he never listened.

Settle down. I'd just dropped by to see if you could slot us in soon. We need to play some more gigs. We're getting restless.

The bulk of him in the doorway blocked the light from outside. He was a big guy, the kind of guy women swoon over, if you like that kind of thing. Tall and dark, with chiseled cheekbones, close-cropped hair, and a hard body covered with tattoos kind of thing, I mean.

I knew women who'd kill for a night with Razer but I wouldn't be joining that queue. Razer was like an annoying older brother to me and I wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t want him looking hot in my office.

More like you've run out of money. And there's this invention. It's pretty amazing. It's called the telephone. You should look into it sometime. And, hey, once you master that, you can move on to this other amazing thing called the Internet. In fact, there are heaps of amazing devices you can use to communicate with people nowadays without ever having to leave your house. Go try them and I'll see if I can fit you in somewhere.

He grinned. You’re so cute when you’re cranky.

That crack made me look for my other boot. He knew stuff like that only annoyed me.

He ducked. Sorry, he said with a grin.

I rubbed my eyes, all hope of sleep gone now. It was fine for guys like Razer. They could nap when they wanted. Seriously, if you want to ask someone a favor, you should do it by letting them sleep.

After helping Drew and doing my own work, I’d only managed to get a two-hour sleep break and now Razer ruined that.

Razer moved into the room and leaned against my desk. He let a lazy grin unfold over his face, like that could charm me.

I’d let him know more than once that I never dated rockers. Never slept with them. Never even swapped spit. I'd been in this job long enough to know what a bunch of screwed up, egotistical jerks they were. Some of them might seem okay at first but that's just because they've learned to hide it better than others.

I had a job to do and there was a hard line between work and play. Don't shit where you eat. Even if I’d been the tiniest bit tempted, Chuck made it loud and clear what the rules of this job were. And there was no way I’d put my job on the line by getting on Chuck’s bad side.

I got why Razer was hanging around. Things were slow at his day job and he had nothing to do until his bandmates got off work and they could rehearse. Even if he did annoy me, he’d jumped in and gave me a hand when I’d had to move a bunch of equipment around in the band room last week. He was as much a part of this place as anyone, even if he didn’t officially work here.

He moved so close, I could smell him. Even my nose was being invaded by him. Rockers, they have this smell. You pick it up even if a dude is behind the counter in the bank working his day job. Something like the lingering undertones of sour mash whiskey mixed with late nights and an overinflated sense of self-worth.

I always found it strange that Razer didn’t have that smell.

I'd seen him on stage, singing and playing guitar, and he could sure rock the hell out of the place. Nothing missing there, that's for sure. When he was on stage, even I gave him a second glance. Occasionally. When no one was looking. So why didn’t he smell like a rocker?

Is that all you wanted? I said, waving him away.

Yeah, that's all I wanted. Is there anything wrong with that? Then he winked.

When Razer winked, his face fell into sexy creases and his slight dimple showed out. That damn dimple. It gave him a boyish charm that softened his whole look and stopped him from seeming like nothing more than a mountain of muscle.

Yeah, there is something wrong with that. You know everything is wrong with that. Because you are overstepping your boundaries. This is my office and – stop looking at me.

He leaned over with a cheeky leer in his eyes. Well, you are sitting there in those skimpy little shorts. You have amazing legs, Violet. A man could write songs dedicated to your legs. Although I’d write them about your eyes...

Do you want to ever play a gig here again? Because if the answer to that is yes, you will stop talking right now.

The leer left his eyes to be replaced with concern.

You should be careful. You never know who is going to come in here and see you like that.

Nobody comes in here, except you and Carlie and sometimes Drew. And you really shouldn’t be in here.

What about Chuck? Razer added.

I sighed. "Well, yeah. That is a problem but my skimpy shorts are the least of it. Just his general Chuck-ness is enough. And I’m not his type. You’ve seen the women he has hanging around. The blonde hair, bimbo type who are so into his money that they’ll overlook his sleaziness."

Still, I pulled down the legs of my shorts. They didn’t pull down far enough, though. They really were skimpy, mainly because I just left them in my desk drawer for times when it got too hot back here to be bearable or for napping situations.

I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me. I was far too stuffy for a blanket but at least it covered my legs.

Who let you in anyway? The club is shut. Not open. Closed for business.

Drew.

Of course it was Drew. For all Drew knew, Razer could be really dangerous instead of just having a big, jerky bad boy front. All those tattoos and the hard body didn't fool me. Underneath it all, Razer was a puppy dog. But Drew hadn’t been around long enough to know that.

Razer moved around the room like he owned the place, messing with my stuff. I had a pile of notes on the demos bands had sent in and he picked them up and started reading them.

I jumped up and pulled them out of his hands.

Can you just leave? I asked.

I stared him down while he did that eye thing that I'm sure gets more panties wet than I could even count. I checked myself. Nope. Total dry panties here. He had no effect on me whatsoever. He could move that look on to the next girl he had in line.

Okay, that was a complete lie. He did get my panties a little wet and my heart pounding but there was no way in hell I'd ever admit that to him... or anyone else.

Our gazes locked and my body froze to the spot. I tried to think of a snappy comeback, something to break the moment, but my mind just buzzed with the smell of him and the closeness of his skin.

If you're not going to leave, I will, I said. I grabbed my blanket and stormed out.

Drew