Chapter 1

She glanced up at the walk signal and sighed. Why her of all people? They had six different graphics artists on staff. Why stick her with the Holly-weird flake? As the light flashed to walk she started across the street heading for the studio she'd been told this singer was at.

Hell what was his name again? Oh right Sambora. She remembered reading about him over the years, hell he’d made a name for himself in most of the yellow rags, divorcing one blonde bimbette only to date her best friend then moving into the standard rock star pastime, driving drunk. Holy Hannah he was a true Hollywood weirdo. She'd never get a thing done or he'd want some stupid shit that looked like a cover on acid. Fuck why her?

She sighed again as she reached the front door and plastered on her brightest fake business like smile only to find an empty desk. "Fuck." Glancing around, she looked for someone, hell anyone who could direct her to the one thing that would probably make her nuts for the next few months.

Wouldn’t it figure? Everyone in the music business was on a coffee break.Probably out back smoking a joint or sharing a fifth. Shaking her head at the pure unprofessional attitude of the place she turned and started off down the hallway, a hallway filled with a few too many doors. Damn, of course it would be soundproofed. Closing her eyes she started with the first door and the left and started opening doors, hoping to find just ONE that had someone in it.

Her shoulders grew tighter, the smile on her face started slipping into a near frown as she reached the final door. Was there NO ONE here? Shit you just couldn't rely on a damned rock star. They were flighty creatures one and all, never making appointments on time, always off to some new thing to keep their over indulged fancies happy. Opening the last door at the bottom of the hallway she shook her head. Well finally there was someone. "Hello?"

"Don't you see the light on?" He stood up, flicking a button on the control board. "I've got an artist working here, keep it down!"

Her gaze skittered over the nattily dressed man, God look at him, sunglasses inside? And what was with his hair? Was that? It was, he had dreadlocks dripping past his shoulders! She forced back a shiver and straightened, her glance skewering the man to his spot. "I said hello, I didn’t set off a rocket. I happen to be looking a Mr. Sambora, so if you'd point me in the right direction I'll leave you alone."

Jesus, was the world turning into flake city? Clearing her throat she managed a smile. "Anytime between today and tomorrow, not all of us play for a living."

He arched a brow. "And who the hell are you, lady? Richie didn't mention any appointments today. You'll need to call his assistant." He turned back around, flipped a switch and fussed with a few sliders.

She frowned at the man, one finger lifting to push back her glasses. He was dismissing her? God she hated being dismissed or ignored. "Name's Alex Walker, and I'd suggest you go ask this Mr. Sambora if he's expecting his graphics artist."

He sighed and hit a few more buttons. Lights blinked and the tinny sound of a mic opening into the control booth. "Yo, Rich. Some chick is out here saying she's your graphic artist?"

Richie stopped strumming, frowning as his engineer dragged him out of the moment. "Fuck, Was! Did you get that before you interrupted me? That chord progression was dead on finally."

"Yeah, man, I got it. We'll pick up in ten, okay?"

Richie lifted his '59 Les Paul over his head. He stood, stretching his long legs out. He'd been in the studio all damn afternoon. He was going to get this song in the can if it killed him. Cracking his neck, he opened the door. "Did you say chick?"

Was leaned back, hands linked at the back of his head. "Yeah," he swung around, arrowing his elbow to the woman.

Richie frowned. "Hey," he held out his hand to shake her hand, fishing into his brain for something that didn't have a b-flat chord in it. Wasn't this chick supposed to be a guy?

Gold eyes stared back at him, through classy purple rimmed glasses. Wide, and direct, cool...and pissed if he was reading her right. Hell, she was a tall one, her gaze even with his. That was unusual."I'm sorry, I didn't know what time you were heading over. My assistant didn't give me a time."

She took his hand and shook it quickly before letting it go. Wonderful even his assistant is a flake. "Happens to the best of us I'm sure. I'm just here to watch, get a feeling for the music before deciding on a theme for your new CD." She was pretty sure it was going to be some weird thing, but she had to at least try.

"I'll try to not be a bother, I'll just set my computer up over there," she nodded to the corner, "If that’s ok?"

She studied him quietly as she awaited her answer and had to force herself not to laugh. This was a musician, a supposedly rather well known one? Hell he looked nothing like one, the faded tee-shirt that proudly proclaimed, Zeppelin, down to the overly ragged jeans that were, hell were they unhemmed? He had on flip flops? Jesus it was autumn in New York for God sakes, and the jewelry, what was he a freaking jewelry shop? He had enough beads on his wrist and around his neck to rival most Madonna wannabes, shit if he wasn't even wearing a Rosary.

Over all he was ok she supposed, she could see potential, if she could get him cleaned up for a photographer. She yanked her head back up to his face, her brow arching. "Well?"

"Uh, yeah...sure." He watched her dismiss him. That was another new thing. Damned if she wasn't even sitting on a sneer instead of a fake smile. Jonny should take lessons. Her fake smile was almost perfect. As usual, it was the eyes that gave her away.

She held herself stiffly. The razor sharp edges of her pants didn't even look wilted at--he glanced at his watch--four in the afternoon.

Pencil slim heels clicked then went silent as she hit the soundproofing carpeting. She slid a slim, silver laptop with a familiar apple logo on the casing. It was the same as his pro-tools model, only much wider. She leaned over the table and her fitted jacket rose and he swallowed. Okay, do not look at her ass. Too late. Damn fine one, too. Curvy and--he shook his head.

"Do you want to talk some first? Or just observe?"

She glanced up at him, and held back a sigh. Lovely, he probably couldn't hold a decent conversation if you tied him to the dictionary. Musicians by and large were a flighty stupid lot, he couldn’t be the exception, not dressed the way he was dressed. "I suppose. Just what would you like to talk about?"

Richie slid one palm against the other and stretched his fingers. "Well, we've got a few songs down if you want to hear them to get a feel for the album. I've got some ideas for the cover and the mood."

He smiled brightly. He wasn't quite sure why she was so...glacial, was the only word he could come up with. Even if she was only five foot tall, he had a feeling the woman would be looking down her nose at him.

Oh lovely, time to have her ears assaulted with the varied screeches of music and voice. She glanced upwards and nodded. "Of course, yes, I should hear what you've managed to finish."

Don't make me twist your arm."Hey, Donnie...que up Pain will ya?"

Was turned, with a quick quirk of his brows. "Really?"

He'd been protective of that one. Hell, even Jonny hadn't heard that one and he usually passed most of his stuff by him when they were chatting late at night. Something about this woman, made him want to wipe the condescending little smirk off her face.

"Yeah, just hit it from the beginning, the b-version."

"You got it." Was turned around and hit a few keys.

She prepared to start tapping on the keyboard and half ignore the music that was sure to be blasting from the speakers, but as the song started it started slow, the melody winding its way into the room on a husky sigh.

And as it built, the pain reached in and rapped at her soul, touching down on things she'd left behind or locked tightly in lead boxes. He knew about hurt, her hurt, he knew about pain. He.....

As the song faded into the nothingness of air, she fought back the emotions it wanted to rip from her, and her business smile hit her lips. "Not bad."

He'd closed his eyes on the playback. It still needed something, but the heart was there. It pulsed and it cracked like the. It was...did she say, not bad? Richie stood up taller. "Right." Cold bitch. Did she even have a heart under all that black?

He'd thought so, with the flash of purple and silver swirls he saw under her suit jacket. It was probably just trendy bullshit like all the other women he knew. "Well do what you do, I'll do the same. I'm sure we can keep out of each others hair." He turned, wincing a little at his mother's voice in his head shouting RUDE! But he needed to get away from her before he said something stupid.