JAGGED: A Rockstar Romance Read online

  JAGGED: A Rockstar Romance

  Celia:

  I need to discover a band, and sign them - fast.

  I didn't expect to find Wreckage. And I definitely didn't want to find Ewan Boyd.

  The Scottish bad boy's temper has already burned me once.

  He f*cked me over. He got me fired. He's the worst kind of mistake.

  But he plays his guitar like a god and he plays my body even better.

  I know I can build him up to be a huge success again.

  I just have to keep myself from falling apart.

  Ewan:

  When the sh*t hit the fan and my band disintegrated, I was ready to walk away.

  Until she walked into the room.

  I was ready to give up on everything I'd worked for, but I'm not going to give up Celia Silver.

  She wants to work with me. She wants a "business relationship."

  But my only business plan is hearing her scream my name.

  I'm not a flash in the pan. I'm no f*cking "one hit wonder."

  I've got a second chance at rock stardom.

  But she's got to take a chance on me first.

  JAGGED

  A Rockstar Romance

  Vivian Lux

  Copyright © 2017 by Vivian Lux

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  For all the rockstars whose music I listened to on repeat while writing this. Thank you to Stevie Nicks for Silver Spring, especially.

  And Chris Cornell, may you rest in peace

  I know I could have loved you, but you would not let me…

  Stevie Nicks, Silver Spring

  Contents

  Books by Vivian Lux

  Prologue

  Ewan

  1. Celia

  2. Ewan

  3. Celia

  4. Ewan

  5. Celia

  6. Ewan

  7. Celia

  8. Ewan

  9. Celia

  10. Ewan

  11. Celia

  12. Ewan

  13. Celia

  14. Ewan

  15. Celia

  16. Ewan

  17. Celia

  18. Ewan

  19. Celia

  20. Ewan

  21. Celia

  22. Ewan

  23. Celia

  24. Ewan

  25. Celia

  26. Ewan

  27. Celia

  28. Ewan

  29. Celia

  30. Ewan

  31. Celia

  32. Ewan

  33. Celia

  34. Celia

  35. Ewan

  36. Celia

  37. Ewan

  Epilogue

  For a special bonus epilogue and a sneak peek of the next book in the Wreckage series, sign up to my mailing list.

  About the Author

  Also by Vivian Lux

  Books by Vivian Lux

  Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club:

  Steel My Heart

  Steel Me Away

  Steel My Love

  Steel My Soul

  Rockstar Romance

  JAX: A Rockstar Stepbrother Romance

  RANE: A Rockstar Stepbrother Romance

  WILDER: A Rockstar Romance

  LOW: A Rockstar Romance

  TRUE: A Rockstar Romance

  The Reckless Falls Series:

  KEPT: A Small Town Second Chance Novella

  WRECKED: A Small Town Bad Boy Romance

  TWICE: A Small Town Menage Romance

  TIED: A Steamy Small Town Romance

  CRAVE: A Small Town Menage Romance

  PLAYED: A Small Town Billionaire Romance

  Sports Romance

  FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  IMPACT: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

  Prologue

  Ewan

  "Fucking hell, how long are they going to make us wait?" Jules hissed, shifting in his chair like a schoolboy in church. "Something happened, you feel it mate?"

  "Aye," I grunted. "It ain't like them to make us wait."

  "And where the fuck are the others?" Niall piped up, shifting around and staring at the still-closed door. "Why is it just us?"

  I shrugged, unable to think of an answer that didn't make this way the hell more ominous than it already was. Neither Killian nor Jane were called into this emergency meeting with the label, it appeared. I didn't dare think what that meant for the future of our band.

  "Feels like they're gearing up to tell me me mum died," Jules complained, shifting again. He settled his hand on his knee and began drumming out a staccato rhythm that seemed to soothe him but only served to make me feel more jangly.

  The big oak door on the left finally opened and I leaned back in relief to see Roger Blumenthal come in with a stack of papers. Our American label head was a decent bloke, if a little prone to dramatics. Making us sit here waiting for him for ten bloody minutes was actually pretty mild for him.

  I blinked and sat up straighter when I saw he wasn't alone. A pretty little brunette trailed behind him, carrying a stack of papers at least two inches thick. I'd never seen her around the offices of Crux Records before, of that I was certain. I would have remembered that pretty narrow face, dark eyes hidden behind oversized tortoiseshell glasses. She was tiny, looking like a child playing dress up in her mum's clothes with that ridiculously conservative suit. But I knew — with that instinct I'd honed after almost a decade playing music in dimly lit pubs — what kind of body she was hiding under there. I could picture lifting those glasses from her face and letting her dark hair tumble down from that tight bun...

  "—Here today."

  I sat up straight again, realizing I'd missed whatever Roger had said in greeting. Too busy staring at his cute little shadow. I shot her the grin that soaked panties on both sides of the Atlantic, but she only gave me a nervous little half-smile.

  Jesus, who fucking died?

  "I'll cut right to the chase," Roger was saying.

  "Thank bloody Christ," Jules hissed from his slumped position in his chair. I kicked him with my boot.

  Roger knitted his fingers together and rested his chin on them. "Boys. Killian was arrested last night."

  I felt a shock akin to the one I'd felt when I jumped in that icy lake in Sweden on tour last winter. My heart thudded in my ears as I turned in my chair to look at the lads.

  Niall was wearing this positively gormless expression, all dopey eyed and slack-jawed. Jules made this little yawping sound that sounded like someone kicked a Chihuahua.

  And then all three of us burst into raucous laughter.

  "Holy shit, you serious?" Jules crowed as Niall and I cackled like a couple of first form schoolboys. "Bloody hell, it's about fucking time, innit? Goddamn rat bastard finally got what's coming to him!"

  Roger remained silent, looking like he had indigestion as he sat there watching us celebrate the long-awaited downfall of our prat of a lead singer. But the pretty brunette, whatever her name was, stood up and shouted for us all to calm down, looking for all the world like she'd smelled dogshite.

  "All right, all right," Jules grumbled.

  Niall was still giggling delightedly to himself when a thought finally occurred to me. "What'd they haul him in for?" I wondered.

  "Being a fucking knob?" Jules supplied, sending Niall into another wave of giggles.

  "No," the pretty brunette shouted, sounding quite agitated. "It was for domestic abuse."

  We all sna
pped our mouths shut, Jules's making an audible popping sound. The silence stretched out to infinity as the slow-rolling realization sent the bile churning in my stomach.

  "Bloody hell," Jules exhaled.

  "Jane," Niall breathed.

  I felt like someone had punched me straight in the gut. "What'd he do to her?" I demanded, a protective growl rising up from my throat.

  The brunette shook her head, keeping her lips tightly closed, which only served to make the guilt in my stomach churn even harder. "Have you talked to her?" I asked, my voice rising. "Has someone called to see if she's doing okay? I mean fuck, I know she went AWOL back in September, but I always figured Killian... fuck..." I repeated as it dawned on me. "Did he...did he go after her?" I asked, feeling like I was about to vomit.

  "No one knows for sure," Roger piped up. "Her lawyer got in touch with us..."

  "She doesn't want to talk to us," Niall said sadly.

  "I mean, I get it," Jules said bitterly. "If Killian was beating on her and we didn't fucking notice."

  "I knew something was wrong," I declared, feeling defensive. "We all did, didn't we?"

  "Yes," the brunette said softly, cutting into our self-recrimination. We all looked at her expectantly, as if hoping she'd absolve us of our guilt. Fucking Jane, our female lead singer, the wild banshee that she was on stage, how could a firecracker like her be a victim, and yet, we all fucking knew there was a screw loose when it came to Killian. We just hadn't known how loose until right now. "I knew. She told me a couple months before she disappeared..."

  "Not in so many words," Roger interjected hastily. "I mean..."

  "Wait," I said, raising my hand for silence and looking back at the girl. "What's you say your name was?"

  "I didn't," she said primly. "I'm Celia Gilbert. CeCe. I'm interning with Mr. Blumenthal."

  "Ewan," I said with a nod.

  She smiled. "I know who you are, Mr. Boyd."

  That little grin was like a shaft of sunlight piercing the storm that was raging in my chest and for a second I was distracted from the question that was boiling my brain, but all at once I remembered again. "What did you say, CeCe? About Jane telling you..."

  "That Killian was beating on her?" Jules growled.

  "Fucking Christ," Niall muttered under his breath.

  "She came to me," CeCe said crisply, turning to Roger. "I told you. She wanted to be let out of her contract so she could be rid of him..."

  "Fucking Christ," Niall said again, sounding like he was ready to fight something. I understood. I was feeling that way too.

  And since I couldn't beat Killian into the ground, I lashed out. My pulse thundered in my ears as I stood up and slammed my hands down on Roger's desk. "You're fucking telling me," I snarled. "That you knew six months ago that that creep was hurting Jane? That she came to you..."

  "Not me," Roger corrected, waving me off. "She never told me."

  "I told you..." CeCe piped up.

  Then she snapped her mouth shut again, but I was already nodding along. "Yeah, you knew Roger. You knew we had an abuser as a frontman and you didn't do anything? You didn't help her? You didn't even fucking tell us?"

  "Fucking Christ," Niall repeated, a little louder this time.

  I shook my head, straightening back up again. Roger looked at me, his face perfectly composed. Too perfectly. Like he was wearing a mask of faux concern.

  Pure disgust wrapped around my throat and I had to choke to get the words out. With undisguised loathing, I looked at our label head. "Well fuck," I said, eloquent as always. "Hope some asshole get fired for this one. Because we're walking out."

  Chapter One

  Celia

  (Two weeks later)

  "So you're coming." August wasn't asking a question when she said that. My best friend didn't deal in mealy-mouthed, wishy-washy things like "asking permission" or "reading the temperature of the room. I'd spent my most of my friendship with her apologizing behind her back.

  "Really?" I whined into the phone.

  The crackly connection was not enough to put a damper the full force of August Waverley's personality. I wasn't even sure why I was arguing with her. She always won out in the end, mostly because she just refused to consider any point of view that wasn't her own. "C-dawg, seriously," she huffed. "You haven't come out with me since you got canned."

  "Thank you for the reminder," I grumbled. That wound was still very fresh.

  "But you're working already!" she trilled, pathologically optimistic as always.

  "Yeah," I snapped. "For my dad."

  "Who is only the owner of the biggest major record label on the East Coast," she interrupted. "And are you, or are you not in A&R right now?"

  I wrinkled my nose. "I am."

  "And isn't that what you've been dying to do ever since we were sneaking into clubs underage?"

  "It's not the same."

  "How is it not the same?"

  I took a deep breath. Of course August wouldn't get it. She came from a normal family. A nice, ordinary suburban home with a mom who worked part time at a dentist office and a dad who installed windows. Her father was never photographed jumping from his private jet and landing at his shareholder meeting. Her sister was a nurse, not a camera hungry socialite married to the cowboy hat-wearing host of a reality show. She was used to having to claw for recognition and when she did get recognized it was for her own merits, not for who her father was. "It's only because my Daddy pulled some strings and shoehorned me into a department I have no business being in."

  "You've wanted to work in Artists and Repertoire ever since I've known you," August pointed out. She sounded slightly breathless and I could hear the wind racing past the receiver. She was probably out on an eight-mile run or some other highly efficient use of her time this Saturday morning. I was still hiding in my room in my pajamas. "You're the one who taught me what it even means."

  "It is what I want, and it's as exciting as hell to finally be in that department. But June," I said, using one of my many month-based nicknames for my best friend since sophomore year in high school. "I'm only working there because my Dad insisted they give me a job. Even though we're all the way down at Anthem."

  "The offices are downtown right?"

  "So far downtown we're almost in the water," I sighed. "So it's good to not be in the same building as my Dad, but still. I'm trying to keep who I actually am on the down low."

  "Huh," August said noncommittally. She knew me and my neuroses well enough to know that wasn't all.

  "And until I bring in a band that gets signed," I went on. "A real, successful, working band, then that's all I'd ever be. Ricky Silver's little girl, the Paris Hilton of the record industry." I squeezed the sheets between my fist. "And you know how I feel about that."

  "I know," August said, uncharacteristically gentle. "I get it C. You've been out to prove you can make it on your own merits since the day I snuck you into the Water Street Music Hall."

  "You were so mad," I laughed, relaxing.

  "Well yeah! We could have walked right in there if you would have just told them who you were," August huffed. "But instead..."

  "We bribed the dishwasher and went in through the kitchen," I finished proudly. "I still say that was pretty damn genius."

  "Walked in like we owned the place."

  "Damn straight."

  "So let's do that shit again," August declared, deftly steering me back to the topic at had as only she could. "Noah and the guys are playing an opening set at the Third Wheel tonight. You won't be out late and hell, maybe Sinister Affinity is the band you'll end up signing.

  I bit my tongue. August's boyfriend's band was mediocre on a good day, and while I could excuse the sloppy musicianship, I couldn't excuse the lack of professionalism and the general asshole behavior from her guitarist boyfriend Noah Cochran. For some reason, my brilliant, driven best friend had saddled herself with the worst kind of guy. He was wholly dependent on her, and his band was too. In fact, I was fairl
y certain that tonight's booking was her doing, not his. She'd been working as their de facto manager — for free I might add — for the last few months, and they'd been getting better bookings because of it. Noah didn't appreciate it. But I did. Which was why — "Okay fine," I relented. "I'll stop being a sad sack hermit. "

  "Good," August said bluntly. "So I'll meet you at the Third Wheel at eight. Think of it this way. If you're really going to make it in A&R, you should be doing this every night. Scouring the clubs, finding fresh talent, that sort of thing."

  "You're right," I whined. "Why are you always right?"

  "It's a curse," August huffed, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

  "The sooner you start ruling the world, the better off we'll all be," I told her.

  "Working on it!" she trilled. "See you tonight!"

  I hung up and unclenched my fist from the sheet. She was right of course. August was always right. If I wanted to prove I had a place at Anthem, I needed to stop wallowing in my failure at Crux Records and get out and start working. Pounding the pavement. No one expected Ricky Silver's daughter to be a hard worker. No one expected me to pull my weight. And bucking people's expectations of me was what I did best.

  Time to get to work.