European Tour (Rocking the Pop Star Book 1) Read Free Page A

out, and then she died and I bottomed out.
    I concentrate on my beautiful young boss who is riding high in her career, rather than dwell on my sordid past.
    I would have Googled her or some shit, but David sprung this gig on me without any warning. I know her on the same superficial level as most of the world. Without her warpaint on, Sky is so wholesome and laid-back, it’s easy to forget how much she’s accomplished in her short life.
    I know what young fame is like, though. In eight short years, my bandmates and I grew The Savages into a billion-dollar brand. Kim and I almost squandered our shares several times throwing lavish parties, sponsoring mooching friends who never paid for shit, and drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. Shortly after she died, though, I had an epiphany.
    Kim and I had always spoken of somehow ensuring that our families were taken care of—my grandfather, despite his disdain for the music I loved, and Kim’s family, who hadn’t deserved to lose her the way they had. Our brains had become so fucking clouded by drug use, we’d forgotten the early promises we’d made to our families and the things we wanted to do to help others.
    I had to ensure that Kim’s death was not in vain, that a legacy for her was in place to remind those who cared about her that she’d existed in the world.  I had a charity set up in Kim’s honor in Downers Grove, created a monthly stipend of Kim’s share of the royalties for her parents, and had my grandfather put in the best nursing home in LA for Alzheimer’s patients. Then I entered rehab, or I certainly would have died the same way Kim did.
    Royalties are still pouring in because radio stations continue to play our songs. The fans don’t know where the fuck I am, but they keep buying our shit. The band had written enough songs to release a full album every year for the past five years, even after I disappeared from the limelight. My rock career is the gift that just keeps on giving.
    I tune back into my conversation with Sky. “Sorry,” I say. “I guess the ‘girl next door without makeup’ look fools a lot of people, huh?”
    A dreamy smile plays on her lips.  She lowers her head to write a response.
    I love that I can disappear and be myself when I want. Only my closest friends know what I look like when I’m not Skylar the pop star. I’d like to keep it that way as long as I can.
    I can identify with that.
    As Savage Saban, I’d been a dreaded, bearded wild man ravaged by heroin until my muscle mass was almost zero. In five years, staying clean, training with my MMA coach, and eating right had brought about a transformation that Kim would find amusing. I’d cut my hair to shoulder length and shaved off my beard. Most days I wear a five o’clock shadow and my hair, close-shaved at the back and sides, is usually pulled up in an elastic band to keep it out of my face.
    Sky’s soulful eyes lure me like a beacon. I could get lost in them, but seven years is quite possibly too much of an age gap to overcome, especially given her innocence and my baggage. I need to establish clear boundaries, because if she or her mother were to find out about my checkered past, they might not be benevolent enough to ignore it.
    I make a silent vow to keep our relationship strictly professional, and drum my pen atop her pad to make her grin. 
    “Then I’ll do everything in my power to help you stay incognito,” I say. And me too , I think.

    DAY TWO
    Amber and I are going over the instructions for the upkeep of Skylar’s website as Skylar the pop star emerges.
    She enters the room in full regalia. Flawless makeup replaces the girl-next-door, and I, even with my copious experience with women, am somewhat intimidated by her star persona. It’s ridiculous given my own star status for eight years, but most stars don’t believe their own press—unless they’re narcissistic…and a good many of them are.
    “Good morning, Sky,” Amber says.
    I practically swallow my