Author: R.S. Grey
Published on: November 10, 2014
Genres: Contemporary Romance, Humor, Romance
Add It: Visit on Goodreads
Related Books: The Duet
When 27-year-old pop sensation Brooklyn Heart steps in front of a microphone, her love songs enchant audiences worldwide. But when it comes to her own love life, the only spell she’s under is a dry one.
So when her label slots her for a Grammy performance with the sexy and soulful Jason Monroe, she can’t help but entertain certain fantasies... those in which her G-string gets more play than her guitars'.
Only one problem. Jason is a lyrical lone wolf that isn’t happy about sharing the stage—nor his ranch — with the sassy singer. But while it may seem like a song entitled ‘Jason Monroe Is an Arrogant Ho’ basically writes itself, their label and their millions of fans are expecting recording gold…
They’re expecting The Duet.
Summer Neilson BrooklynHeartAssist@gmail.com 7:00 P.M.
Whattup Boss. Just an update about the meeting tomorrow with Global Records. It’s still at 8:00 A.M. at their downtown offices, but now Jason Monroe will be there as well. They haven’t briefed me about what they’ll be discussing with you guys, but I thought I’d give you a heads up incase you wanted to forget to wear a bra or something. I’ve attached a photo of him, just as a reminder of how seriously hot he is. (You’re welcome.)
Your badass assistant,
PS. Let’s get lunch after your meeting so we can go over tour stuff.
I laughed and rolled my eyes. Some people might argue that my relationship with my thirty-year-old assistant crossed boundaries, but Summer had bright purple hair and usually sported black on black for all occasions. I don’t think I could have reined her in even if I tried. Not to mention, she got shit done and made me laugh while she did it, so I didn’t see any problems.
“Oh, no way. You have a meeting with Jason Monroe tomorrow? That guy can seriously rock,” the Brazilian model said over my shoulder. I hadn’t even realized he’d slid over to my bench while I was reading my email. Creepy.
I turned my phone away quickly, hoping he hadn’t had enough time to read the rest of the email where Summer had attached a shirtless photo of Jason. If so, I was going to have to find the guys from Men in Black so that I could use that pen thing to erase his memory.
“Oh um, yeah, we’re under the same music label,” I answered nonchalantly, trying to read his features for any tell of whether he read the bra-less comment.
“That guy has soul, have you seen his acoustic performances?” he asked, seemingly more interested in the idea of Jason Monroe than the idea of having sex with me. Something was wrong with this picture. “He headlined ACL and Coachella last year.”
I rolled my eyes and dropped my phone back into my purse. The rest of the ride to my condo, and even as we rode the elevator up to my floor, I wondered what the record label had up their sleeves concerning me and the seriously sexy, Jason Monroe. (Yes, of course, I went back to look at the photo Summer had sent me in the email. Here’s a hint: he was on stage at a music festival with his guitar. His eyes were closed, sweat was dripping down his neck, his brown hair was disheveled, and he was singing a song with every bit of soul he had in him. I couldn’t look away until the Brazilian model literally pried the phone out of my hand.)