Till There Was You: Rock Star Enemies To Lovers Romance Read online

  TILL THERE WAS YOU

  ELIZABETH GREY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Elizabeth Grey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected].

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Amy

  The roar of the crowd rang in Amy Sinclair's ears and her heart raced despite her cool exterior. There was nothing like working at a rock concert. It was this feeling that had drawn her in when she found herself at the lowest point in her life.

  The fans jumped in time with the drumbeat. It was like watching a wave build, the sound getting louder and louder until the crash of the guitar slashed through the tension. The fans jumped higher, screaming louder as the music crashed over them. The rock fans in Southern California sure knew how to throw a kickass show. Even in a little town way out in the sticks, rock was in their blood.

  It amazed Amy how, in every city they traveled to, they were always able to find the rock and rollers searching for their own kind. This was the one place where any expectations from the outside world fell away. They could scream, jump, ditch the fitted pencil skirts and suits for ripped jeans and leather jackets. She loved that, for at least one night, they could all find each other and just be.

  The flash of the spotlight landed on Ronan Cash. He was the reason so many bodies had packed into the concert hall.

  His hair came down in front of his eyes as he dropped his gaze to his guitar. Dark and lustrous, his hair grazed just past his ears: long enough to maintain his rocker image, short enough to make him blend in with every other musician in LA. His fingers moved across the neck of the guitar, eliciting even louder screams from the audience. When he came up to the microphone, he stared out into the crowd, beaming.

  “Are you guys ready to Burn with me?” he asked. He looked back to the band, who nodded their assent. Their crowd started to vibrate with energy. “Are you guys ready for Burn?” He asked even louder. The crowd loved him for it.

  “How’s it looking at the East entrance?” Amy spoke into the mouth-piece of the two way radio that dangled from her earpiece.

  “We’re all good, here, boss.” The voice from the other end hissed.

  When she accepted the job as his head of security, she had thought it would be her big break. It would give her breathing room from a life she wasn’t sure she wanted. She would finally be on the road. Running her own team. It sounded like the dream. She would get to stay in this world that made her feel like she belonged. She would get to pay her bills watching rock stars sign autographs and lay down new tracks.

  If only the rock star in question wasn't such a pain in the ass. He always had an irritating smirk and an arched eyebrow. If Amy told him to go left, he would go right just to spite her.

  But she insisted on being a professional. Even if Ronan pushed her to her limit.

  She kept reminding herself that this life, as frustrating as it was at times, still made her happier than the future she’d sacrificed ever could have. If things hadn’t gone so wrong between them, she could have been living in a stuffy suburb with Brian lugging around a baby on her hip. And that wasn’t what she wanted.

  "What do you mean he disappeared?" Amy looked up from her phone, already neck-deep in scheduling more security for their next few shows.

  They were this close to getting out of the venue early. If they wrapped early, they could get a headstart on the overnight drive to the next city. Or Amy could finally turn her brain off from a day of logistics and forget her snarky client with a glass of wine.

  But without Ronan on the bus, none of that was possible. They wouldn't be able to leave Ronan in some off-the-map town in SoCal. Even if she was tempted to, the entire tour was based around him.

  "We can't find him," one of the roadies echoed.

  Amy whipped her head around, eyes wide for the roadie's benefit. While the venue was huge, rolling green hills surrounded it. Dirt roads were the only way in and out of the place. Where was there to go?

  "Did you ask security?"

  "They're still here." Sarah sighed.

  Goddamit, she thought. He slipped his security and somehow managed to get out of the venue.

  "You try calling him?" She perched on the edge of an amp, her mind racing.

  "Yep. Straight to voicemail."

  She groaned. He must have skipped out after she told him she wanted to give him a detail. It was like he was trying to give her a coronary. LA's music scene was small; she couldn't have word getting around that she couldn't keep talent safe.

  Whoever said rock stars were assholes was right. She heaved herself off the amp and started stomping towards the perimeter. Ever since Amy had joined his team, he had been doing this: disappearing without a word. After a few hours, he would come back sober and somber. She shoved her hands in her pockets. If he were going off drinking or smoking pot, Amy could at least understand; she had been in the business long enough to expect that. She had seen enough rock stars stumble backstage, reeking of one substance or another.

  The echoing sound of her Doc Martens gave her some satisfaction. But then she pictured his smug face. Ronan’s issues didn’t manifest in the form of drugs and alcohol. The last time he pulled his little disappearing act, he had brushed past her without so much as a sorry and continued with tech setup like he had been there the whole time. Yet put the man in front of ten thousand screaming fans, and all of a sudden, he could turn on the charm. He would flash a sexy smile and toss his hair. Within a few lyrics, the entire audience would be under his spell.

  Please, be out here. She stepped outside of the sodium lights into the parking lot. Of course, that would have been too easy.

  Only a few cars remained; teenagers likely soaking up the last minutes of freedom before they were due home. Rock star Ronan would be nice to them. As soon as he would come backstage, his gruff demeanor returned. He would stomp off back to the tour bus and shut the door.

  She took a deep breath. Amy understood the tendency – LA had a way of beating naiveté and optimism out of anyone – but she never did that with her crew. They were the only people she had while on the road. Something about his disappearance today made Amy's mood sour, and her pulse rise. She was going to find him and give him a piece of her mind. Ronan Cash had a lot of nerve. He wasn't even that big of a rock star! Okay, fine, so Rolling Stone considered him a rock star wunderkind– but what did that matter if he was a dick?

  Calming herself, she walked back to the tour bus.

  "Who's got the keys for the van?" She made up her mind to track him down and put a collar on him if she had to.

  The lighting tech threw her a set of keys. All that was left to pack was the drum kit and a few lights – nothing that the roadies hadn't done before. She knew they could handle it while she tracked down Ronan.

>   To think, they might have gotten to their next city early. Being on the tour bus nonstop made time and place go fuzzy. Who could tell if they were in California or Colorado anymore? Amy headed towards the extra van that traveled with them. Usually, one of the roadies would take a shift driving it. But for now, it was the only way for her to find Ronan Cash.

  When she got behind the wheel, she realized she had no idea where to start looking for him. Where would a rock star go after a show with 10,000 fans screaming his name? She checked Ronan's social media feeds. No photos, no hints of where he would've gone. She tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. Amy drummed her fingers on the wheel.

  Suddenly, a plan came to her.

  She turned the key, and the engine came to life. It was nearly 11:30 PM. There would only be a few places open at this time of night. Might as well start at the dive bars. Thank God they were in such a small town.

  With the crowd gone and the parking lot cleared, the van bounced along the dirt road. Night encroached on the headlights. She forgot how much darker being out in the country was. In LA, it was almost impossible to look up and see the stars.

  Once she hit the main road, she could see mountains towering in the distance; even in the dark they loomed over everything. Amy was used to neon lights and honking horns along Hollywood Boulevard, the sounds of loud music pouring out onto the sidewalk. Out here, it was blisteringly quiet. Without the light pollution, the sky looked more like crushed velvet with stars peeking through.

  Amy loved living in Los Angeles – when she was home long enough to appreciate it, anyway – but she missed nights that stretched in all directions.

  The first bar was a bust. It was just the bartender and a few regulars perched on stools with the California state flag pinned behind them. So was the second, which teemed with college kids wearing leggings and Uggs, even though the thermostat in the van read 66 degrees.

  Amy’s hands tightened on the wheel as she approached the next one on her list. She was down to two bars. He had to be in one of them. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if he wasn’t.

  Reason #324 why she was going to wring Ronan’s neck when she found him.

  Gravel crunched and popped under the wheels as she turned into the parking lot. This place belonged in West Hollywood. One wall was entirely covered with vibrant, swirling graffiti, clearly commissioned for the space. A few trendy cars were lined up next to her dinged, plain white van.

  People nursed their cigarettes as they lingered by the doors, clothed in leather jackets and ripped jeans. Her gut told her that Ronan would pick this place. And part of her also felt right at home.

  Amy had cut her teeth in the LA music scene in bars just like this one. When she and Brian had first moved to the city – wide-eyed and hopeful, LA’s favorite type of victim – she had been drawn to the messy, loud, energetic shows, with too many people crammed together and music blasting from the stage. She wanted to be in the crowd, not in front of them.

  She had sweet-talked her way into working a merch table for some pop-punk band. When the manager asked her to help out managing the fans one night, she agreed. Surrounded by rock music and the people it attracted, Amy had felt invigorated. It also helped distract her from her dying relationship.

  The music piping out from the bar grabbed her attention. The smokers by the door didn’t give her a second glance. The bouncer was wearing a rolled-up white t-shirt with the name of the bar scrawled across it. Everyone seemed so relaxed. Did they not realize that they had a rock star playing inside? It was the same unmistakable twang of a guitar that she heard just a few hours ago. She glanced in either direction to make sure she wasn’t making it up. But no, the riff was from one of Ronan’s favorites.

  Her eyes drifted toward the stage and found Ronan–perched on a barstool, immersed in the song. A long wood top stretched along the mirrored back wall. Small tea lights gave the area pops of hot pink and cool blue. A pool table lined with crushed red felt lounged in the corner next to a jaunty ceramic leopard. For such a small place, it was packed.

  A few people were lined up against the wall, watching Ronan play. Amy slid in next to one of them.

  His stage earlier that evening was a multi-million dollar rig complete with smoke and strobe light effects. Inside this small bar, all he had was a stool and a mic along with his guitar. He kept his head down as he played the opening to his latest song. Without the backing guitars and vocals, it sounded different; less gritty. Intimate.

  A few of the women in the front row tossed their hair at Ronan. Okay, so they did know who he was. Or maybe they just thought he was an attractive musician? Amy shook her head. All they had to do was spend a few weeks within him on a tour bus to rid themselves of that notion.

  She continued scanning the crowd. A few people played pool, chatting quietly. Another table huddled together and watched in amazement. Everywhere she looked, it was what she didn’t see that had her security hackles raised. No one had their phones out and pointed towards Ronan. What bar filled with millennials didn’t see them scrolling through their phones?

  She tiptoed towards the bartender.

  “What can I get you?” He moved assuredly behind the bar.

  “Just water, please.” She gave a nod.

  The tea lights bouncing off the mirrored wall picked up the flecks of grey in his hair and in his beard.

  “This your place?” Amy smiled.

  “Yes, ma’am. Fifteen years and counting.”

  “No one has their phones out.” She made a motion towards the crowd watching Ronan, her tone almost questioning.

  Amy felt like she couldn’t go a block in Culver City without seeing someone with their head down on their phone.

  “Because if they did, I would personally kick them out.” He gave her a secret smile. “Everyone around here knows the rule. We like to let him feel like a normal person every once in a while.”

  “You know him?” She raised her eyebrows

  “He’s an old friend.” The bartender organized his tools. Huh. Big star Ronan Cash had roots in a small California town. For a flicker of a moment, Amy felt a sense of kinship with Ronan.

  “Does he play here a lot?” She turned back towards the makeshift stage as he gave one of the women a flirtatious smile.

  Amy huffed. Never mind. There was no way she would have any kinship with Ronan.

  “Not for the past few years.” The bartender shrugged. “But I always tell him to come back. Keeps his ego in check.”

  Amy made a mental note to add this small town back to the tour list. Ronan should come here as much as humanly possible. He had plenty of ego to spare.

  Singing here, in this small bar, he looked a little less smug. Sure, Amy conceded, she could understand how someone who didn’t know him would find his sharp cheekbones appealing or his dark brown eyes mysterious. He crooned into the mic and played a bridge from one of his latest songs. When he shot his smile – the one that Amy had seen blown on up a jumbotron – at the women in the front row again, she rolled her eyes. God, he was so infuriating.

  No one here would likely believe that he could be such a raging pain in the ass. She had seen his eyes glaze with boredom and condescension. And his cheekbones didn’t make him look sexy; they made him look irritating.

  She returned to her place against the wall, took a deep breath and sent a quick text to the crew to let them know she had found Ronan. The strumming of his guitar filled the space as he started on a new song; his voice soon followed. This wasn’t one of the songs in his usual set. Amy had it nearly memorized. This was probably the most aggravating thing about Ronan: he was an incredibly talented musician.

  He plucked the strings and played… a country song. Amy recognized the chords from whatever station the roadies always had playing in the background during setup. Ronan’s voice was smooth and clear. His voice seemed to lull the group into a trance. Without the flash or background noise, he drew them all in. He looked like a real per
son, not a rock star.

  When he played the final note, the room erupted in applause.

  “Thank you,” he said into the mic, as he grabbed his guitar by the neck and dropped off stage.

  Just like that, the spell was broken. The groups pulled out their phones and started scrolling through Instagram or texting. The clink of beer glasses and plates bounced around the small space. The place soon started filling with noise. The crack of a cue ball hitting a rack of pool balls was the only sound that could cut through.

  As Ronan moved through the crowd, he received a few pats on the back or quick handshakes. She considered pulling him out of the bar by the scruff of his jacket. But no–she would wait until he was away from fans before she tore into him.

  Amy crossed her arms and waited for him to catch her gaze. She glanced at her watch. She had already burned an hour on this whole adventure. She was itching to get back.

  When he was just a few feet away, he looked up snagging his gaze on her. Amy swore he looked shocked. And something else. But within a second, it was gone. When she blinked, all she saw was his cool swagger and jeering smirk.

  “I didn’t invite you to this, Sinclair.” Ronan had at least six inches on her, and he seemed to lord it over her by standing as close as he was.

  His hair hung to his chin, every bit the bad-boy rocker -- especially with a dimple peeking out from his smirk.

  “No kidding.” She arched an eyebrow. “Do you know how long it took me to find you?”

  At this, he faltered.

  “How…”

  “Don’t question my ability to do my job.” She shook her head. “That’s getting you back to the bus before it leaves for the night.”

  She turned on her heel without throwing a comment over her shoulder. If he was smart, he would know to follow her. Her boots thudded against the wooden floor. After a moment, a second set fell in step with her. “Tell me that wasn’t the best show I’ve put on in a long time.” His voice cut through some of the background noise – and then was he walking next to her.