Romance: North: (Hot New Adult Bad Boy Romance, Alpha Male Rock Star Rebel Romance) (Contemporary Mystery and Romantic Suspense Short Stories) by Jade Allen
Authors: Jade Allen
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it completely.
I couldn’t be sure that I could hold up my end of the relationship with Mary; I didn’t know what the future held. We had told the police what we suspected about her former boss, and even though she had told me that she couldn’t possibly be my full-time counselor, the label had insisted on paying her to be my “life coach” while the band worked on a new album. I hadn’t said it to her directly, but even though we’d only been together for a few weeks, I knew—knew deep down in the pit of my heart and in the depths of my soul—that I loved her.
After rehearsal, I thought I would make good on the things I’d prayed, the things I’d thought on the night that we’d both been under threat of death; I would buy her flowers, and I would get her the biggest box of chocolate I could find, and I would tell her over and over again how much I loved her. It was the least I could do for the woman who had brought me kicking and screaming into real, true recovery.
“Yo, North! Where’s your head at? We’re ready to go.” I shook off my thoughts and stood, bringing Nick’s guitar with me as I crossed the room.
“Before we get started, I want to show you guys a new bit I’m working on.” I grinned to myself; I wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but I knew they’d know anyway.
The song was about Mary.
********
If you enjoyed reading this story, I’d be so appreciative if you could please leave a review. Even just a sentence or two would be a great help!
Thanks so much for your support!
xo – Jade
~BONUS STORY~
Seduction On Eden Island
There was blood everywhere. It coated the walls, the floor--there were even spurts on the ceiling. Rayne held a double-ended canoe paddle in both hands and braced herself; this was not in the brochure.
Earlier…
Rayne had woken groggily on the private jet; she had slung back far too many gins and her head ached. Twenty four hours ago, she had sat at her cubicle mopping smudged mascara, trying to explain to a group of disgruntled accountants why all the fridge contents had to be cleaned out the previous day.
“There were intelligent life forms growing in that petri dish of yours. We had no other choice but to abide by OSHA regulations before new forms of sentient life became a real problem for us. You handle multi-million dollar accounts and can find a tax loop-hole in the eye of a needle; why can’t you keep an eye on the expiration dates of your food?”
After another thirty minutes of discussing the implied freedoms of the communal fridge, Rayne lost her nerve and threw a fistful of snotty tissues at the group. “Could you please just get the fuck out of my cubicle and get back to work? If a gross fridge was my biggest problem today, I would be your all-singing-all-dancing kind of HR manager, but I’m not. Get out!”
After threats of common assault were bantered about, Rayne’s director, Rod, stepped in and sent the grim accountants back to their floor. In a gush of bubbly snot and stinging black tears, Rayne revealed it all: her boyfriend of five years, Jason, had been photographed with another woman, an infamous socialite with a penchant for little dogs. Jason was a statistician; not exactly a sexy job, but he had boyish charm--and apparently wandering hands. The photo had been taken when they were sitting together, and from the torso up it looked fine, but the camera caught activities happening below the small table they sat at.
Rayne had only become aware of this when the pixelated version flicked onto her TV screen as she was cooking dinner at home. Within moments, her phone had scuttled off the kitchen bench in the dance of the many silent vibrations. Her social media page had gone bonkers, too, with strangers and journalists trying to contact her. Jason never did come home-- turned out he wasn’t at a statistics and budgetary meeting that day after all .
Rayne was gently guided from the building by Rod and was told to
I couldn’t be sure that I could hold up my end of the relationship with Mary; I didn’t know what the future held. We had told the police what we suspected about her former boss, and even though she had told me that she couldn’t possibly be my full-time counselor, the label had insisted on paying her to be my “life coach” while the band worked on a new album. I hadn’t said it to her directly, but even though we’d only been together for a few weeks, I knew—knew deep down in the pit of my heart and in the depths of my soul—that I loved her.
After rehearsal, I thought I would make good on the things I’d prayed, the things I’d thought on the night that we’d both been under threat of death; I would buy her flowers, and I would get her the biggest box of chocolate I could find, and I would tell her over and over again how much I loved her. It was the least I could do for the woman who had brought me kicking and screaming into real, true recovery.
“Yo, North! Where’s your head at? We’re ready to go.” I shook off my thoughts and stood, bringing Nick’s guitar with me as I crossed the room.
“Before we get started, I want to show you guys a new bit I’m working on.” I grinned to myself; I wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but I knew they’d know anyway.
The song was about Mary.
********
If you enjoyed reading this story, I’d be so appreciative if you could please leave a review. Even just a sentence or two would be a great help!
Thanks so much for your support!
xo – Jade
~BONUS STORY~
Seduction On Eden Island
There was blood everywhere. It coated the walls, the floor--there were even spurts on the ceiling. Rayne held a double-ended canoe paddle in both hands and braced herself; this was not in the brochure.
Earlier…
Rayne had woken groggily on the private jet; she had slung back far too many gins and her head ached. Twenty four hours ago, she had sat at her cubicle mopping smudged mascara, trying to explain to a group of disgruntled accountants why all the fridge contents had to be cleaned out the previous day.
“There were intelligent life forms growing in that petri dish of yours. We had no other choice but to abide by OSHA regulations before new forms of sentient life became a real problem for us. You handle multi-million dollar accounts and can find a tax loop-hole in the eye of a needle; why can’t you keep an eye on the expiration dates of your food?”
After another thirty minutes of discussing the implied freedoms of the communal fridge, Rayne lost her nerve and threw a fistful of snotty tissues at the group. “Could you please just get the fuck out of my cubicle and get back to work? If a gross fridge was my biggest problem today, I would be your all-singing-all-dancing kind of HR manager, but I’m not. Get out!”
After threats of common assault were bantered about, Rayne’s director, Rod, stepped in and sent the grim accountants back to their floor. In a gush of bubbly snot and stinging black tears, Rayne revealed it all: her boyfriend of five years, Jason, had been photographed with another woman, an infamous socialite with a penchant for little dogs. Jason was a statistician; not exactly a sexy job, but he had boyish charm--and apparently wandering hands. The photo had been taken when they were sitting together, and from the torso up it looked fine, but the camera caught activities happening below the small table they sat at.
Rayne had only become aware of this when the pixelated version flicked onto her TV screen as she was cooking dinner at home. Within moments, her phone had scuttled off the kitchen bench in the dance of the many silent vibrations. Her social media page had gone bonkers, too, with strangers and journalists trying to contact her. Jason never did come home-- turned out he wasn’t at a statistics and budgetary meeting that day after all .
Rayne was gently guided from the building by Rod and was told to
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