Exclusive Interview Read Online Free PDF Page A

then gunned the engine. Under us, the car roared to life and we pulled out into the early afternoon sunshine.
    I thought about it for a second, and then snapped my fingers. "No," I said. "I didn't. My sister was helping me get ready this morning and she typed all the info into my phone. She must have made a typo." On a hunch, I pulled my phone out and scrolled through the information Rose had given me. Sure enough, she had switched the three and the five. Sheesh, what were the odds? How on earth did that happen? Two jobs in the same building, just separated by two floors, and I'd gone to the wrong one. I felt like an idiot.
    See? I told myself. You should have asked. You should have looked at the original documents or something. Who cares if you look stupid? If you had, you wouldn't be in a car right now with an epically gorgeous asshole on your way to Vegas.
    Okay, bad argument. If this wasn't a good way to get out of any further job hunting this afternoon, I didn't know what was, but it still put a kink in my plans to go home and rot my brain with daytime talk shows for the rest of the time I was conscious. Maybe I could get around to cleaning up the baseboards or something...
    "The band? " Hudson prompted after it became apparent that I had disappeared into my own little cleaning-fueled world. I snapped out of it and turned to listen to him. The car beneath me hummed and rumbled as he switched gears. His long, strong-fingered hand gripped and moved the knob of the stick shift with grace and ease. He had musician's hands.
    Suddenly I was intensely aware of the way my pussy pressed and rubbed against the fine, buttery Italian leather seats, and the way his muscles of his thighs shifted beneath the fabric of his fine, expensive trousers as he changed gears. It took great strength of will for me to drag my eyes back to his face, and when I did I saw he had a faint smile on his face. He had been watching me check him out.
    Humiliated, I whipped my head around and stared out the window. The silence in the car was deafening. Where were we? Oh, yes. “Yeah, um,” I said. “Right. About the band... what band?”
    He chuckled, and the dark sound dragged over my raw, exposed nerves like black velvet. I shivered in pleasure. “Have you ever heard of a band called 'The Lonely Kings of Lifeless Things?'”
    Had I? Had I ever. Only a few months ago they had burst onto the music scene with dark, grungy melodies and a female vocalist with the voice of an angel, singing beautiful songs with complicated lyrics written by the band's guitarist, Carter Hudson...
    Hudson.
    My mouth dropped. Humiliation forgotten, I whipped back around and stared at Hudson. He was watching the road, his pouty lips parted in a pearly grin. “You're...” I groped for words. But the guitarist was Carter. This man had said his name was Kent. “You're a relative of Carter?”
    “His brother, actually. Also the bassist and the band manager.” He seemed incredibly pleased with himself, and he should be. The Lonely Kings were blowing up all over the charts, their songs showing up in a thousand and one teen flicks, their concerts sold out within minutes of tickets going on sale. And here I was, sitting in the car with the band's bassist.
    “Wow,” I said. “That's... I had no idea.”
    “Hmph,” he said. “I think I actually believe you.”
    “You should,” I told him. “I'm a terrible liar. I seriously... I thought I was applying for a housekeeping job.”
    “And the pool of strictly-business applicants didn't somehow tip you off?”
    “I've been awake since Sunday morning,” I said defensively. “I'm not at my sharpest.”
    “Obviously.”
    He gunned the car as we neared the highway, and the force of momentum slammed me back in my seat. A thrill bolted through me, and I sucked air through my teeth in appreciation. I'd never been in a car this nice in my life. The car seemed to fly low along the ground as we slipped up the on ramp and slithered into