Heartbreaker: A Second Chance Rockstar Romance Read online

  Heartbreaker

  A Second Chance Rockstar Box Set

  Allie Hayden

  Table of Contents

  Also by Allie Hayden

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  1 .(Lillian)

  2. (Lillian)

  3. (Lillian)

  4. (Lillian)

  5. (Lillian)

  6. (Lillian)

  7. (Lillian)

  8. (Lillian)

  9. (Lillian)

  10. (Lillian)

  11. (Lillian)

  12. (Lillian)

  13. (Lillian)

  14. (Lillian)

  15. (Lillian)

  16. (Lillian)

  17. (Lillian)

  18. (Lillian)

  19. (Lillian)

  20. (Lillian)

  21. (Lillian)

  22. (Lillian)

  1. (Sebastian)

  2. (Lillian)

  3. (Lillian)

  4. (Ash)

  5. (Sebastian)

  6. (Lillian)

  7. (Sebastian)

  8. (Sebastian)

  9. (Ash)

  10. (Lillian)

  11. (Sebastian)

  12. (Sebastian)

  13. (Sebastian)

  14. (Lillian)

  15. (Ash)

  16. (Sebastian)

  17. (Lillian)

  18. (Ash)

  19. (Sebastian)

  20. (Lillian)

  21. (Sebastian)

  22. (Ash)

  23. (Sebastian)

  23. (Lillian)

  1. (Lillian)

  2. (Bella)

  3. (Lillian)

  4. (Bella)

  5. (Lillian)

  6. (Sebastian)

  7. (Bella)

  8. (Lillian)

  9. (Bella)

  10. (Lillian)

  11. (Bella)

  12. (Lillian)

  13. (Sebastian)

  14. (Bella)

  15. (Sebastian)

  16. (Bella)

  17. (Lillian)

  18. (Ash)

  19. (Lillian)

  20. (Bella)

  21. (Lillian)

  22. (Sebastian)

  23. (Bella)

  24. (Sebastian)

  25. (Bella)

  26. (Sebastian)

  27. (Lillian)

  28. (End)

  Also by Allie Hayden

  Social Media

  Also by Allie Hayden

  Get all books FREE on Kindle Unlimited

  Heartbreaker: A Second Chance Rockstar Romance

  Heartbreaker: The Boxset

  Off Limits: Heartbreaker Book 1

  Déjà Vu: Heartbreaker Book 2

  Once More: Heartbreaker Book 3

  French Kiss: A Second Chance at Love Romance

  French Kiss: The Boxset

  Passion in Paris: French Kiss Book 1

  Lovers in Paris: French Kiss Book 2

  Climax in Paris: French Kiss Book 3

  Game of Love: A Second Chance Romance

  Contingency Plan: Game of Love Book 1

  Dirty Vows: Game of Love Book 2

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  Second Time Hating You: A Second Chance Billionaire Romance

  Copyright © 2019 by Allie Hayden

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1 .(Lillian)

  The day was not going as well as I’d hoped. This was supposed to be the best day of my life, my first real assignment as a photojournalist, and some careless writer had spilled coffee all over my shirt the minute I walked into the office.

  I understood that today would be hectic, everyone was scrambling to put together the issue after our best photographer and several of our most prolific writers left for a competitor’s magazine. But really, they should have known better than to run through the office with a hot cup of coffee.

  So there I was, standing in the bathroom stall in my coworker Ana’s extra outfit, scared to go out because I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror.

  There was nothing wrong with the way Ana dressed; it was just different from what I enjoyed wearing. I had been perfectly happy in my button-up shirt and silk pants, but the universe had different plans.

  There was no use hiding. I was going to have to face it at some point. This was, after all, my chance to make it big, my chance to prove to my parents that moving away on my own to New York City was a good plan, and not a rash, impulsive decision.

  “Oh! You look really cute,” Ana said, clapping her hands together as I exited the stall.

  “Please don’t say that as if you didn’t think I would.” I examined myself in the mirror.

  I did indeed look good in the clothes Ana lent me. The tight pink skirt hugged my hips and went down to my knees, so it was appropriate enough. The white silk shirt’s first button was maybe just a little lower than I would have liked, but it would do. And beggars can’t be choosers.

  “You should dress like this more often!” Ana said, clearly still excited about seeing mine in her clothing. “I can take you shopping if you want—I know where to get all the—”

  “No, thank you,” I cut her off as I turned around and started heading back out to the office to collect my camera and meet the writer I was working with for the day. I felt bad about cutting Ana off like that, but it was all I could do to keep my head up as I exited the bathroom. Today was truly not the day to lacking confidence due to clothing choice.

  I felt as if all eyes were on me as I walked through the halls of the office, even though I knew there no logical reason why they should be.

  “Nice outfit,” Clarisse, the writer said, looking me up and down as I walked into her office. “Trying to impress someone?”

  “Nope, just a coffee accident.”

  “Ah, I see. That’s too bad; you look really good.” Clarisse winked at me, and I couldn’t help but blush a little. The whole office knew Clarisse was a lesbian, and sometimes she liked to flirt with the other girls for fun.

  “Let’s uh…let’s just get going.”

  “Sure, whatever you say.” Clarisse smiled as she passed me, and we headed out of the office together.

  We took a cab to the venue where Dreams of Compass Gods was playing that night.

  Dreams of Compass Gods was an up-and-coming rock band from the countryside in New York. They were known for their visceral lyrics, and their bad-boy lead singer Ash Bennett. I had listened to some of their sounds before, and yes, their lyrics were so powerful. There was no avoiding the fact that Ash had a sensuous voice—but I had my theories about why the band was so popular.

  Tonight, the band was plating at the Mercury Lounge—a smaller venue that showcased a lot of indie bands. Though it looked like nothing much in the daytime, I knew from experience that the crowds of people and the darkness of night would change that.

  The day was overcast, and I shivered as we exited the cab, wishing I had brought a coat. I inhaled deeply; the scent of wet pavement from last night’s rain and leftover smoke from the people who regularly occupied the place filled my lungs.

  We were directed backstage to where the band was in one of the dressing rooms, relaxing and getting ready for their performance. As we entered, all heads came up, and again I felt like a
ll eyes were on me.

  “Knock-knock,” Clarisse said. “We’re the writer and photographer from Illusions, here to interview Ash Bennett.”

  He didn’t have to stand up for me to know who he was. I couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

  He had this energy of a star performer about him, something that dared you to keep watching. His hair was a deep red, and one side was cut short, while the rest of his hair curled down and around his face, framing his sharp cheekbones and starling eyes.

  He was undeniably handsome.

  And he knew it.

  I hated the confidence that Ash exuded from every pore of his body; how his eyebrows seemed to arch so provocatively while he surveyed Clarisse and me. I hated that he probably thought he could get both of us to do whatever he wanted within a second.

  “And who do we have the pleasure of welcoming to our dressing room?” he asked with that sly half-smile of his still lingering.

  “Clarisse and Lillian. As I said before, we’re the writer and photographer for Illusions,” said Clarisse, and I was thankful for it. The writer always knew how to handle these kinds of situations.

  “Charmed. We’re happy to have you,” Ash said, sitting back down. “I’m assuming you want an interview with just me?”

  “That would be what the magazine asked for,” Clarisse replied, and the rest of the members took this as their cue to stand and exit the room, giving us two girls a final look before shutting the door behind them.

  Clarisse took a seat in front of Ash, reading her recorder and pulling out the paper with her list of questions and a pen and paper to take notes.

  I turned on my camera and took a few test shots and adjusted the settings until I was happy with the exposure. Ash turned to face me as I did this, winking at the camera and then holding smoldering expressions on his face that I knew would be enough to make any teenage fan swoon. But those weren’t the kind of photos I wanted for this assignment. I wanted to capture the raw, true essence that was Ash Bennet, not the mask he put on for his fans.

  “Just pay attention to Clarisse,” I said. “If I need you to pull strange faces, I’ll let you know.”

  Ash threw his head back and laughed, a deep sound. “Okay, whatever you say, princess.”

  Clarisse hit the button on her recorder and then snapped her fingers, drawing Ash’s attention back to her.

  “So, Ash, our readers really want to know: what led you to become a rock star?”

  “Oh, staring off deep, are we?” He laughed again, and I capture the moment, but it still felt forced, artificial. “I’ve always had an admiration for rock stars, ever since I was a kid. I used to consume issues of Rolling Stone like they were candy, completely entranced by the lifestyle. I love the freedom they had, how many people looked up to them, and as I grew, I learned to love the music too.

  “When I was in high school, I started a band with a couple of my classmates, and things just seemed to click. It felt right, like I had always been destined for this life. For the late nights, the shows, the freedom, the power—the women.” As he said this last part, he winked at Clarisse, who rolled her eyes and consulted her notepad for the next question.

  The rest of the interview continued in much the same way. Clarisse asking a question, Ash’s response starting genuine, but then fading into that artificiality that I hated so much. He flirted and bantered, paying very little attention to me, as I had asked, but the photos still weren’t coming out how I wanted. His expressions felt forced, his movements unnatural. The lighting was right, and his words were interesting, but the camera still wasn’t capturing the rawness I was known for.

  “Alright, well, I think that that’s it; thank you for your time, Ash,” Clarisse said as Ash answered the last of her questions. She stopped the recorder and started gathering her things. She turned to me and said, “Are you ready to go?”

  “Do you mind if I stay a few more minutes? I’m not quite happy with the photos I’ve gotten yet.” I directed the last part at Ash.

  “Need a few more for your personal collection?”

  I brushed off the tease with a scoff and an eye-roll.

  “As if.”

  “Oh, come on, you know you want it.” Ash adjusted his expression into a half-lidded gaze that I knew he thought was bedroom worthy. But to me, it just didn’t feel natural at all.

  “Stop that,” I said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Making those kinds of expressions; be natural.”

  “I don’t know what you mean; this is natural for me.” He leaned back, angling his chin at me.

  “It comes out looking forced on camera. I want something that feels more candid.”

  “Then what would you have me do?”

  I stopped to think for a moment. Usually, when I was in this type of situation, talking to the interviewer was enough to get some candid moments, but maybe he hadn’t quite been comfortable or had been too focused on still keeping up some persona—that, or flirting with Clarisse.

  “Ummmm, let’s talk, maybe? What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “One that’s meant to make you stop thinking about keeping up a façade.”

  “Alright, sure. I had French toast from a café down the street, with a cup of coffee, and a bowl of fruit.”

  “Very tasty. Now, what’s your favorite movie?”

  “Are you sure you’re not just a groupie gathering information?”

  “Just shut up and answer the question.”

  “Not sure I can do both, princess.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I continued to snap a few more pictures of him, keeping the conversation going. Though the banter still annoyed me, I could tell he was feeling more comfortable, becoming more relaxed. In the end, I ended up getting some shots I liked and even had him do a few interesting poses, though those photos would probably not make it onto the issue.

  “I think that’s good,” I said, turning my camera off.

  Ash stretched out in his seat, pulling out his phone to check the time. “The show’s going to start in a couple of hours. You want to come back to take some more photos?”

  I paused, packing up my equipment to consider the question. I already had the picture I needed that would go into the story for the magazine, but there wasn’t a reason for me not to stay.

  I had no other obligations for the day, and it could be good practice. There wouldn’t be any harm in saying yes, right?

  “You know what, why not?”

  “Great.” He flashed me another one his smiles; that rock-star charisma flooded his expression, his voice, and his movements. “I’ll see you in the crowd then. Don’t let yourself get pushed around too much.”

  “I’m sure I can handle myself.”

  “Have you ever been to a hardcore concert?”

  I paused to look back at him. “Are your concerts considered hardcore?”

  He laughed. “Thankfully for your equipment, no. We’re a little too soft for the hardcore crowd. I would still suggest standing in the back though; I can get one of the crew to bring you something to stand on.”

  “That would be, uh...” I tried to ignore the jab at my height. I knew the sentiment was supposed to be helpful, but I still felt like I had to do things myself, as if trying to prove something to him. “…great. Thanks.”

  “Any time, baby doll.” Ash blew me a kiss as I turned around and left. I again had to resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. God, he was cheesy. Why did anyone even like him?

  2. (Lillian)

  I would soon discover the answer to my question many times, in many different ways. But the first of those would be that night.

  For the second time that day, I emerged from a car in front of the Mercury Lounge, this time with a coat wrapped around me.

  I had to walk further down to get to the entrance, as there were too many cars. There were a lot of people at the front of the building, so I made my
way to the side. As I traversed that distance, avoiding the line with a nod at the security officer, my heart was in my throat.

  I didn’t know why I was nervous. The night was beautiful, the air was cool and clear. I knew I would only be taking photos from the back. Maybe it was the thought that my equipment might be damaged; maybe it was apprehension about what kind of music the band might play tonight.

  But in my mind, I knew that none of those things were the reason.

  As I stood in the back of the Mercury Longue on top of a short stool that one of the crew members had dragged out for me, my camera forgotten in my hands, my attention held and completely entranced by what was going on with front of me—I found the reason for the butterflies in my stomach.

  Oh, I understood now.

  The passion with which he sang was undeniable. There was a tenderness in his voice, in his lyrics, in his hands on the microphone, in his eyes as they closed at a particularly emotional line. His expressions, his movements, his words. I could understand the crowd now. I understood why they were obsessed with him.