Rockstar’s Accidental Marriage (Wild Band Rockstars #2)

3. Three

Three

ONE YEAR LATER:

Emily

Walking into the small conference room, I nod in approval. My brother Cass just purchased a permanent home on the ocean in Jacksonville, Florida—the band’s new headquarters. His house is more like a mansion, very private, and has high security, which every lead-singer rockstar needs to keep away the obnoxious media and star-struck fans.

I smooth down my carefully chosen black pencil skirt as I approach the conference room. This morning, I’d spent an extra hour getting ready, telling myself it was just because it’s my first day as manager. But if I’m honest, the red Louboutins I’m wearing—the ones that make my legs look amazing and add four inches to my height—are specifically because I know Sam will be here.

Cass is already at the head of the table, flipping through his notes, looking every bit the serious businessman he’s become since he fired his last manager. Well, there’s also the fact that he’s back with Kendrick, his first and only love, and their 12-year-old daughter, Cassidy.

My brother is finally interested in the business side of things, at least for now. Once I prove I can handle things, he’ll probably go back to being totally immersed in his music.

“Emily,” he says, looking up and giving me his signature big-brother grin, the one that makes him impossible to stay mad at. His eyes catch my outfit—the crisp white silk blouse, the designer suit, the killer heels—and he raises an eyebrow. “Dressed to kill for your first day?”

“Just looking professional,” I reply, willing my cheeks not to flush. The shoes click satisfyingly against the hardwood floor as I walk to my seat, and I feel powerful and put together. Ready.

This meeting is important, not just because it’s the Wild Band’s first official one with me as their manager, but because I need to set the tone. I’ve worked my ass off to get here—not just as Cass Wild’s little sister, but as a professional who knows what she’s doing.

Glancing around the table, I notice the others are already here: Nate, who plays the drums, Luke, the keyboard, and Vince, the lead guitarist. The only one missing is—well, of course, he’d be late.

Sighing, I slide my clipboard onto the table, revealing my checklist and agenda. My perfectly manicured nails tap against the paper as I arrange my items. Cass grins again, this time a little smugly. “God, you’re organized. You’re going to scare the hell out of Sam.”

I straighten my spine, feeling the confidence boost from my power outfit. Good. Let him be scared. Let him see that the woman he married in Vegas isn’t just some girl he can charm with his smirks and nicknames. I’m about to be his manager, and these heels aren’t just for show—they’re war paint.

Yet the very mention of his name makes my spine stiffen and my heart race. Sam Ryder. My accidental husband. An infuriating problem that has haunted me for the past year—a constant reminder of a mistake I’ve desperately tried to forget.

Speak of the devil.

The door swings open, and Sam saunters in, late as usual. My breath catches traitorously in my throat. He’s wearing a black V-neck that shows just enough of his tattoos to be distracting and dark jeans that fit him like a sin. His reddish-brown hair is artfully tousled, and there’s a day’s worth of stubble darkening his jaw—the same stubble that had left my skin burning that night in Vegas. A memory I’ve desperately tried to forget.

“Sorry, traffic,” he states lazily, though we all know he’s lying. His voice carries that slight morning rasp that sends an unwanted shiver down my spine.

Cass chuckles, not fazed. “You practically live in the tour bus, Sam. What traffic?”

Sam just shrugs and flops into the seat directly across from me. Of course, he does. His cologne—a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him—drifts across the table, stirring memories that belong locked away in a Vegas hotel room.

“Cupcake,” he says, his voice low and taunting. His eyes rake over me slowly, taking in my carefully chosen outfit, lingering on my legs where they cross beneath the table. The heat in his gaze makes my skin tingle.

I grip my pen tighter, willing my body not to react. “Could you please stop referring to me as that?”

“Why?” He asks innocently, but there’s nothing innocent about the way he looks at me. “It suits you.”

“Sam,” Cass warns lightly, though he’s grinning too. Great, now my brother’s on his side.

Sam grins at me before turning to Cass. “You gonna start this meeting, Cass, or are we just here so Emily can boss us around?”

I don’t dignify him with a response; instead, I focus on the agenda in front of me. I clear my throat. “All right, let’s get started.”

Cass straightens in his chair, signaling to the others to pay attention. Sam, of course, slouches further, his long legs stretched out under the table, his ankle almost brushing mine.

“The purpose of this meeting,” I say, keeping my tone professional, “is to set expectations for the upcoming tour and ensure we’re all on the same page. I’ve reviewed the numbers from the last tour, and while the revenue was impressive, there’s room for improvement—especially in terms of branding.”

“Branding,” Sam drawls, like it’s a dirty word. “Sounds fun.”

Forcing a smile, I ignore him or try to.

Cass nods along, and I launch into my speech, outlining everything from potential sponsorships to social media strategies. My brother listens intently, Vince frowns like always, and Nate and Luke nod intermittently.

Sam, meanwhile, doesn’t even pretend to care. He just watches me, his expression half-amused, half... something else. It’s distracting, and I hate that he knows it.

“Any questions so far?” I ask, finally looking around the table.

Sam raises his hand like we’re in grade school. “Yeah, just one. Does this mean you’re officially Boss Lady now?”

The room falls silent, and I swear Cass chokes on his coffee.

“Boss Lady?” Luke echoes, smirking

Sam leans back in his chair, his grin growing. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? She’s got the clipboard, the attitude, the whole package.”

Heat floods my face, but I force myself to stay calm. “Call me Boss Lady if you want, Sam. Just make sure you’re paying attention.”

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” he retorts, his tone low and loaded with innuendo. My heart flutters in response, but I ignore it.

Cass clears his throat, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “All right, settle down. Let’s keep this professional.”

I shoot him a glare, but he just shrugs. Traitor.

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly—or as smoothly as possible—with Sam’s constant interruptions. Whenever I make a point, he has a sarcastic comment ready, delivered with an infuriating smirk. By the end, I’m ready to strangle him, but I keep my cool. Barely.

When the meeting wraps up, the others file out, leaving just Sam and me in the room. I gather my notes, trying to pretend he’s not there, but of course, he doesn’t leave.

“Emily,” he says grudgingly, leaning against the table, “you almost sounded like you knew what you were doing.”

I glance up at him with a frown. “Was that... almost a compliment?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” he adds, ignoring my sarcasm. “I can be civil when I feel like it.”

“Thanks,” I say stiffly, shoving my papers into my folder, ignoring how my hands tremble.

“Don’t mention it, Boss Lady,” he says, relishing my new nickname.

I snap my folder shut, fixing him with a glare. “Why must you always joke, Sam?”

“I take some things seriously.” He shrugs. “Just not meetings.”

“Good to know,” I mutter, brushing past him and walking out, determined not to let him get under my skin.

The rest of the day is a blur of logistics and planning. Between phone calls, emails, and a million tiny crises, I barely have time to think about Sam, which is exactly how I like it.

When I break for lunch, Cassidy, my niece, and her mom, Kendrick, a tall, stately blonde with gray eyes, glance up with welcoming smiles.

“Aunt Emily, you’re eating with us today. Right?” Cassidy asks as she jumps up and gives me a warm hug. She looks like a mini-me of her mother.

“Sure am,” I tell her, lightly returning her embrace.

Feeling Kendrick’s knowing eyes on me, I avoid her gaze. “Emily, how did it go in there? Your first official band meeting.”

“Fine,” I shrug, but Kendrick’s not buying it.

“And Sam? Was he okay with your new position?” she asks bluntly.

Exhaling a sigh, I grimace. “Besides his sarcastic comments, he’s now got everyone calling me Boss Lady.”

“Boss Lady, huh?” Kendrick tries unsuccessfully to hide her amusement. “At least that’s better than cupcake? Right?”

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “I suppose.”

“Well, don’t let him get you down,” she says in a sympathetic voice. “I made tacos for lunch, and there is plenty to go around.”

Walking into the kitchen, the spicy aroma of Mexican food smells delicious. I automatically join in, helping get everything on the table.

Kendrick looks at her daughter and says, “Cassidy, can you let your dad know that lunch is ready?”

“Sure–”

Cass’s arrival interrupts Cassidy’s words. My heart falls as I notice Sam is with him.

“Emily,” Sam says with a casual shrug, though his eyes glitter with amusement.

“Sam,” I reply equally coolly, my lips thinning in displeasure. “I didn’t know you were joining us.”

He just grins as everyone sits down around the table.

Cass slides into his seat, giving me a quick once-over like he’s reading my mind. He probably is. Sam, on the other hand, drops into the chair directly across from me—again—making himself comfortable. His casual demeanor and smug grin are a toxic cocktail designed to test my patience. And my resistance. Under the table, his leg brushes against mine, and I jerk away, remembering all too well how those legs felt tangled with mine.

“You made tacos,” Sam says, helping himself to a tortilla. “I love this place already.”

“You’re not living here, Sam,” I point out, my tone clipped. Though the thought of him being around constantly makes my pulse race—and not entirely from irritation.

He looks up, his grin widening. “You sure about that, Boss Lady? I’ve got a bunk in the bus parked right outside.”

Cassidy giggles, clearly enjoying the banter, while Kendrick’s expression is a mix of equal parts sympathy and a knowing look, clearly picking up on the tension between us. If she only knew the real reason.

Cass shakes his head, but he’s grinning too. “Can we just eat, guys? I’m starving.”

Kendrick looks pointedly at Sam. “Yes, please. Let’s focus on the food.”

Sam innocently grins as he agrees, “Yeah, we should eat before Emily starts waving that clipboard like a weapon.”

“I’m not the one who needs a weapon,” I mutter under my breath, shooting him a glare.

Sam winks at me. Of course, he hears that.

During dinner, I try to ignore Sam as much as humanly possible. But it’s hard when he’s right there, leaning back in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. While everyone else discusses tour prep and setlists, I’m hyper-aware of his every movement—the way his fingers drum against his glass, how his throat moves when he swallows, the familiar way he runs his hand through his hair when he’s thinking.

It’s not that Sam’s unlikable. Quite the opposite. He’s charming as hell when he wants to be, with that lopsided grin and effortless confidence that makes people gravitate toward him. The problem is, I know exactly how charming he can be. One tequila-soaked night in Vegas proved that all too well.

“So, Emily,” Sam says as dinner winds down. “What’s on the agenda tomorrow? More branding?”

I narrow my eyes at him, debating whether it’s worth a retort. But before I can answer, Cass jumps in.

“Actually, Sam, Emily’s been working on a sponsorship deal that could bring in some serious cash for the tour. You might want to listen to her for once.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m all ears. Let’s hear it, Em.”

The way he says my name—soft, teasing, almost intimate—sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I ignore it, focusing instead on Kendrick, who’s watching us with far too much interest.

“It’s a preliminary deal with a major energy drink,” I say, keeping my tone professional. “They’re offering a substantial partnership, but they’ll need the band to be more active on social media to promote it.”

Sam groans, leaning back again. “Social media? That’s why you harped on that in the meeting.”

“Welcome to the 21st century,” I shoot back with a grin, unable to resist. “Try not to hurt yourself posting on Instagram.”

Cassidy bursts out laughing, and even Kendrick chuckles. Sam, however, just grins like he’s enjoying every second of our verbal sparring.

“Fine,” he replies, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You win. I’ll be the best damn influencer you’ve ever seen. But only if you promise to post a few selfies, too.”

“Not a chance, I’m not a celebrity,” I reply, standing to clear the table.

Sam follows suit, carrying his plate into the kitchen. I try to ignore him, but the close proximity makes it impossible. He’s suddenly right next to me, too close for comfort, his arm brushing mine as he sets his dish in the sink.

“Emily,” he says quietly, his tone losing its usual edge.

I glance at him, caught off guard by the seriousness in his voice.

“Getting that endorsement is a big deal,” he says, his tone kinder than I’m used to. “For the band, I mean.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice is unexpected, and it throws me. This version of Sam—the one who looks at me like he actually sees me—is dangerous. Far more dangerous than his usual teasing self.

“Thanks,” I manage, my voice huskier than intended. We’re standing too close, the air between us charged with a year’s worth of unspoken words and secret glances.

He nods, his expression unreadable, and for a second, the tension between us shifts. It’s still there, but it feels different—less antagonistic, more like that electric moment before a storm breaks.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This is exactly what I can’t afford—these moments where I forget why keeping my distance is so important.

“Is there a point to this,” I ask, forcing irritation into my voice, “or are you just here to annoy me?”

His lips curve into that familiar smirk, but his eyes stay serious. “Can’t it be both?”

“Goodnight, Sam,” I say firmly, needing to escape before I do something stupid—like remember how those lips feel against mine.

“Sweet dreams, Boss Lady,” he replies softly, and I hurry away, my heels clicking against the floor, trying to ignore how my heart races, remembering just how sweet those dreams can be.