Rockstar Bosshole

ROCKSTAR BOSSHOLE AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS, SURPRISE PREGNANCY ROMANCE BELLA BRANDON Copyright 2023 by Bella Brandon - All rights reserved. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. CONTENTS 1. Lily 2. Gage 3. Lily 4. Gage 5. Lily 6. Gage 7. Lily 8. Gage 9. Lily 10. Gage 11. Lily 12. Gage 13. Lily 14. Gage 15. Lily 16. Gage 17. Lily 18. Gage 19. Lily 20. Gage 21. Lily 22. Gage Epilogue Also by Bella Brandon CHAPTER 1 LILY When the agency told me I’d be meeting my new boss at his house in Bel-Air, they really undersold it. There’s no way the looming, ostentatious structure in front of me could ever be described as just a house. It’s easily the size of three houses, and probably worth as much as five, even in its current state of disrepair. The overgrown lawn spans for acres, and in the middle sits a massive fountain that looks as if it hasn’t been run–or cleaned–in months. Vines snake up the stone walls and pillars, blanketing most of the home in emerald green, and adding to the overall ominous atmosphere. The gate separating the property from the rest of the world stands half-open at the front of the lawn, weathered and rusty. As I carefully creep through the opening, I try to remind myself why I’m here while simultaneously wondering if I’m up to date on my tetanus shot. Of course, I’ve heard of my new boss before. In fact, I can’t think of a single person who hasn’t. “Gage Hill” has been a household name for the past decade. For years, he and his band, Nine Circles, topped the charts with record-breaking hits due to their unique sound that masterfully balanced edginess and relatability. Everyone from housewives to teenagers loved Nine Circles, and especially Gage Hill. As both the face and songwriter of the band, his brilliance easily outshined the other bandmates. And his phenomenally good looks didn’t hurt his popularity, either. Unfortunately for Mr. Hill, his fame turned to infamy when his life started spiraling out of control. No one really knows what sparked the sudden downward slide, but a string of messy relationships and a series of public intoxication incidents finally culminated in Nine Circles breaking up. One nasty fight and battery charge later, and Gage Hill finally disappeared from the public eye altogether. That is, until very recently, when he contacted my agency and asked them to send him a new personal assistant. That’s where I come in; it’s my job to help get this washed up rockstar back on his feet and help repair his public image. As I climb the porch steps to the front door, anxiety begins to knot in my gut. It’s been two years since his last public appearance, and there’s no telling what I’m going to find on the other side of this door. I take a moment to steady myself when I reach the top, being sure to inhale deeply and brush my hands over my slacks for the thousandth time. I need this job. I need to succeed. Otherwise, my move to California and away from my family and friends will be for nothing. I may only be twenty-six, but I’ve tackled my share of crazy life hurdles. And Gage Hill is just another client–nothing I can’t handle. Squaring my shoulders, I ring the doorbell. As if in response, a crash sounds on the other side of the thick iron door, and I almost stumble backwards off the porch. But I manage to catch my balance and plaster a smile back in place before the door swings open. And when it does, I nearly fall over again, because the man on the other side is not who I was expecting. He doesn’t look like Gage Hill at all, or at least not like I’ve ever seen him on posters or TV. His lustrous onyx hair has grown out of its usual “I woke up like this” messy crop and now hangs limply around his chin, weighed down by grease. His shirt is missing, and so is the majority of what was once his signature toned musculature, among the vast sea of black tattoos decorating his long torso. Tattered jeans sling low on his narrow hips. He leans groggily against the doorframe, still a full head taller than me even with my heels and his slouch, and pushes his shaggy hair out of his face. Finally, I see his eyes; those unmistakable sapphire eyes that seem luminescent even now, despite the dark circles below them. His eyes lock with mine, and it’s at that moment I’m sure that this truly is Gage Hill, and that regardless of how much of a mess he has become, he will always be irresistibly sexy. At the same time, I realize it’s Gage Hill himself, live and in the flesh, and I am utterly hypnotized. The man is stunning, regardless of his haggard appearance. With his dark tattoos contrasted against his pale skin, he’s more delicious in person than I ever thought possible. He smirks–a devastating, heartbreaking, beautiful smirk–and I’m captivated. I’ve forgotten my job, where I am. Hell, I’ve even forgotten my own name. I’m practically ready to drop to my knees and grovel at his feet. And then he opens his mouth. “You’re not the kind of girl that usually comes snooping around my house, sweetheart.” I blink, confused. “Sorry?” “Normally the girls are more…” he drawls, his eyes boldly raking over me from head to toe as he searches for the right word. “Stylish.” I can’t help but feel like that isn’t the word on his mind. Anger flares hot