“Angel, you have no idea how many women I’ve made happy over the years.” The smug grin deepened. “I might even be willing to give you a turn if you want to come over here and sit on my lap.”
I ground my teeth together, trying to remember I had an audience out there listening. Inhaling a deep breath, I released it slowly.
“Yeah. No. That’s a hard pass for me. No telling what kind of STD I might catch.” Well, damn. Terri’s going to kill me. The interview would go down in history as one of the worst I’d ever performed if I didn’t turn it around.
Viktor tilted his head, and something shone in those soft, mesmerizing eyes, but I couldn’t tell which emotion. Anger? Probably. I’d just accused him of being a manslut in front of a dozen or more people. Well, at least we don’t have a lot of listeners—he was right about that. Stupid jerk.
“I’m clean as can be. All of my partners were required to be tested before they could get to the fun.” One corner of his mouth twitched, and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
Put your eyes back in your head, Angela. This guy was something else. How could I turn this around to help K-ROC and hang on to my job?
“That’s great, I’m sure.” I straightened in my chair. Keep it professional. Stop baiting him. “Mr. Farrow, why don’t you tell our listeners what you’re doing in Mesa Palms?”
I raised an eyebrow at him and nodded, twirling my wrist as if I could hurry his response.
He paused, as if trying to decide if this was a trick or a real question. After three seconds, his shoulders relaxed, and a genuine smile replaced the annoying smirk. “Well, I’m recording a new solo album in a nearby studio. And”—his fingers scratched his jawline, creating a slight rasp against the whiskers—“I’ll be starting a comeback tour soon, playing some of the new material.”
The phone buttons were a flash of reds. Every line the studio had—which wasn’t that many, four—were inundated with callers.
“Sounds like an ambitious plan.” I really had nothing else to say that wouldn’t sound bitchy. “Good luck with that. Let’s take another caller and see—”
“I’d rather talk to you.” He steepled his hands and tapped his chin. “Tell me, what’s a hot little spitfire doing out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere wasting her days in such a dump.”
Oh no he didn’t. In one sentence, he’d complimented and insulted me and my career. An urge to jump over the table and throttle him heated my blood.
I glared daggers at his stupid, handsome face. “First off, no swearing on air unless you want to pay the FCC fines. Second, your compliment is rude and demeaning, and third”—I clenched a fist and took a moment to steady my voice—“this little dump has helped your career whether you want to acknowledge it or not. If it weren’t for radio stations—past and present—putting your music out there, you wouldn’t have fans. Yes, in this day and age, listeners can choose to have their music streamed, but K-ROC’s goal is to bridge that gap, to give personal attention and interaction to the artists and fans.”
He ran a hand absently through his hair. and glints of gold sparkled with the movement. What would those strands feel like against my fingertips? Focus, Angela. He’s an addict, a womanizer, and so full of himself his ego could be its own person.
But the words built at the back of my throat, demanding release. I hadn’t been furious in a while, but Viktor Farrow had burrowed under my skin as easily as an annoying sticker. “So, you can sit there in all of your high-and-mighty glory and snarl in contempt, but it’s these little shitty dumps you’re treading over as you climb that ladder to fame and glory.”
Well, crap. How many swear words did that make? We’d never be able to afford the fines. I smacked my fist on the table and bit my lip, giving Farrow the most scornful glare I could muster.
His smile widened and his lips twitched, as if fighting a chuckle.
This interview needs to be done before the station’s shut down.
Chapter 6
Viktor Farrow
Her face flushed a lovely shade of scarlet, and her chest moved rapidly with each intake of breath. Again, I shifted on the seat because my dick perked up at the sight of all that angry passion thrumming through her. She was fucking gorgeous, even if she was a rabid little thing, but still…that hateful attitude she carried dampened my enthusiasm somewhat. Getting her into my bed would be a lot of work—too much work. My women were always easygoing, not stubborn and aggressive.
“Yes, well, I’d never deign to overlook those who helped start my career. As a show of gratitude, I’m inviting K-ROC’s lovely Angela Morales to join me on the first leg of my tour, if she’d be so kind.” Wait, what? My mouth snapped shut in horror. What in the fuckity fuck was I thinking? I glanced down at my lap. That was my dick talking, not my brain.
Disgust flashed across her face. “Uh, yeah, no thanks.” She shook her head and used a thumb to rub her temple, closing her eyelids for a few seconds as if steadying herself. “So, we need to wrap this up, Mr. Farrow. Is there anything you want to add about your new album or tour information?” Her eyes skimmed a monitor as she typed on a keyboard, pointedly ignoring me, or at least that was the impression she tried to give.
I’d never been shut down so openly—or publicly. Wait, I’d never been shut down by the opposite sex at all. What the hell had happened to me over the past few years? Where was that sexy mojo I usually exuded? Damn, this woman wasn’t just a demon. She was the devil incarnate. Didn’t she understand how she should act when in the presence of one of the greatest rock stars in the world? I mean, come on, my band and I single-handedly created the genre of Nu Rock fifteen years ago. I had five fucking platinum records on my wall. This hateful little lady would not snap off my balls and dangle them in front of me.
“What a pity. I had rather hoped you’d want to give K-ROC listeners an inside look at the music world, but I understand if you’re a bit bewildered. It is a rather intimidating scene, and God forbid you might have a little fun.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Farrow—”
“Oh, do call me Viktor, it has a more personal ring to it, does it not?” I crossed a foot over my knee and pulled the mic a little closer to my lips. Irritating this woman felt addicting, and I enjoyed the natural high my body was producing. I really should give that little asswipe Andy a raise for bringing me out here. The place might’ve looked like something from the set of Mad Max, but inside sat a tempting angel who piqued my curiosity and made me feel wild and reckless again—reminding me of the person I was before that horrible day…
I slammed a lid on that thought. I will not think about his death, not right now.
The lightness in my body gained a few pounds, and I straightened, suddenly feeling too enclosed in this small room, too exposed, too raw. Maybe putting myself out there so quickly wasn’t a fabulous idea.
If I cracked, I’d be in danger of losing myself all over again.
Chapter 7
Angela Morales
I wanted to snatch the headphones from his head and physically drag him out of my studio. Either the Xanax was wearing off, or I wasn’t as collected as I’d thought.