Chapter 3
Chapter Three
OLLIE
Somehow, I’d made it to Grosvenor Place, where the Identity offices were located, with a scant three minutes to spare.
Everything that had happened in my flat had been put in a little box. I’d buried the box in that place deep in my psyche where trauma eventually becomes dark humour.
Couldn’t see me ever laughing about it, to be honest. Right now, I’d take just being able to erase the image of them fucking. Was brain bleach actually a thing? Because if it was, I needed to Prime a bucketful of the stuff.
I drove down the street, searching for parking. Great. Not a single fucking space. Even worse, some moron had abandoned his car in the middle of the street outside the building, blocking the road. It was a fancy piece of shit too.
“Entitled rich motherfuckers not thinking of us little people…” I slammed on my indicator, waiting for a gap in the oncoming traffic to go around them.
By the time I’d found a space on a nearby street, I was more than ten minutes late.
Sweat poured down my back as I pounded the pavement.
My tie felt like it was choking me. I wasn’t used to wearing them.
My current office was all about casual attire, but I hadn’t risked not donning one for this interview.
It was too important to let something as simple as my wardrobe fuck it up.
Not that it mattered now I was late. Talk about the worst way to make a first impression.
I didn’t notice the crowd until I was a few feet away. Coming to an abrupt halt, I gawked at the horde of screeching people surrounding the door to the Identity offices. They were holding signs, waving flags, bouncing with excitement.
How had I missed them earlier? Probably because I’d been so focused on the car in my way.
I glared at it for a second, like I could hold the owner personally responsible for the various ways my life had been fucked up today.
It was still obstructing traffic, causing beeping horns coupled with much swearing.
An uptick in the shouting dragged my attention back to the melee.
“Luca! Luca, over here! Luca, please sign this!”
There was a gap in the crowd, and I glimpsed the man causing all the fuss. Luca Weston, lead singer of Caffeine Daydreams. Playboy, entertainer, idol. He’d built an entire career on his sultry voice and enigmatic stage presence.
Personally, I wasn’t a fan of Luca and his band, Caffeine Daydreams, but Suzie was obsessed with them.
Even if she hadn’t been, you’d have to have lived under a rock to have missed the spectacular rise of Caffeine Daydreams. They’d started out busking on the streets of Southampton before a video of them performing went viral on YouTube.
They’d swapped the town centre for sold-out stadiums.
And Luca? He was the face of the band. The one who appeared on billboards and magazine covers.
His high cheekbones and full pouty lips made people of all genders sigh.
He’d recently cropped his shoulder-length chestnut curls, much to the dismay of his fans.
It made him look older. Moodier. There was no sign of the tattoos I knew covered his chest and arms, but I could almost picture them as I studied him from afar.
The thought drew me up short. Since when had I paid enough attention to a guy’s body that I could picture it without trying?
I shook my head, forcing away the errant thought and focusing instead on Luca’s ripped clothing. The band had been moving towards a more emotive sound in the last couple of years, so management had probably decided this image fit better than the curly-haired golden child he had been.
He was far from a child these days. Even at this distance, I could see that every inch of his lean six-foot frame was solid man. He had to be at least seven years older than me.
One of the most famous men in the world was smiling at his fans as he posed for selfie after selfie while a massive guard loomed over everyone.
And all I cared about was that he was in my way. Stupid fucking rock star adding yet more drama to my day.
The car had to be his. Made sense. Luca Weston struck me as exactly the type of guy who wouldn’t consider what problems he might cause other people.
Stars like him didn’t need to worry about little things like job interviews or being on time.
He probably didn’t care about getting a parking fine.
He probably had people who dealt with all his trivial life matters.
Let’s be real. Luca Weston was so famous that his people probably had people.
To me, though, he was just another piece of kindling on the burning fire of my life.
I slipped inside the building next door, making a beeline for the Identity building.
Few people knew the two were connected. I’d had a temp job here once, so I knew there was a door that allowed you to pass between them.
Terrible in terms of security, but they were owned by the same management company that was well-known in the city for being tight with cash.
God forbid they should put something as simple as a coded lock or another guard there.
Regardless, it worked well for me. The quiet lobby was a blessed relief after the mayhem happening outside.
That relief quickly dwindled when I stepped through the doorway into the Identity lobby.
Annoyingly, Luca seemed to have finished his little tete-a-tete with his fans and was now entering through the front doors, his security detail barking something at the guard.
Through the glass windows, I could see the crowd surging forwards. Apparently, they weren’t content with the time Luca had given them.
Shit. I needed to get out of here before they overtook the place. If I moved fast, I might make it to the lifts before they took over and barred my way.
Again.
I did exactly that, but fate was clearly determined to keep me from getting this job. I barely made it ten feet across the space before I was swallowed up by a mob of pheromones.
Cursing, I turned sideways and nudged my way through the crowd. Years of working as a bartender in a nightclub at uni had served me well, helping me weave through. It was slow going, but the lifts were in sight.
Just then, hot liquid splattered over my front.
“Shit,” I hissed, pulling the wet material away from my skin. The burning sensation faded quickly.
The massive coffee stain blooming over my previously pristine white shirt was another matter.
My head snapped sideways, searching for the culprit. My gaze fell on the takeaway cup in Luca Weston’s hand, and I had to bite back the urge to growl.
The motherfucker didn’t even notice. His attention was on his bodyguard whispering in his ear.
Thirty seconds more, and you’ll be in the lift. I turned away, more determined than ever to escape this hellhole. My chances of landing this job had undoubtedly been washed down the drain, but I wasn’t a quitter. I’d keep going until the door was literally closed in my face.
By some miracle, I made it the rest of the way to the lift without further incident. Slipping inside and punching the number twelve on the panel, I tapped my fingers impatiently and willed the doors to close faster.
Come on, come on.
I sighed in relief when they started to glide shut, the sound of the chaos outside being cut off.
But before they met in the middle, a hand shot between them. They opened, revealing Luca Weston like I’d never seen him before.
He was several shades paler than a few moments ago. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin, and…was he trembling?
He didn’t even notice me, collapsing against the lift wall and burying his face in his hands. His feet slid on the floor as though he struggled to hold himself upright.
What was wrong with him? I shifted. It went against every bit of my British DNA to acknowledge a stranger in the lift, but it didn’t feel right to leave him in the dark. He clearly thought he was alone.
Unsure of what to do, I cleared my throat.
Great work, Ollie.
The effect on Luca was instantaneous. It was like someone flicked a switch.
His hands dropped away from his face as he straightened.
The smile on his face was a mere whisper of the one he used to charm his fans.
It was easy to see the effort it was costing him, his eyes barely concealing his exhaustion.
“Sorry, I’m not in the mood for taking photos right now. If you DM me on Insta, someone can be in touch with a signed copy at a later date.”
My eyebrows went so high they were possibly flirting with my hairline. “Do you just assume everyone who breathes near you is a fan?”
Luca gave a barely perceptible wince before flashing me a self-deprecating grin I didn’t buy for a second. “Sorry. Pretty safe assumption when you’re me.”
I glared at the digital display showing which floor we were on, willing it to go faster. “Well, you can relax. The day I go weak in the knees for a celebrity is the day hell freezes over.”
“Noted.” Luca chuckled, and it was the first genuine emotion since he’d noticed me.
I couldn’t help but glance sideways at him as the lift ascended.
I’d always figured the stunning green eyes shining in his publicity photos were enhanced using Photoshop.
Seeing him now, that obviously wasn’t the case.
If anything, they might dull them in pictures. I’d never seen a colour like it.
That’s a weird thing to notice about a guy.
Brushing it aside, I focused instead on his demeanour. He seemed calmer than when he’d first burst into the lift. His colour was returning to normal and his breathing was less laboured.
He still didn’t seem…right though. He fidgeted with his bracelet, rocking up on his toes like he was fighting the urge to run.
Which was a bit hard to do in a confined space.