9. Nine
Nine
Quinn
The last thing I expect to see when I step out of my apartment building is Vince Savage leaning against a sleek black Range Rover. The Ferrari is nowhere in sight, and I have to blink twice to make sure I’m not imagining things.
“Nice ride,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual even as my heart does that annoying flutter thing it does whenever he’s around. “Mid-life crisis over already?”
He laughs, and the sound wraps around me like warm honey. “More like priorities straight for the first time ever.” He opens the back door, revealing Jasmine in what appears to be an expertly installed car seat. She squeals when she sees me, her green eyes—so like her father’s, lighting up.
“We’re headed to pick out stuff for a nursery,” Vince says, running a hand through his dark hair in an almost nervous gesture. “Thought maybe you’d want to come along? I mean, you’ve got great taste, and I’m...” He grins that boyish grin that is hard to resist. “Well, I’m completely clueless about color schemes, themes, and all that stuff.”
I should say no. I really should. This isn’t part of my job description as his social media manager, and spending more time with him outside of work is dangerous territory. Every minute I’m around him makes it harder to remember why I shouldn’t fall for one Vince Savage.
But then he tilts his head, that grin still playing on his lips, and Jasmine babbles excitedly from her car seat, and I’m lost.
“Fine,” I sigh, trying to sound put-upon even as a smile tugs at my mouth. “But only because I can’t trust a rockstar to design a baby’s room. You’d probably paint it black and hang guitars everywhere.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea—“
“No.” I cut him off, already walking to the passenger side. “Just... no.”
His laugh follows me, rich and warm, and as I slide into the luxury vehicle—which still has that new car smell—I catch a glimpse of myself in the side mirror. My cheeks are flushed pink, making my hazel eyes seem brighter against my pale skin.
“You look beautiful today,” Vince softly says as he starts the engine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Dangerous territory, indeed.
I glance back at Jasmine as Vince navigates through Jacksonville traffic. The early spring humidity is already creeping in, making my carefully styled hair start to curl at the edges. She’s contentedly gumming a soft toy, oblivious to the way my stomach keeps doing somersaults every time her father’s arm brushes mine as he shows off the interior of the car.
“So,” I say, pulling up Pinterest on my phone, “any thoughts at all about what you want for her room?”
“Not black with guitars everywhere?” His eyes sparkle with mischief when I shoot him a look. “Honestly? I want something magical. She deserves that.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words.
The baby store off Atlantic Boulevard is massive, with an entire section dedicated to nursery designs. Jasmine perks up at the explosion of colors, reaching toward a display of hanging butterflies that shimmer in the store lighting.
“Someone knows what she likes,” I murmur, watching her face light up. Vince follows her gaze, and I can practically see the idea forming.
“What about a garden theme?” he suggests. “With butterflies and flowers? Nothing too princessy, but still...” He trails off, looking almost embarrassed by his enthusiasm.
“It’s perfect,” I assure him, already picturing it. “We could do soft greens and purples, maybe some shimmer accents.” I stop at a wall of paint swatches, pulling out a pale lavender and a mint green that would work beautifully together.
“These?” I hold them up, and Vince steps closer, feeling his warmth as he examines the colors. He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and expensive that makes my head spin.
“I trust you,” he says softly, and somehow, I don’t think we’re just talking about paint colors anymore.
We spend the next hour picking out everything from curtains to wall decals. I find an artist who specializes in nursery murals and show Vince her portfolio on my phone—her garden scenes are breathtaking, with dimensional flowers that seem to pop off the walls and butterflies that look ready to take flight.
“She can start next week,” the store’s design consultant says after making a quick call. “Though you’ll need to have the base colors painted first.”
“I know a guy,” Vince says, bouncing Jasmine gently as she starts to fuss. “He did some custom work in my home studio. He can probably get the painting done in a couple of days.”
As we load our purchases into the Range Rover—including the butterfly mobile that Jasmine hasn’t stopped reaching for since she saw it—I check my phone. “Sarah Bailey will be at your place in two hours. We should head there and get everything ready.”
“Right. The interview.” Vince’s shoulders are slightly tense as he secures Jasmine in her car seat. “You’ll stay for it?”
“Of course.” I slide into the passenger seat, already mentally cataloging what needs to be done.
My phone chimes with a text from Emily: “On my way to Vince’s. Bringing a surprise for our tiny star.”
The drive back to his oceanfront home is quick, and Emily’s waiting in the driveway when we pull up. She’s holding a small gift bag and wearing an expression that suggests she’s in full management mode.
“Perfect timing,” she says, following us inside. “Sarah just confirmed she’s bringing a minimal crew—one photographer and one sound person.” She pulls tissue paper from the gift bag and produces an adorable T-shirt that reads, ‘My Daddy’s a Rockstar.’
“For the interview,” she explains, handing it to Vince. “I had it rushed from that boutique in San Marco. And look—it’ll go perfectly with these.” She pulls out a pair of tiny jean leggings.
While Vince takes Jasmine to her makeshift changing area in the living room, Emily and I move through the space with practiced efficiency, arranging his guitars just so—casual enough to look natural but positioned perfectly for photos. I straighten throw pillows, and Emily tactfully moves the baby supplies into more photogenic arrangements.
“There we go,” Vince says softly, finally finishing the outfit change with only a few minor adjustments. Jasmine looks adorable in her new rock-and-roll T-shirt and leggings. I quickly snap a candid photo with my phone as Vince lifts her back up, his expression pure devotion.
“That’s it,” Emily says softly. “That’s exactly what we want Sarah to see.”
We all turn as we hear a car pulling into the driveway. “Remember,” Emily continues quietly to Vince, “just be natural. You’re already a great new daddy—let that show.”
Sarah Bailey enters with her small crew as promised. Before they start setting up, she pulls Emily and me aside, speaking in low tones.
“Just to confirm—no questions about the child’s mother,” she says. “I want you both to know I respect that boundary completely.”
“Thank you,” Emily says, relief evident in her voice. “We appreciate that.”
Sarah approaches Vince, who’s standing by the window with Jasmine. Sarah’s face lights up at the sight of the ‘My Daddy’s a Rockstar’ T-shirt. “Oh, that’s perfect,” she says warmly. “And look at those tiny jean leggings. She’s absolutely precious, Vince.”
While the photographer arranges the lighting, Sarah and Emily review the general flow of questions.
“Let’s keep this casual,” Sarah suggests, settling into an armchair while Vince takes the couch, Jasmine contentedly playing with the collar of his black T-shirt. “Nothing staged.”
I position myself just off-camera, watching as everyone gets ready to start. After all, this is a crucial PR moment for Wild Band’s notorious bad boy—transforming his image from serial womanizer to devoted single daddy will be no small feat.
“So, Vince,” Sarah begins once the cameras roll, “this is quite a change from the last time I interviewed you. I believe you were just coming off tour, surrounded by... quite a few admirers?” Her tone is gentle, acknowledging his past while offering an opening to show his transformation.
Vince glances down at Jasmine, who’s fascinated by one of his leather bracelets. “Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “Life has a way of surprising you. One minute, you’re living for yourself, and the next...” He adjusts Jasmine in his arms. “The next minute, nothing else seems to matter except this tiny person.”
“How long have you been a father?”
“Just a few days,” he answers honestly. “It’s been a crash course in everything—diapers, feeding schedules, learning what each different cry means.” He looks up, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression I haven’t seen before. “But every minute, even the tough ones at 3 AM, they’re all worth it.”
When Jasmine starts to fuss, I instinctively move forward, but Vince handles it smoothly. He reaches for his acoustic guitar—something he knows will calm her instantly—and begins to play softly. The photographer captures the moment when Jasmine’s face lights up, her tiny hand reaching for the strings.
“She’s already showing a love for music,” Sarah observes.
“Takes after her old man,” Vince says with a genuine smile, not the practiced smirk I’ve seen him use in countless interviews before. “Though her taste is more lullabies than rock anthems right now.”
“And how are you managing it all? The band, the upcoming tour dates?”
I hold my breath, knowing this is a crucial point. Emily leans forward slightly.
“We’re still figuring it out,” Vince answers, and I notice he’s unconsciously rocking Jasmine as he speaks. “The band’s been incredibly supportive. We’ve got a nanny starting next week, and I’m lucky to have an amazing team.” His eyes briefly meet mine before continuing, “Quinn here has been a lifesaver these first few days, helping me not to completely mess this up.”
I feel my cheeks warm at the unexpected mention, and Emily shoots me a quick, unreadable glance.
“And the tour?” Sarah prompts.
“We’re adjusting the schedule,” he explains. “Still doing all the shows, but restructuring things to be more family-friendly. No more month-long stretches on the road. More home time between dates.” He smiles down at Jasmine. “Though I might need to invest in some heavy-duty noise-canceling headphones for this one’s first concert.”
“Your fans might be surprised by this new side of you,” Sarah observes carefully. “You’ve had quite the reputation...”
“Look, I won’t deny my past,” Vince says, his voice thoughtful as he adjusts Jasmine in his arms. “But it’s just her and me now. Everything shifted. My priorities, my choices—it all comes down to us. Our connection.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes me glance at Emily, who gives an almost imperceptible nod of approval. He’s not promising wholesale change or denying who he is—he’s simply stating that Jasmine comes first now.
Jasmine chooses that moment to let out an impressive yawn, making everyone laugh.
“Perfect timing, little star,” Vince murmurs, shifting her to his shoulder. “Someone’s ready for her nap.”
“Actually,” Sarah says, “that might be the perfect natural ending. Would you mind if we got a few shots of you with her before she falls asleep? Just as you are?”
“Of course,” Vince says, settling back against the couch. Jasmine snuggles into the crook of his neck, her eyes already heavy. The photographer moves quietly around them, capturing the moment—rock’s notorious bad boy in worn jeans and a black T-shirt, his tattoos visible along his arms, cradling his sleeping daughter in her ‘My Daddy’s a Rockstar’ shirt.
When the crew starts packing up, Sarah approaches Emily and me. “This is gold,” she says softly. “Authentic, touching, but still very much Vince. We’ll run it next week—I’ll send you the final edit to approve before it goes live.”
Emily handles the final details while I walk over to Vince, who hasn’t moved from the couch. He’s still holding Jasmine, seemingly content to let her finish her nap right there.
“That went well,” I say quietly, perching on the arm of the couch.
“Yeah?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice that catches me off guard. “Didn’t come across as total BS? The whole wanting to be a good dad thing?”
“No,” I assure him. “You were just... you. A new dad who happens to be a rockstar. That’s exactly what we hoped for.”
He looks up at me, and for a moment, there’s something in his expression I can’t quite read. But before either of us can say anything else, Emily calls me over to review some social media strategies for when the interview drops.
As I walk away, I hear Jasmine make a tiny sound in her sleep and Vince’s quiet response, “I’ve got you, baby girl.” And somehow, watching him with her, I know he absolutely does.