Record, Rewind by Ava Lore

Chapter One
    I ’d just managed to fish a much-needed cigarette out of my purse when Damien Colton, lead singer and guitarist of The Hollow Men, walked into my elevator.
    My heart stopped beating.
    Not for the reasons you’re thinking of, though. I’m not a starfucker. I don’t even get starry-eyed when I bump elbows with famous people, which I do all the time because I work in one of the most prestigious hotels in New York City. It happens so often that it’s unremarkable to me now, and most of them are assholes anyway. Except Bill Murray—that guy is tits.
    But Damien Colton was different, and not just because he was sinfully hot.
    I froze where I stood in the corner of the elevator, as if I were a mouse and he a hawk. Please don’t look at me, I prayed. The humiliation would be just too much.
    I tried to pull my eyes away from him, but it was useless and I knew it. For all the years I’d known of his existence, I’d never been able to keep my eyes off of him.
    I studied him with panicked resignation.
    He was dressed up as what he was—a rock star who made millions and probably had a panty collection to rival that of a Japanese businessman. Kohl-smeared eyes and a day’s growth of beard gave him a sexy, post-coital air, and the smell of beer and faint cologne filled the small space. He wore a heavy black winter trench coat with more buckles than were technically necessary over a silvery button up shirt, and his jeans were expertly faded in the most expensive way. Streaks of blue peeked between thick locks of dark hair, and his body was still just as incredible now as it had been when I’d last seen him in person seven years ago.
    All of those memories and thoughts took approximately two seconds to run through my head before the elevator doors closed behind him and I was trapped.
    I was staring at him. I knew I was. Staring and hoping for deliverance. That the doors would open again and someone else would get on. That the lights would go out. That the cable would snap and we’d plunge twenty-three floors to our untimely deaths.
    ...Okay, that was probably going a little too far. In my defense there are only so many options in an elevator, I could always escape through the ceiling, but that would require asking Damien to give me a boost. Then he would notice me for sure.
    Our eyes met.
    For a moment the world stopped spinning, and I knew it was all over.
    But all that happened was that Damien glanced at the cigarette pinched between my fingers and gave me a hint of that handsome, devilish grin that I remembered so well. “Going to risk the wrath of management?” he asked. We were a nonsmoking building.
    I shook my head, my mouth dry. “Top floor,” I managed to croak. “To the roof.”
    He raised his brows. “Cold up there tonight,” he said, taking in my prim wool skirt and stockings, the sensible heels the hotel made me wear even though we were cleaning rooms, and the entirely inappropriate hoodie I’d thrown on over my uniform. He looked like a disapproving mother. Any second now I was certain he was going to tell me to put a hat on.
    Stop looking at me, I thought. Stop looking at me, stop looking at me...
    His brilliant green eyes lingered on my face for just a moment longer than was comfortable. Then, to my relief, he turned away and punched the button for the top floor, stepped back, and watched the numbers go up.
    For a second I relaxed. He hadn’t recognized me.
    Then I was insulted. I remembered him—why didn’t he remember me? Was I just not important enough?
    Which was stupid. Because I wasn’t important and that was the whole reason I didn’t want him noticing me anyway.
    Still.
    Jackass, I thought.
    Then I realized that he hadn’t hit a second button.
    Was he... was he going up to the top floor with me?
    Well of course he would. The best suites were on the top floor. We were stuck together for this ride.
    Shit. Shit shit shit.
    As though he’d heard my inner panic attack, Damien glanced