Taking His Diva: Rock Hard, Love Harder, #4

By Brandy Ayers

Josephine is a Diva looking to repair her reputation in Hollywood…
But fake-dating a rockstar isn't as easy as she thought it would be.

I've done my best to avoid the spotlight. Let my bandmates live the rock and roll lifestyle while I kept things running in the background. But now they've all settled down with wives and families, and I suddenly find myself alone.

That is until our manager sets me up on a date to get the tabloids and the fans talking again. It's just supposed to be a PR stunt. Josephine isn't supposed to bring thoughts and urges to the surface that I buried long ago.

It was all supposed to be for show. But now she's showing me how to live for the first time. They might call her a Diva in Hollywood, but I'll take her attitude and all.

If only my inner demons, and the paparazzi, would leave us alone.

If you are a fan of Kylie Scott's Stage Dive series, check out the Rock Hard, Love Harder series for your next spicy read.

Start reading, and rocking, today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandy Ayers
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224066063

Book preview

Brandy Ayers

Taking His Diva

Copyright © 2023 by Brandy Ayers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Brandy Ayers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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Publisher Logo

To Jon Bon Jovi, Anthony Kiedis, and Billie Joe Armstrong:

Thanks for being the voice of the

music I grew up listening to!

Contents

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Epilogue One - Six Months Later

17. Epilogue Two - Three Years Later

18. Epilogue Three - Ten years later

About the Author

Also by Brandy Ayers

1

Chapter One

Brant

There are few places in the world where I won’t be recognized. A few more where I’ll be seen, but left alone. Far too many where I can’t take a single breath without being spotted. The majority of my life is spent dodging assholes who like to call themselves photographers or journalists but are little more than bottom-feeding scum.

My beach house in the small coastal town of Sea Grit, New Jersey, is the one place I can reliably relax and not worry about being accosted with questions about whether the band is breaking up, what my sexuality is, or why I haven’t gotten married off yet like the rest of the guys.

This place is where I come to just be me.

The slight give of the sand under my feet as I finish my run, the spray of ocean water on my face, these are elemental for me to feel grounded. My lungs burn after an especially grueling twelve miles as sweat pours down my temples. Contrary to what the guys think, I don’t work out because I love it. I actually fucking hate it. I work out because it’s better than what I really want to do.

I shake the dark thoughts from my mind and slow my pace to a walk as I approach the ramp to my house. It’s not huge by celebrity standards, but considering I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment with my mother, it’s fucking palatial.

It’s the one luxury I’ve indulged in since the guys and I made it big with our band, Malfeesance. It’s been almost twenty years since we first sat in the storage room in the basement of the apartment building my mom managed, stumbling our way through a cover of Back in Black. Almost fifteen years since we reached success. I never thought we’d go past a bunch of pimply teenagers pissing off the tenants in our building. But here we are, Grammy winners, millionaires, rock gods.

Do you ever just relax? The familiar voice of our band’s manager, Lacy Flores, breaks through the peaceful morning. My head jerks up to see her sitting primly at the table on my deck. Her hand strokes the belly just starting to form.

A pang of jealousy fills my chest before I can stop it. Not because I want to take Lacy from Scott, our guitarist. No, they are perfect together. But because Lacy and Scott have a perfect life—one I’ll never be able to have myself. Their second baby is on the way, and they have a beautiful daughter who is already showing the signs of Lacy’s trademark attitude.

Running is relaxing. Complete bullshit; running is punishment. What are you doing here, Lace?

Our last world tour ended over two years ago, and the band decided to go on a bit of a hiatus. Scott and Lacy were pregnant with their first, Geoff and Celeste went to L.A. while she worked as the lead make-up artist on a new horror movie, Liam became house-husband for his new wife while she finished culinary school, and for the first time in my entire life, I found myself alone.

For fifteen years, I made sure those guys made it to every show, practice, studio session, and interview. I made sure Geoff didn’t party himself into an early grave. That Scott didn’t brood too much while writing the next album or after having his heart crushed by yet another gold digger. That Liam didn’t become such a hermit, he forgot how to talk.

I’m well aware I’ve been more of a caretaker to the three of them than their actual biological parents. I never took anything for myself. Never realized that while I cared for them, my own life was slipping by without notice.

Now they all have their own lives, and I’m here, trying to literally run away from myself.

I have business to discuss. Lacy leans forward, lacing her fingers together on the table and nodding toward the chair she wants me to sit in on the other side. One of my favorite things about Lacy is, no matter where she is, she acts as if that place is hers, including my own fucking house.

Too fucking tired to give her shit about playing hostess at my place, I sit where she indicated and grab my towel from the back of the chair to wipe my sweat away. I thought we weren’t due back in the studio until you—how did Geoff put it?—oh yeah, popped out another monster.

Lacy sneers at the reminder of Geoff, even though I know she loves that guy just as much as the rest of us. That is precisely why I’m here. While you guys aren’t currently recording or touring, you’ve all faded from the public eye. That’s not good. Fans aren’t talking about you as much. The Discord boards have been dead lately. We need something to keep Malfeesance in the hearts and minds of the public.

I desperately want to roll my eyes, but I restrain myself, knowing it will only annoy Lacy. So, tell Geoff and Celeste to get caught fucking in public again. The fans loved that.

Lacy shakes her head. I’d prefer our publicity to not land our drummer in jail. Besides, you are the one everybody likes the most. You are the face of the group. The beautiful, chiseled face. I need you to give the media and our fans something to talk about until we start recording again next year.

This is the part of being a musician I fucking hate. Screw the media; they are a bunch of attention-seeking, money-grubbing whores. No, that is an insult to sex workers everywhere. Paparazzi are far worse than prostitutes because they aren’t selling themselves to make money, they are selling the privacy and safety of other people.

You want me to do that Men’s Health piece? I pray that’s what she means by giving the media something to talk about. I will gladly pose shirtless and talk about my exercise routine and diet, even if it means Mom will harass me about modesty again. I just don’t want to do another heart-to-heart with some reporter who wants to try to make me cry on camera.

Actually, yes, I would like you to do that piece. But that isn’t why I’m here. Lacy takes a deep breath and shifts in her seat. If I didn’t know better, I would think she was nervous. But Lacy doesn’t get nervous. She steamrolls over every obstacle until she gets what she wants. I want you to go on a date.

I might be sick. My ears buzz and my stomach turns over. I don’t think Scott would like it if we went on a date, Lacy.

She rolls her eyes, and I swear somewhere in the distance, I can hear her husband groaning. Not with me. With another famous person.

I’d rather not. I don’t date. The only person I’ve ever taken with me to an award show is my mother. I can count the number of sexual encounters I’ve had on one hand. They all left me cold. I know why. I don’t want to go down that road.

Listen, if you are gay, we can make that work. The music industry has come a long way. There is no shame in being gay.

You’re right. There isn’t. I’m not gay. I wish I was. Being a gay man in the metal scene certainly wouldn’t be easy. Far from it. But then I could live with myself.

Lacy tilts her head, her face scrunching up in a less than attractive expression, which is how I know she really is trying to figure me out. This woman is all about appearing perfect, even with the people who know her dark past. Then why have you never had a relationship? I’ve never so much as seen you save a groupie’s panties.

First, taking a stranger’s panties is fucking weird. Second, none of your damn business.

I get up from the chair, doing my best to not slam the thing on the deck. The door to the kitchen is already open, probably thanks to my impromptu guest, so I stride in to grab some water and cool off. Though, I’m more heated from this conversation than my run at this point.

The click of Lacy’s high heels on my tile floors tells me I’m not going to have much of a respite. Okay, so you aren’t gay. Fine. Then why won’t you date? Are you asexual?

Lacy, why is this so fucking important to you? I pull one of my sports bottles from the fridge and take a deep gulp of refreshing water. Then I grab one for Lacy too, even though she’s pissing me off.

She takes the bottle from my hand, and I see a little bit of her tough exterior slide away. I want to see you happy, Brant. Yes, I also want to drum up publicity about the band. You guys took me under your collective wings when I married Scott. Sometimes it feels like I didn’t just marry him, I married the whole band.

Fuck. I’m not used to seeing Lacy vulnerable.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that as the rest of the band has fallen in love, you’ve become increasingly isolated. You deserve love too.

My chest constricts, my lungs seize. Suddenly, it is even harder to breathe than when I finished up my run. I do something I’ve never done before. I cross the kitchen and gather Lacy into a hug, catching her off guard. You play the bitch really well, Lace, but when you let that mask fall, it is downright incredible.

Does that mean you’ll let me set you up on a date? she mumbles against my chest.

Fuck. I really don’t want to do this. But would it really hurt so much to be set up on a couple of publicity-only dates if it makes Lacy happy and benefits the band I love so much? Fine. But I want to be able to veto anyone you set me up with before the date.

Done. Now get off me. She swats at my chest and backs up. You are sweaty and gross, and Scott will be able to tell someone else touched me and go all caveman.

An easy chuckle escapes my throat. When I back up, Lacy is wiping away a single tear. Hormones. That’s all this is. I’m not going soft just because I’m a mother.

Got it.

Brant Liu, did you make this beautiful young woman cry? A tall Chinese woman dressed from head to toe in athleisure wear, her black and gray hair swept into a tight bun, glides into the kitchen, giving me an admonishing look I know all too well. She’s been giving me that same look every day since she birthed me.

Oh, Mrs. Liu, it’s just the hormones, I swear. Lacy smiles in my mother’s direction and the two hug in greeting. From the beginning, Lacy and Ma have had a bond that cuts through the bullshit of their very different upbringings and gets to the heart of who they are: tough-ass women who have been through hell and made it to the other side wiser. And more stubborn.

Child, how many times have I told you? I am Daiyu to you, not Mrs. Liu. My mother lays one hand on Lacy’s belly and gives her a beatific smile. And how is this sweet baby coming along?

I tune out as the two chat about ultrasounds and herbs to help ease morning sickness. It is a little disconcerting being completely ignored in your own home. But I owe everything to my mother, and I respect her more than any other person on this Earth. So I will stand by quietly until she decides she is done doting on Lacy.

You may be as close as I come to grandchildren since my son here refuses to bring a girl around. Mom pushes me out of the way and starts taking food from the fridge, obviously deciding she needs to cook dinner in my place tonight. "I keep hoping when I come over here, I’ll be interrupting something with a pretty girl, but nope. It’s always my Brant alone, reading or working out or writing in one