Prologue
A Song for Charley Preview
Raw and Unedited
Subject to Change
A few weeks ago …
Devon Hale was on top of the world. And why wouldn’t he be?
He was the world’s biggest rock star after all, selling millions of albums, winning tons of music awards, and of course, gaining the adoration of fans all over the world. Earning more money than the GDP of many small nations, he owned five homes on three continents, a collection of exotic cars, and not to mention, had his own music production company that only increased his wealth.
Anything he didn’t already have, he could get at the snap of his fingers—even things that didn’t have a price tag. His life was filled with the proverbial sex, drugs, and rock and roll, and he didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t trade places with him in a heartbeat.
But there were some days where he didn’t feel like he was on top.
Like this morning.
“Fffuuck …”
Nausea hit him as soon as he opened his eyes. Rolling over to the side of the bed didn’t help, as the bile hit his throat. Nothing could stop the hot vomit from escaping his mouth.
“It’s all right … just get rid of—Jesus Christ, how much did you have to drink, Dev?”
The relief he felt once his stomach emptied was indescribable. In fact, the dizziness and nausea cleared enough for him to be able to swing his legs over the side of the bed and sit up straight. “Jeff … thanks, man.”
Jeff Clary, his manager, stood over him, a trash can in one hand and a small towel in the other. “Feel better?”
Taking the offered towel, Devon wiped his mouth. “Yeah, man. Good catch,” he joked, eyeing the trash can. “You’re always in the right time and place.”
“Yeah, lucky me.” He grimaced in disgust, then placed the trash can gingerly on the floor. “Can you pull yourself together soon? We need you for sound check.”
“Sound … check?”
“Yeah. Show’s in a couple of hours.”
Devon took stock of the unfamiliar surroundings—the modern bedroom furniture, white sheets and feather pillows, neutral color scheme. Generic, boring, and just like every other luxury hotel suite he’d been staying at the last couple of weeks on his tour. “Uh, where—”
“Cincinnati,” Jeff said drolly.
“Right.” The sheet covering the lower half of his body fell away as he rose to his feet. Thankfully, he still wore his briefs. Glancing around, he saw a pair of lace panties on the bed. “Did you—”
Jeff snorted. “How drunk were you last night, Dev? You had her in here for five minutes, then passed out. She went hysterical, thinking you’d OD’d or something.”
Devon scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck.” It was coming back to him. He’d polished off at least two bottles of champagne backstage at the after-party. Some hot chick sat on his lap. Then they stumbled out to his limo, and they finished off another bottle. Somehow, they got up to his suite and then … “Is she—”
“Took care of it. Snuck her out of the back, gave her the usual NDA to sign, and a generous gift.”
“Thanks, Jeff.”
He racked his brain for her name—Chelsea, maybe? Or Christine? Doesn’t matter. She was just another piece of ass who wanted a piece of the rock star. And he was very happy to oblige. Women threw themselves at him all the time, after all. And she was hot—at least from what he could remember. Tall, leggy, blonde. He was pretty sure he wanted to fuck her, and the feeling had been mutual. Did he really pass out before having sex?
Reaching into his briefs, he rubbed his dick and then took a sniff of his fingers. Definitely didn’t smell like pussy. He shrugged. If it wasn’t Chelsea/Christine, it would be any of the dozens of women waiting backstage.
“So? Can you pull it together, or should I make some excuses? Want an ibuprofen?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Just need a shower.”
His manager shook his head. “You’re probably the only person I know who can recover from a hangover faster as he gets older. I remember you used to get trashed after a concert, and not even a demolition team could get you out of bed.”
“Must be my good genes. Thanks, Jeff. Have the limo sent around, I’ll be ready in thirty.”
Jeff clucked his tongue. “All right. I got you breakfast, it’s waiting for you in the limo. I’ll see you at the stadium.”
Striding toward the bathroom, Devon pulled the glass door open, whipped his briefs off, and stepped inside, turning the handle to the coldest setting. Ignoring the icy needles of water as it hit his skin, he rested his forehead against the tile.
Physically, he was fine. Never better, in fact; not even a hint of a headache.
But there was something else messing with his head this morning.
The hot, pungent breath.
Glowing eyes.
Sharp teeth.
Run.
He slammed on the shower handle so hard, he thought he heard a crack in the tile. Grabbing the towel hanging from the rack behind him, he began to vigorously dry himself off.
Ever since he could remember, he’d been having the same nightmare once or twice a year. It was only in the last couple of months that they’d come more frequently. They became so bad the only way he could have a restful night’s sleep was if he was dead tired or trashed. So, he worked on his latest album night and day, then when that was done, had gone straight into rehearsals and preps for the tour.
Then when the actual tour started, the nightmares got worse. On stage, he’d never been better, but afterwards, only copious amounts of alcohol and sex could help him stave off the impending night terrors.
But if last night’s episode was any indication, maybe that wasn’t working anymore. He’d turn to pills, but he wasn’t going to go the route of so many before him, not when he was at the top of his game. After begging, scraping, and crawling his way to the top, he wasn’t going to throw it all away.
He was Devon Hale. Superstar. Multi-millionaire. Rock god.
Not bad for a poor, orphaned boy who bounced around from one foster home to another for most of his childhood.
Leaving his suite, he followed the burly bodyguards waiting for him outside as they led him to the elevators and straight down to the garage where his limo and the rest of his entourage—an SUV with even more bodyguards—were waiting. His limo was empty as he liked it. He didn’t like sharing his space and oftentimes, driving around was the only time he had to himself. There was a paper bag waiting for him in the seat—his breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, just as Jeff had promised.
As the limo made its way through the streets, he stared out the window, watching the Cincinnati cityscape pass by. In the early days when he was a struggling musician touring out of a cramped van with four other bandmates, whenever he passed through a new city, the same questions always bloomed in his mind.
Could this be the place he was born in?
Did he have family here?
Parents?
Why did you give me up?
But over the years, he’d stopped thinking of that. After touring through hundreds of cities and towns, there was just no point. Besides, he didn’t need to know the answers to those questions anymore. And if he ever did find the parents who abandoned him at that train station when he was just five years old, the only thing he would have to say to them would be, Look at what I am, despite what you did.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he grabbed the remote for the small TV mounted overhead and turned it on.
“In breaking news,” the anchor on the local channel began, “the senate has decided to gather a special committee to form an inquiry into the so-called Supernatural Beings. The existence of these creatures, thought to be half-wolf, half-man, was revealed to the world a few weeks ago when hundreds of humans were kidnapped for their rituals—”
Devon tsked and changed the channel to an entertainment news show. “Crazy shit.”
These Supernaturals seemingly had taken over the news cycles all over the world. Like everyone else, he’d been fascinated about the events of that night, though no one really had any definitive information, except for eyewitness interviews from the people who were supposedly kidnapped by these creatures. But after a while, Devon had lost interest, mostly because it was taking away attention from his own tour.
Initially, his publicist had suggested some kind of PR stunt—maybe getting papped with some rising new starlet or starting some kind of scandal—to drum up some publicity for the tour, but Devon had vetoed that idea. He was Devon Fucking Hale, after all, and all his tour dates had sold out the moment they released the tickets. He didn’t need any fake controversy or relationships to get bodies into his concerts.
The limo finally stopped outside the stadium, and as he stepped out, the familiar screams of his fans greeted him. The barriers that kept them away from the side entrance of the venue were placed far away, but he could still hear them shouting his name. He waved at them, making them screech even louder.
Ducking in though the entrance, he walked down the long, fluorescent-lit hallway, all the way to the backstage area. As he entered his private dressing room, he saw Jeff was already there, but he wasn’t alone. He was talking to someone wearing a baseball cap whose back was turned to Devon.
Irritation irked him as Jeff knew better than to let strangers into his private space. Hands curling into fists at his sides, he strode over to the pair. He was about to tear his manager a new one, when Jeff glanced up.
“Oh good, you’re here.”
“What the fuck, Jeff?” he said through gritted teeth. “You know you can’t just let anyone into my dressing room, especially when I’m not here.”
“What? Oh, no, no.” he shook his head vigorously. “This isn’t just anyone. Meet Charley, your new personal assistant.” He gestured to the person in front of him. “Edward’s replacement.”
“Edward?”
“Yes,” Jeff said in a droll tone. “You know, your last personal assistant who quit two days ago?”
“Oh, that Edward.” Edward had been one of many PAs he’d had over the years. Many of them didn’t last long due to the demands of the job, the long hours, and weeks on the road. Devon stopped trying to remember their names as he knew they would eventually quit anyway. This next guy would be no different.
“Charley, this is Devon.”
Charley spun around. “Hello, Devon, nice to meet you.”
“I—” Devon stopped short, his gaze riveted on Charley’s face. Charley was not a guy at all, but rather, a woman. She was of average height making her noticeably shorter than his own six foot two frame, and her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail under a green ball cap. When she looked up, however, he froze as he found himself staring into her eyes.
The most mesmerizing light brown eyes he’d ever seen.
Devon had met a ton of gorgeous women over the years—actresses, singers, models, blondes, brunettes, redheads. When he first started in the business, he’d been awestruck by the beauty of all the women around him, and over the years as he gained fame, many of them flocked his way.
However, he’d never been literally struck—like being hit by lightning—until this moment as he stared into the depths of her spellbinding eyes.
They were the color of rich, luscious toffee.
Would she be just as sweet?
“Excuse me?” She blinked at him.
The fuck? Did I say that out loud? “I said”—he cleared his throat—“get me a latte, will you, sweet cheeks?”
Her jaw dropped.
“Almond milk, extra hot,” he added. “And next time, make sure it’s ready in my dressing room before I get here.” He brushed past her—a mistake, he realized too late, as he got a whiff of her perfume—fragrant and fruity, like biting into a juicy peach on a summer day.
Gritting his teeth, he marched over to his mirrored dressing table, casting his eyes downward to avoid glancing at Charley in the reflection.
“There’s a coffee shop just across the street,” Jeff said, clearing his throat. “Here’s your company card, whatever Devon needs, just charge it there.”
“Of course. Thanks again for this opportunity, Jeff.”
“Your resume is fantastic. I hope you stay with us.”
Devon waited for the sound of the door closing before he lifted his head.
“Really, Devon?” Jeff admonished as he came up from behind, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You didn’t have to be rude, you know. Charley was highly recommended, and to be honest, way too overqualified to just be your assistant. She has a decade of backstage crew work under her belt and could have her pick of jobs with any tour or production company in the country, but wanted a chance to work with you.”
Devon snorted. “She knows what she signed up for then.” He gripped the edge of his table as he stood up. “I just hope she stays longer than the last one.”
Jeff shook his head. “I wasn’t sure about hiring her since, you know, she’s a woman. And we know the last time—”
“I don’t fuck my employees, Jeff,” he reminded him. “It’s my number one rule.”
And one he never, ever broke. While Devon was known for being a manslut, he never screwed around with people he had power over. It was just too messy. But that didn’t stop them from trying.
“Tiffany was the one trying to sneak into my hotel room at the after-party.”
Tiffany had been one of his first assistants, who not only tried to get into this pants but had the nerve to attempt to sue him for sexual harassment when she was fired. They had settled out of court, but it was a painful and expensive lesson. Ever since then, he and Jeff instituted a rule that personal assistants—female and male—were off the clock and off the premises as soon as the show was over.
“I know but …”
He spun around. “But, what?”
Jeff looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his lip. “Nothing. I just trust you’ll do the right thing and focus on the tour. Don’t get distracted.”
“Since when have I ever let my career come second?”
Fucking around didn’t get him to where he was.
Of course, some might say, fucking over other people did.
Devon had started his career with his old band, Speed Run, back when he was only nineteen years old. They had broken out of the indie rock scene and into the mainstream with a string of number one hits, but Devon had been the undeniable star of the group. He was both frontman and lead guitar player, not to mention, the sex appeal that oozed from his every pore caught the attention of people, and he played up the raunchy hot rock star image to his advantage. After a couple of contentious years with his bandmates, he finally left them and went solo, and his career skyrocketed.
Jeff shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. All right, you got thirty minutes till sound check. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Thanks.”
Devon wiped his hands down his pants and glanced up at the clock. He wondered how long it would take Little Miss Toffee Eyes to get his drink. He didn’t even get a chance to check out the rest of her, and he wondered what her body looked like under that baggy shirt and jeans.
Focus, Devon, he warned himself. And not just on how big her tits might be.
He yanked his Les Paul guitar from the stand nearby and placed it on his thigh, then gripped the neck with his left hand. Strumming a few chords, he let the music fill his ears and drown out the world as he concentrated on the music.
Devon usually took this time alone to loosen up his hands and his voice before sound check, playing scales and humming along to warm up. Today, for some reason, a song had made its way from the deep recesses of his mind, inciting his fingers to play the chords of a song he thought he’d long forgotten—or at least one he wanted to. Despite himself, the melody came back to him, taunting him almost and goading him to strum and sing the words he hadn’t uttered in years.
“‘First Feelings.’”
Devon’s fingers faltered, and a sour note screeched from his guitar right as he transitioned to the second chorus. He didn’t need to lift his head to find out who had entered the dressing room. But he did anyway because he wanted to. “You know that song?”
Charley nodded and walked toward him, coffee cup in hand. “It was a single from your first solo album, right?”
His gaze fixed on her, unable to turn away. How could she possibly remember an old song that no one else remembered? It was the one single in his debut solo album that critics panned.
It was also the only song he ever wrote.
Despite his success and fortune, that song was his number one sore spot. While he was a talented singer, guitarist, and frontman, he really couldn’t write for shit. The real genius behind Speed Run’s hits was Kurt Chambers, their bassist. Ever since his first disastrous foray into songwriting, Devon never did it again and instead hired the best songwriters in the business.
“You know,” she began, placing the cup next to him. “Despite what critics said, I really liked that song when it came out.”
She was so close, he got a whiff of her sweet perfume, and his throat turned dry as a desert. “Y-you did?” Those enchanting eyes locked onto his and sweat built on his palms.
“Mm-hmm. I’ve read your interviews and articles.” Her teeth sank into her luscious lower lip. “Rhythm Magazine ranked you number eight in their list of ‘Top 10 Musical Geniuses’ last year. You didn’t have any formal music education, but thanks to your perfect pitch, you basically taught yourself to play guitar and piano. ‘First Feelings’ was technically a good song, it just lacked … something, you know?” Her fingers rubbed at her thumbs as if she were itching to do something. “It needed a little more … warmth and emotion maybe.”
Devon blinked, and the spell of her perfume and enthralling gaze broke.
Who the fuck did she think she was, telling him—Devon Hale—about music?
Shooting up to his feet, he shoved the guitar at her. “Here, take this to the sound guys so they can hook it up.” Swiping the coffee cup from the table, he took a sip, then quickly spat it back. “Ugh. No, no.” He shook his head and tossed the coffee into the trash can. “They burned the coffee. Go back and grab me another one. Tell them to do it properly this time.” Without a second glance, he marched toward the bathroom, opened the door with a violent yank, and slammed it shut behind him.
Leaning back, his closed his eyes.
Why was his heart going a mile a minute? And there was a stabbing pain in his chest, too, like he was being clawed from the inside.
A maelstrom of emotions swept over him, and he ran toward the toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. Once he was done, he felt much better.
Trudging over to the sink, he washed out his mouth, cursing to himself internally. What the fuck was wrong with him today? Why did he let that nobody get on his nerves?
Fuck this shit.
He was Devon Hale. No one talked to him like that. He would tell Jeff to fire her by end of day.
* * *
“Murder is still a crime, right?” Charley Forrest huffed as she burst into the costume room.
Kevin Lopez, the tour’s stylist, paused in the middle of steam ironing a white button-down shirt, then placed a hand on his hip. “What did he do this time?”
Trudging toward him, she opened her mouth, nearly letting out the fierce growl rumbling in her chest. She quickly snapped her mouth shut.
Not here!
Her inner wolf paced around, sensing her agitation. It was raring to burst out.
As a Lycan, Charley shared her body with a creature, who for the most part listened to her and behaved when in the company of humans. Normally it stayed quiet within her, and while she knew it was there, it remained mostly dormant. Recently though, it had a bad habit of making its presence known more, as if pushing Charley’s boundaries, prodding at her and testing her control.
Not that she could blame it, considering what had happened recently. The wolf was probably still on edge because their enemies, the mages, had not only tried to kill all of their kind and bring on the apocalypse, but now their existence—which had been a secret for hundreds of years—had been revealed to the world.
Having no combat experience, Charley hadn’t been part of the big battle in Connecticut herself. Though the Alpha of her clan, Lucas Anderson, had called all his Lycans back to New York, she had been assigned to stay back and protect their base in the city, a compound on the Upper East Side known as The Enclave. It was where their human members, including her mother, had been sheltered during the final battle. A few of them had been assigned there in case of a breach or if the battle turned sideways for the Lycans. And while she didn’t get a chance to fight or free her she-wolf, it had been agitated and on guard the entire evening, right up until the moment they found out the mages had been defeated and everyone in her family who had been in the battle had survived.
“Hello?” Kevin waved the handle of the steam iron around, sending a puff of smoke toward Charley. “Are you okay?”
She plopped down on the couch next to him. “He wants me to go back to the restaurant and get him something else to eat. He says the pasta salad I got him was definitely not gluten free.” She gritted her teeth. “I called the restaurant three times last night and once more this morning to make sure they prepared it with only gluten-free ingredients, using separate utensils to prevent cross contamination. He takes one bite and tells me they used regular pasta, not the chickpea pasta he specifically wanted. How could he even tell? Grrr!” She pounded her fists on her thighs. “He wasn’t even gluten free last week. I saw him scarf down an entire pepperoni pizza.”
The stylist hung the steam wand up on its holder, then sat down next to her. “There, there, Charley,” he said, patting her hand sympathetically. “He’s probably having a bad day.”
“More like a bad couple of weeks.” She groaned. “I should quit, right?”
Kevin gave her a sympathetic smile. “Only you can answer that, sweetheart.”
Charley knew what the answer was—a resounding yes. Everyone on the tour gave her that same pitiful expression each time Devon berated her for the silliest things. Last week, it was because he had forgotten to plug in his phone, and so it was her fault she didn’t anticipate it and charge it while he was on stage. The week before that, his extra-hot almond milk latte was lukewarm—because he arrived late to the venue, and so it had been sitting there for almost an hour.
I’m too good for this job.
In the last ten years, Charley had built a career in backstage production in various regional theater tours, music shows, and other live events. She had started at the bottom as a production assistant, then worked her way up to stagehand, then to stage manager and was well on her way to becoming a producer.
With her resume, experience, and glowing recommendations, she could work on any tour or show she wanted, but when this chance to work on the Devon Hale world tour came up, she couldn’t pass on the opportunity. This was the big leagues, and even if she had to work as his personal assistant, it would be worth it.
At least, that’s what she thought at first.
I should have quit. She snorted. Like yesterday.
Yet here she was, weeks into this crappy job with her crappy boss. Actually, crappy barely covered the walking nightmare that was Devon Hale. In fact, she and her cousins Lizzie and Olivia had come up with the perfect nickname for him in their group chat—The Douche Hole—a combination of douchebag and asshole because one nickname wasn’t enough to cover what a total SOB he was.
Still, she stayed.
Her inner wolf let out a sigh and laid its head down.
Kevin clucked his tongue. “I don’t know why, but he’s got it in for you. What the heck did you do to make him act like the spawn of Satan whenever you’re around?”
Charley cringed inwardly, thinking of her first day on the job.
Okay, so maybe insulting her new boss’s songwriting skills wasn’t the smartest thing to do. She was still flabbergasted she hadn’t been fired right away. However, considering what Kevin said, and now that she thought of it, Douche Hole probably kept her around just to torture her after her insensitive remarks.
It was true, though.
“First Feelings” had all the technical earmarks of a great song, but it was just not quite there. If Devon had worked on his skills more, he could be a phenomenal songwriter with a string of number one hits.
And Charley should know. After all, she’d been working in the music business since she was ten years old and had been exposed to it all her life, much longer than he had been. While Speed Run was still playing seedy LA clubs, Charley had had her own hit TV show with a giant entertainment conglomerate, not to mention sold-out tours, merchandising deals, and several hit songs on the charts.
Back then, she’d been known as Charley Star, one half of popular teen sensations, The Wonderland Divas, along with Renée Rose. At the height of their success, they had been Spencer Corporation’s biggest teen superstars.
But that was a million years ago.
Her life was different now, thanks to the choices she made.
Choices she had to live with.
Dismissing those thoughts, she turned back to Kevin. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure, sweetie.” Kevin fished his phone out of his pocket. “So, crazy news about those Supernatural Beings, huh?”
“What?” Charley’s spine stiffened. Though the existence of Lycans was no longer a secret, no one on the tour knew that she was one of them. It wasn’t something she advertised. “W-what about them?” Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Did Kevin discover what she was? Would she be fired?
“Oh, you haven’t heard the latest?”
Sweat built on her temples. “N-no,” she stammered. “I mean, I hardly have time to read news when I’m running around the place getting Devon’s coffee order or finding the right kind of linen spray for his bedsheets.” The man was obsessed with peaches for some reason. “What is it?”
“The latest person to come out in support of the Supernatural Beings is none other than stage and screen darling and legend herself, Evie King.”
“What. The. Fuck?”
If Charley hadn’t been sitting down, she would have fallen over.
“I know, right?” Kevin shoved his phone screen in her face, and sure enough, splashed on the front page of a gossip news site was a photo of Evie King as she accepted her second Oscar.
AKA Broadway’s favorite composer and leading lady.
AKA everyone’s favorite animated princess, thanks to her hit animated princess movie and soundtrack.
AKA, one of the only EGOT winners in the industry.
And more commonly known to Charley as Mom.
“Can you believe it? It says she’s one of them—oh wait.” Kevin scrolled down the page. “Sorry, damn clickbait headlines. It just says she supports the Supernatural Beings as she’s the daughter of a Lycan and her husband is one, as well as her childr—hey!”
Charley knocked the phone out of his hand and shot to her feet. “Er, sorry about that! We should get going, show’s about to start.”
“What?” Kevin exclaimed, glancing up at the clock. “Oh fuck, I need to get this to Devon, but I have to do one more sleeve. Will you stall for me?”
“Of course.” She breathed out a sigh of relief as Kevin had seemingly forgotten his phone. Darting out the door, she made her way toward Devon’s dressing room. She itched to take her own phone out and read about what her mom had said to the press.
Well, maybe if you picked up last night, you would have known.
She gave herself a mental slap on the forehead. After last night’s show, she saw about ten missed calls from her mother and a text that said “call me.” But she’d been so exhausted, and the night before had been spent on the road in a bunk on the tour bus with ten other people, so there was no privacy to make a phone call anywhere. Then she had to get up at frickin’ butt o’clock in the morning when they arrived here in Phoenix to unpack their gear and get ready for tonight’s show.
Now she knew why her mother wanted to talk.
Stopping, she blew out a frustrated breath.
Great timing, Mom.
Of course, with the bad publicity the Lycans had been getting the past couple of weeks, Charley knew they could use all the help they could get. From a PR standpoint, it was a smart move to release a statement from someone as famous and well-loved as Evie King. Having her support would help humanize Lycans and garner support for their kind. Lycans were still everyday people who just wanted to exist peacefully alongside their human counterparts. Yes, getting outed sucked, but that was their reality now, and trying to hide their existence would be like attempting to put toothpaste back into the tube.
Charley flexed her fingers as she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to herself.
She hadn’t been Charley Starr in over a decade, and few people remembered or even recognized her, not even her coworkers on this tour. Keeping her head down and not making any close friends at work helped.
But now, with her mother’s revelation splashed in the headlines across the globe, someone would dig up their connection, and there was a possibility that her carefully hidden identity would come out—both as a former teen superstar and a Lycan.
The timing of it all really sucked.
“Damn it.” Stopping short, Charley fished her phone out of her pocket. But before she had a chance to check it, Jeff burst out of Devon’s dressing room.
“Where the hell have you been?” he bellowed.
Oh fuck! “Sorry!” She hurried toward Devon’s manager. “Was that last dish okay? Did he eat it?” Douche Hole could honestly starve for all she cared, but it was still her job to get him fed.
Jeff blew out a breath. “Yeah, it was fine. But he needs to be on stage in two minutes!”
“Right.” Brushing past him, she marched inside the dressing room. “Devon, position. Now.”
Wearing nothing but leather pants, Devon rose from the couch with cat-like grace, brushing his loose blond locks with his fingers as vivid sky-blue eyes narrowed at her.
Charley groaned inwardly. His attitude toward her from the beginning should have shriveled up her ovaries and turned her as dry as the Sahara, but for some damn reason, one look from those blue eyes and she was wetter than a beaver’s pockets.
Devon Hale was a douchebag and an asshole, but also so goddamn hot.
“You’re late,” he said in the sexy, signature Devon Hale rasp that sent female fans swooning.
And whose fault was that, Mr. I’m-Gluten-Free-Now? But Charley could only bite her tongue. “Come on, you have to be on stage in sixty seconds.”
His hands motioned down his naked torso. “And how am I supposed to go on without my shirt?”
Charley could barely keep her eyes from the bulging muscles of his shoulders, wide chest, and his six-pack abs. “I—”
“I’m here!” Kevin burst through the door, shirt in hand. In his haste to get to Devon, he crashed into Charley, sending her staggering forward. She dropped her phone so she could grab onto the dresser to stop herself from falling.
“What is this? Fucking amateur hour?” Devon shouted as Kevin scrambled over and began to dress him.
“Calm down, Devon,” Jeff said. “The show won’t start without you.”
Devon ignored his manager. “Get it together, both of you.” However, he was only looking at Charley.
“Done!” Kevin declared, taking a step back.
“Finally.” Devon sent Charley one last glare. “Let’s go.”
She followed him as he made his way to the stage, reaching the wings just in time as the band finished the intro to the first song. A roadie handed him his Les Paul, and he stepped out on stage, the bright lights burning Charley’s retinas. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the first few notes from Devon’s guitar blasted through the speakers.
Charley held her breath as she waited, her eyes never leaving his tall, lean form as he approached the mic stand in the middle of the stage. The moment his sultry, low voice filled the air, every nerve ending in her body lit up.
At this point, she’d seen him perform live in dozens of concerts, and each time, she was so mesmerized by his voice, his playing, and his stage presence that she could barely keep her eyes off him. Devon had a way of making each song riveting, whether it was an energetic rock anthem or a sentimental ballad. Charismatic and electrifying, he knew how to read a crowd and played with them until they were putty in his hands. For those two hours on stage, Charley forgot all about the Douche Hole and could only focus on Devon and his music.
The man was truly a god on stage.
But, as soon as he finished his second encore and stepped off the stage, the spell was broken. As he did every night, he walked past Charley without a second glance as he made his way to his dressing room.
While illogical, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of hurt in her chest at his snub. Once before, she’d even tried to get his attention by congratulating him on a great show, but he just brushed past her like she was invisible. She tried not to let it bother her—she was just his assistant after all. A nobody to him.
Besides, this was the moment she was off the clock. Due to an unusual clause in her contract, Charley’s work hours ended exactly as soon as Devon stepped off the stage. Before and during the performance, she was on-call, catering to all his needs, whether that was getting his meals or handing him towels and water between songs, but once he was done for the night, so was she. Jeff had explained that all non-essential staff left as soon they were done for insurance purposes, but as far as she could tell, she was always the first one out.
Charley didn’t question it as long as they cut her a check every two weeks—and to be honest, it was a pretty big one—but she had her suspicions why no one was allowed to hang around once the concert was over. She wasn’t blind after all; she’d seen all the gorgeous women hanging out right outside the stage doors and the security team checking IDs and letting them in after hours. She was also not deaf as she’d overheard members of Devon’s band and some of the roadies talking about those women the day after concerts, and not always in the most respectful way. Perhaps she was glad for the rules so she didn’t have to get mixed up in that and she could just focus on the work. Besides, they were adults and could do what they wanted—including Devon.
But for some reason, thinking of him with all those groupies made her want to punch something.
Her wolf, too, let out an unhappy growl.
None of my business, she reminded herself—and her animal.
After grabbing her bag from the costume room and waving goodbye to Kevin—who was still putting away tonight’s costumes—she made her way outside. Instinctively she reached into her pocket to fish out her phone to call for a car.
“Damn it!” she cursed when her hand came up empty.
She had dropped her phone in Devon’s dressing room.
No one was allowed in there after a show, especially her, since she was supposed to be off the clock. But she needed her phone to call a ride back to the hotel.
I suppose I could wait for Kevin or other people on the crew.
But Kevin could be another hour or so, plus, she needed her phone. Had she forgotten about the looming threat of the press finding out about her being a Lycan? She had to call her mom right now so she could get ahead of the news cycle. Her gut tightened, thinking about how Jeff—and Devon—would react when they found out. Would she even have a life or a job by this time tomorrow?
I’ll deal with that when the time comes, but first, I need my phone.
Straightening her spine, Charley took determined strides back to the stadium. Perhaps she’d be lucky and Devon was already gone.
Or maybe off with some groupie at the after-party.
She ignored that hot stabbing in her chest and continued to make her way toward Devon’s dressing room. Using her enhanced hearing, she listened for any sounds coming from inside. There were no voices or rustling of movements of any kind, though she did hear the spray of the shower from the bathroom, which meant Devon was in there.
I’ll be real quick, she told herself as she carefully turned the knob and pushed the door open. Using her Lycan speed, she swiftly darted inside and toward where she dropped her phone by the mirrored dressers. Thankfully, it was right by her feet, so she crouched down to pick it up.
And now I’ll just—
“You! What the hell are you doing here?” came the familiar low baritone from behind her.
Oh crap. Of course Devon chose that exact moment to exit the bathroom. Huh, that’s funny. As far as she could tell, water was still running. Did he decide to just run out in the middle of his shower?
“I-I can explain.” Slowly, as if Devon were some wild animal she didn’t want to startle, she rose to her feet. “I left my phone—”
“I said, what are you doing here?”
Charley’s heart slammed into her rib cage as she felt Devon’s presence just behind her. How did he move so fast—
“Answer me.” He had taken a step closer, effectively trapping her between himself and the dresser.
Lifting her head, she met Devon’s sky-blue eyes in the mirror. “I d-dropped my phone here and—”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said in a low whisper that made the backs of her knees tingle.
“I-I know, but I need my phone to call a car and …” She closed her eyes and inhaled a quick breath as Devon leaned forward. He was so close she got a whiff of his shower gel.
Clary sage. Lavender. With a tinge of leather.
“Do you like to break the rules, Charley?”
The way he said her name in that low, raspy voice of his made her shiver. She didn’t think he even knew it, since he’d only called her “Sweet Cheeks” that first time and “You!” since then.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, the reflection of his blue gaze catching hers in a magnetic stare. Her mouth turned dry as she realized he was bare-chested and only wearing a towel. His hair still hung in dripping ringlets around his face, indicating he had indeed been in the middle of a shower.
“I-I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” She attempted to twist around, but Devon’s next move made her entire body seize up.
His arms trapped her on either side, caging her against the dresser, their eye contact through the mirror never breaking.
“Hmmm … God, your perfume smells so fucking amazing. It drives me crazy, and I can’t think whenever I smell it.” Tilting his head to the side, he leaned in closer, his nose nearly touching the skin on her neck but not quite. “Peaches. Juicy and sweet. I could go in for a bite.”
I should push him off and get the fuck out of here!
Yes, that was the right course of action. He was her boss. This was sexual harassment. She was also trained in at least two forms of self-defense, not to mention, she could easily overwhelm him with her Lycan strength.
Knocking him into next week and running away was the right move.
Yeah, I really need to do that.
But then she caught that delicious scent again, and her brain fried. As if her body had a mind of its own, her hips pushed back so her ass brushed against the front of his towel.
Oh shit.
That was definitely not a banana in his pocket.
He spun her around with a low growl, lifting her up so she sat on top of the dresser. Nudging her knees apart, he pressed his growing erection between her legs.
“Tease.” The corner of his mouth lifted up. “But then again, you and your sweet perfume have been teasing me all this time. You want this, too, don’t you?”
“Devon—”
His head descended toward her, but to her surprise, he nuzzled at the spot under her ear. He let out another growl and pressed closer to her, the friction making her shiver. “Charley … what are you doing to me?”
She could only answer with a whimper.
“I swear to God, you’re some kind of witch. I can’t stop … I need …” His hands fumbled for his towel, and it dropped to the floor. “Say you want me as much as I want you.”
“I …”
It was so tempting, to just give in. She was pretty sure it would be epic hate sex between them.
But that was the problem.
She despised him.
He was hot and all, but she still had principles. The thought of having sex with this man who’d treated her like dirt these past weeks made the haze of desire clouding her mind evaporate.
With that sobering thought in mind, she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him away. Attempted to anyway, but he was like a rock wall—unmovable and solid.
Lifting her head, she met his blue gaze head-on. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” He didn’t back off, but he didn’t make any move to advance either. Instead, he licked his lips. “Say. Yes.”
Despite herself, she let out a small sigh at the sight of his tongue running across his firm mouth. How would it taste? How would it feel?
“Devon …”
“Charley …”
He leaned his head in, sending her pulse skyrocketing. His mouth hovered over her lips so closely she could feel the warmth of his breath.
They couldn’t.
She couldn’t.
“No.”
“No?” He lifted a sardonic brow. “You know a million girls would do anything to be where you are right now.”
If he thought that would make her change her mind, well, he was dead wrong. Rage simmered in her, and her wolf, too, made its displeasure known with a fierce snarl.
“Then go fuck one of them!” She gave him another push, this time mustering enough of her Lycan strength to make him stagger back.
However, he quickly regained his balance. “And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
“They’re practically lined up outside!” She waved her hand wildly toward the door. “All of them ready to drop to their knees at the snap of your fingers.”
For a brief second, his blue eyes flickered with a familiar, eerie glow.
Glowed?
What the fu—
“I can’t!” He trapped her again, but this time his hands slammed against the mirror behind her with a resounding crack. “Tell me how I’m supposed to do that when I can’t stop thinking about you! I haven’t fucked anyone else since you walked in that door.”
The confession was so raw and out of left field that it took her brain a second to process his words. “You can’t … that’s not …”
“Whenever I see you, all I want to do is rip off every piece of clothing you have on and lick you from head to toe. I want to make you come with my fingers, my mouth, my cock. I want to know what it’s like to be inside you and—”
“Devon, stop!” This time she put all her strength into shoving him away, sending him crashing against the wall.
Oh shit!
For a second, her heart completely stopped as she stared at his prone, naked body on the floor. When his eyes flew open and he made a motion to sit up, Charley dashed outside, her pulse pounding at a mile a minute.
Everything was a blur as she made a beeline for the outside. The minute the cool, fresh air hit her lungs, she slowed her pace but didn’t stop walking. She had to get away and put as much distance between herself and the stadium.
And Devon Hale.
Idiot. I’m the biggest idiot in the world.
They almost kissed. But even before that …
Warmth pooled in her belly, thinking of how close he’d gotten. His smell. That bulge under his towel.
And the things he said he wanted to do to her.
His confession about not sleeping with anyone else.
She shook her head.
No, that wasn’t true.
There was no way he hadn’t had sex with anyone else all this time.
He was Devon Hale, for God’s sake.
He was a superstar, not to mention, a normal, red-blooded man who screwed anything that moved. Nearly every guy in the business was a horny motherfucker who said and did anything and everything they needed to get into a woman’s pants.
Honk! Honk! Hooooonk!
“Oh fuck!”
Her hands slammed down on the hood of the car that nearly collided into her. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice she’d walked right into the parking lot where the concertgoers were now making their way out.
“Sorry!” she shouted at the irate driver who stuck his head out the window, screaming expletives at her.
Weaving through the maze of cars, she found her way out of the lot, onto the lone road leading away from the stadium where cars were lined up bumper-to-bumper toward the on-ramp leading to the highway.
She continued walking, unsure what to do or where to go. Her thoughts were consumed with what had happened. Humiliation flooded her, not because Devon’s action made her feel dirty, but rather, she knew that she’d wanted it too. That despite the terrible things he’d said to her these past weeks and how he’d demeaned her, she wanted him.
Wanted his smell, his touch, his mouth.
And she did want to know what it would be like to have him inside her. God help her, she wanted him so bad, that if he offered again, she wouldn’t have the strength to say no.
That’s why she couldn’t go back there. Because she’d lose the last shreds of her dignity to Devon Hale.
And so, she could never see him again.
Ever.
Pre Order A Song for Charley now!
Releases October 4th, 2023
