Oh.
Well, shit.
I guess he could be the boss of me, after all.
I shot Keri a surprised look before I was quickly hauled off in the direction of an almost completely darkened backstage area. We walked through a black curtain before we were hit with lights and blaring music.
“I’m going to bring you onstage.”
“And then what?” I asked, suddenly nervous. Not to be around Walker Rhodes, but nervous at the thought of standing in front of thousands of screaming people with cell phones ready to record my every move.
I started to tremble. Afraid my legs wouldn’t hold me up any longer, I begged the security guy to help me out there. He smiled at me and gave me a little shove.
Thanks, you dick.
Next thing I knew, I was standing onstage, my face mere inches from Walker’s. Walker no-human-being-should-be-anywhere-near-this-gorgeous-in-real-life Rhodes. His jet-black hair was clipped short against his tanned skin. The coloring only set off his light hazel eyes even more. The contrast was stunning, and triggered a tingle of awareness in me. I felt lost in that moment as I stared into his eyes, something in them calling to me. The way he stared back at me was almost expectant, like he was willing me to move, think, connect…or something.
His stare intensified and all I could think about was how I had never noticed his eyes before. Then I wondered how on earth that was even possible? Had I been blind my whole life up until this moment? The color of his eyes could stop wars from waging, or calm the roughest seas. Nothing and no one could be immune from the look in Walker’s eyes. I was suddenly hit with a sense of familiarity, but quickly tossed it aside, remembering his celebrity status. He felt familiar because he was; his face was constantly in the news and on plenty of magazine covers. Everyone knew everything about Walker Rhodes.
His mouth curved and my gaze reluctantly moved from his dreamy eyes down to a pair of deliciously full lips. My brain suddenly kicked into gear, reminding me where I currently was—onstage in front of a sold-out arena. I glanced out at the rowdy crowd as nervousness shot through me. Walker’s lips moved quickly, but I couldn’t hear anything because I was too busy freaking out. Although I could see Keri bouncing up and down in the audience with her cell phone in the air, which only made me freak out more.
When he leaned forward, his face almost touching mine, I could feel the electricity sparking between us. But I convinced myself it was all in my head, because really? Who wouldn’t feel something between themselves and a celebrity in this moment of insanity? Walker reached out his hand and placed it under my chin to gently raise my head. And he shocked me.
Literally.
He pulled his hand away abruptly. “Sorry about that, Sparkles,” he said into the microphone with a smirk before turning to address the audience. “I shocked her. We’re so electric together that we spark. Just like her headband.”
Then he ran his fingers gently across the crystals in a slow and deliberate motion.
What the hell is going on right now?
I forced a nervous smile as he continued talking.
“This is one of my favorite parts of the show. I love you guys so much!” The crowd roared in response as he continued speaking over them toward me. “So, Sparkles, what’s your real name?” He pushed his microphone at my mouth.
“Madison,” I said weakly before he pulled the mic back.
His eyebrows lifted. “Madison. I like it. You look like a Madison, all cute and sweet. I bet you were a cute kid.”
That’s a weird thing for him to say.
“Where are you from?”
I pulled my head back slightly at the question. “Here.”
“Here? You’re from the Staples Center?” He laughed and I smacked his shoulder.
“No. I meant here, as in LA.” I shrugged.
“Well, I figured that much.” He turned toward the crowd and said, “Didn’t you, Los Angeles?” and the crowd screamed in response.
“So, what do you do?”
The stupid microphone appeared in my face again. “For work?” I mumbled, not really understanding why he would ask such a personal question anyway.
I felt like a complete idiot. The pit of my stomach tumbled like it was filled with rocks. Celebrities didn’t normally unnerve me. I couldn’t be fazed by them in my line of work, but this was something else entirely. I was coming unglued at whatever seams pretended to hold me together.
And then there was the way Walker kept looking at me. Deliberately, like he was trying to tell me something without words, but I wasn’t getting the message. Maybe he was expecting me to do something, like flirt with him for the audience? All I could think about was the damn rocks in my stomach, and I felt like an idiot.
“Yeah, Sparkles, what do you do for work?” His voice boomed with confidence.
I hesitated. Should I really tell an entire arena filled with rabid fans my name and where I worked? That might not be the best idea. You never knew what people were truly capable of.
“I work at a talent agency.”
There. No specifics. Los Angeles was filled with talent agents. Good luck trying to figure out which one.
“Which one?” he pressed.
Shit.
Walker flashed me a wide grin and I shook my head. “Aw, you aren’t going to tell me?” He stuck out his bottom lip and pouted toward the audience. Groans and moans filled the air.
“It’s not one you’d know,” I lied.
“Okay, Madison, who works at a talent agency I wouldn’t know, and lives in Los Angeles. This one’s for you.”
Walker reached his hand out for my face again and without shocking me this time, he cupped my cheek. Leaning in close, his war-stopping eyes bored into mine as he sang the lyrics to me.
I told you that I ’d wait for you
But you didn ’t listen
So I ’ll fight for you
If it ’s what I have to do
I ’ll fight for you
Because there is no me
Without you
Girl, you know it’s true
And now Madison from Los Angeles who works at a talent agency
T he rest of the world does too
I didn’t remember that last part being in the song. And before another thought could enter my already spinning mind, his lips brushed against my cheek. Heat rose from the tips of my toes and flooded me in an instant, filling my whole body. By the time Walker pulled away, my face felt flushed and I was certain I was beet red.
He pulled the microphone away and leaned over to speak quickly into my ear. “Leave your phone number with Bob. Please?” he practically begged, his voice barely above a whisper, and the rocks in my stomach dropped to the floor and shattered into rock dust. Assuming he did this with every girl he brought onstage, I glared at him, my nervousness dissipating in a rush, only to be rapidly replaced with sharp disappointment.
“Please,” he said again. “Just give it to Bob and I’ll get it after the show.”
Another quick kiss on the cheek, and Bob appeared from the back to usher me from the stage. Walker whispered something to the tall man and clapped him on the shoulder, and Bob cracked a crooked smile before looking in my direction.
I was pissed. Although I wasn’t entirely sure why, the moment had been cheapened by Walker. What had started as something amazing and unbelievable had turned into something typical and demeaning. All his escapades ran through my mind like a ticker tape parade. The real Walker Rhodes was a player of presidential caliber, and I knew it. I read about it online daily.