Killing Me Softly: A Romantic Suspense Anthology, page 10
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Zane
Lexy Timms
Lexy Timms
Zane
Steel your heart. Avert the pain.
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Zane Mallick is the perfect man, backed by his fame, good looks and talent. A hopelessly romantic, rising star with an undeniable charisma. But this all changes when he is betrayed by the woman, he’d entrust his heart to.
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With his riveting tales of heartache, he makes a massive splash in the pop music world, garnering worldwide attention, shoving all thoughts of love out his mind. Tall and handsome with piercing winter blue eyes, the multi-Grammy-winning star has no shortage of woman groveling for his affection. But none has the power to unwrap the thrones around his heart, until he meets a no-nonsense budding actress. A sweet, pure-hearted with a girl-next-door looks, she’s struggling to makes ends meet in a business where women are often overshowed.
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Sparks fly when they first meet but they begin to clash after a ridiculous misunderstanding that puts them at odds with each other. It’s a love-hate relationship, drawn together by their love for music. Just as Zane’s icy heart begins to melt, he’s reunited with his first love because of a business deal.
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They say new love can mend a broken heart, but is this true for Zane Mallick?
Can he let go of the past and embrace the future?
Zane © copyright 2021 Lexy Timms
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Prologue
Interview with Rockstar Zane Mallick
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There are certain names that are simply synonymous with fame in our society. Love it or hate it, it’s one of the things that bring us together on a day to day bases. These are the faces we all know and whether or not we know the person himself we feel certain that we do. We imagine ourselves meeting up with this person, grabbing a beer or a late, intimate dinner. It’s these imaginings, so often kept in our secret heart, that make these individuals practically irresistible to men and women alike. And the name Zane Mallick? He rests somewhere at the very top of this list.
All one has to do is pick up a magazine of the rack in the grocery store line to get a look at Zane's face. Although five years ago he was relatively unknown his rise to stardom has been, for lack of a better phrase, meteoric. These days it would be a far greater challenge to find a person who doesn't know who Zane is than to find the opposite. If asked what comes to mind at the mention of Zane's name there is a handful of responses you are likely to get. There is the infamous Rolling Stone cover picturing Zane sans clothing and nothing but an oversized guitar to sensor the part of him everyone is hoping to see. There is the interview done with an early morning TV host whose name I won't mention in which he removed his shirt and favored the audience and the world at large with a really close up view of abs that can only be described as a twelve pack. One look at him makes it safe to assume that he spends all of his waking hours not in the recording studio in the gym. Anytime he's been asked, however, Zane has maintained that gym rat is one descriptor that does not apply to him. There are many things about Zane Mallick that present this same level of contradiction, undoubtedly only fueling the air of mystery surrounding the man all the more. It is in search of answers to this same mystery that I approach my interview with Zane. Keep in mind, dear readers, I am doing this for you rather than for myself. What can I say? Altruism is my middle name.
I arrive at Zane's hotel with this truly selfless task held firmly in my mind and am immediately impressed. After a quick look over and before I even step through the front doors, I can see that his chosen hotel is one completely fitting for a rockstar of his caliber. The whole thing looks more like an ancient gothic church than anything else, both in appearance and in feel. I briefly consider sauntering up to the front desk to gather a little background information on the place, but almost as quickly as the idea takes root in my head, I reject it. For starters, I am half sure that what I'll learn is that the hotel was actually built last year, in which case I will be sorely disappointed and let down before the interview even begins. The second, more important reason for my denial of my own curiosity is simple; it's not what I've come for. Perhaps, dear reader, you have in your future an article about the wonders of Austin's architecture coming your way; and yes, before anyone writes in to correct my grievous error, I am aware that Austin is unlikely to be a hot spot for gothic architecture on the whole.
My interview with Zane officially begins when I walk through the door to his hotel room. The fact that the interview is taking place in his room at all is on the unconventional side, and I find myself more excited than I should be. I won't apologize for it, readers, as I'm sure it is a sentiment most of you share. A moment should be taken to give a shoutout to the room itself, which was shockingly expansive and easily larger than my apartment. My apartment is admittedly humble, but I'm sure you get the idea. Unlike my apartment, this hotel room is actually a series of rooms, with a fancy sitting room full of people. There is probably a half a dozen of them, all very busy and important looking as they pace around the room on cell phones, each having conversations they clearly consider essential. It's not a rare sight, this bustling room, and I've seen it many times before. The more famous a person is, the more people surround him. Generally its managers and often times its people like me, looking for a new angle on a story to make the celebrity more interesting than they already are. The carpet underneath my feet probably costs more than my car, and all of the furniture is gilded in gold. I'm not positive that it's real gold but judging by the rest of the place I wouldn't be all that surprised. Through the mess of people I finally spot him; Zane Mallick sitting on the edge of his bed and staring out the balcony window. I don't mind admitting that I take a deep breath before striding through the group of attendants and making my introduction.
Despite the sometimes questionable reputation, Zane has earned himself he is, upon this introduction, perfectly pleasant. More than pleasant, he's downright polite, putting into question all of the articles that have come before mine in which he is painted as the picture of rockstar decadence. He stands when he sees me coming and when I introduce myself he already knows who I am. I won't flatter myself enough to assume that he actually knew who I was and so I must assume that he did his research about me before my arrival. This, too, calls into question the slightly devious tone of his reputation. This is the first thing that strikes me about Zane. The second thing and this follows almost immediately on the heels of the first, is that he is every bit as good looking as person as he is in all of his photographs. Actually, scratch that. He's more good looking in person than in his myriad prints, and I've seen my fair share right along with the rest of you. His hair is thick and so dark it looks almost black. It falls just past his shoulders in a style only a rockstar can pull off without looking utterly ridiculous. His eyes are a deep blue, and his mouth is sensuous beneath what looks like somewhere around a week's worth of stubble. When he's standing, he's easily a foot taller than my five foot four, towering over me with an easy smile.
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Zane Mallick, I’m very pleased to finally meet you.
He grins an easy looking grin, one I'm sure is very disarming to most of the people he meets. In all honesty, I find myself a little disarmed as well. Before the two of us can interact any further one of the busy bees from the sitting room is suddenly right there beside him, a look of extreme importance on her face. She glances at me with open disapproval, and it occurs to me that she might take me for one of Zane's superfans rather than a journalist. She starts to say something but Zane stops her gently. “I'm sorry about that, Melanie,” he says to me gently, “as you can see there's kind of a lot going on here today.”
It's hard not to notice how mild his voice is in comparison to the expectation. I've no wish to beat the point into the bush, but Zane is not what I expected. I make a mental note to keep my professional cool and plunge ahead.
I have to say, Zane, I’m a little bit surprised you agreed to this interview.
“Are you?” He laughs, his eyes entirely locked in on me as if there aren't six other people in the hotel suite with us, “That's an interesting opener.”
It might be unconventional, but it's true all the same. My editor and I both thought it was a long shot at best. I think you'd have to be living underneath a rock not to know something about your upcoming tour.
Zane throws back his head and laughs. His laugh is just as easy as his smile and I find myself laughing right along with him. It's not my habit to try and befriend the people I interview, but Zane makes it difficult not to do so. I will make a valiant attempt, of course, readers. It is nothing less than my duty as a respectable reporter.
“I think you might have the wrong idea about me. I’m just a normal guy. Busy, sure, but basically normal.”
“With all due respect–”
He interrupts me here, casually, as if I haven't been talking at all. Normally being interrupted is one of my all-time top pet peeves but in this case, I find that I don't mind it so much. When he puts his large hand on my shoulder and motions for me to follow him to the little sitting area placed beside his bed, I mind it even less.
“Here,” he says, not really laughing anymore but the sound of it still in his voice, “if we’re going to get into things we might as well sit down. Would you like something to drink? We’ve got basically everything here. They equipped this room with a full-on bar. It’s funny how that happens, right?”
I’m sorry, how what happens, Zane?
“How people just start handing you stuff once you’ve got a little bit of money. I’m sorry to bring that up, by the way. The money thing. My mamma would kill me if she heard it. She would want it to be known that she raised me right, whether I act it or not.”
I’m taken aback by this, to say the least. Zane Mallick is rather notorious for his elusive past. Although a certain amount of digging by journalists far more relentless than myself has revealed the bare bones facts about the man, he rarely chooses to speak about his growing up or family to the press. Whether this is because he likes the mystery it adds to his whole package or for deeper reasons remains to be seen. I don’t mind admitting, though, I’m intrigued by where this conversation. It’s rare that I’m pleased with an interview where the direction is so much in the control of my subject but for this once I’ll make an exception.
I’ll be honest with you, Zane, I wasn’t planning on bringing up the family. But seeing as you’ve mentioned it yourself…
Zane leans back in his chair in a way that reminds me of all of the really cool boys in school. Those boys the teacher was forever telling not to rock back too far left both they and their chair wind up on the floor. He runs one hand absently through his hair, and I can't help but notice the way his biceps bulge with the movement. It might easily be enough to distract me utterly if not for the sudden seriousness I detect in the man. His eyes have a far away, contemplative look and I immediately regret probing the issue further. The possibility that I might already have ruined a perfectly good interview before it's really began does not escape me, and I commence with mentally kicking myself post haste. When those disarming eyes land on me again, however, Zane doesn't seem angry. If anything he seems a little sad, wistful, even, and despite reminding myself that I cannot get too caught up, I find myself holding my breath.
“I was raised in the deep South. I think most people know that.”
If they don’t already, they will now.
“I guess that’s right. I’m talking the deep South, one of those towns with a handful of stop lights and not a whole hell of a lot else.”
He paused for a moment, and I realize that there is indeed a Southern twang to his voice. It's so faint it's hardly noticeable, but as he speaks of his origins, it becomes noticeably more pronounced. I say nothing, for fear that I will break the spell and he will remember that he is, in fact, talking to a journalist.
“My mom was important to me. I guess that's true for all kids, but she was the most important thing in my life. For the short amount of time I had her, that is.”
Somebody in the sitting area runs into something, knocking over a glass and spilling water all over the carpet. It's not a big deal, seeing as it is water and Zane is wealthy enough that he could pour a whole bottle of red wine over the carpet and get nothing but the slap on the wrist. Still, it's enough to snap him out of his remembering. His eyes lose their faraway look, and he focuses on me again. Normally I would have not a single thing to complain about in a situation, but in this case, I'm a little annoyed. I sense a great opportunity missed, one for information I will never be able to pry out of him again. When he looks at me again, I can see that something has shifted.
“I’m sorry, what were we talking about again?”
You were talking about your upbringing, actually.
His eyes cloud over and yet again I wonder if I’ve mis-stepped. He shifts in his chair and glances around the room, then back at me. There is a finality in his expression, in the set of his jaw, that cannot be mistaken. The subject of past and home, whatever it may have been, is closed.
“Nobody wants to talk about something like that. I’m sure it’s not why you came here, either. What prompted you asking for this interview?”
Your upcoming tour, of course. I’m sure it’s the same thing everyone else is asking you about these days.
Zane perks right up at the mention of his tour and I can't say that I blame him; lately, it seems like all anybody is talking about. It's not just the papers or entertainment tv, either. It's people on the streets of countries all over the world. The people who have tickets can't wait, and the people who don't can't stop looking for a way to get their hands on some.
“I'm pumped about that; I'm not gonna lie. Are you going to come?”
“No, unfortunately, I wasn't lucky enough to get a ticket.”
“That’s a silly reason not to go.”
He stops talking, and I consider asking him if he's advocating scalping tickets to his show but think better of it. Instead, I sit closed mouthed and confused while he calls over a person I take to be one of his several managers. He motions for said manager to come closer and she does, rather happily from where I'm sitting. She listens for a moment, then looks at me with considerably less pleasure than was gifted to Zane.
“Are you sure?” she asks incredulously. It gives me the same feeling as being a child and having the adults in my life talk about me like I'm not in the room, but I keep my mouth shut. It's a talent I don't use nearly often enough but am in possession of all the same.
“Of course I am. I'm always sure, even when I'm not.” His voice is still mellow, but there's a little edge to it now, and I wonder if he has an issue with being contradicted. He is a man of presiding mystery, and a stubborn streak isn't something I would put past him. His agent, apparently unwilling to push the matter any further, nods curtly and shoots me one more disapproving look before hurrying off. People like her are always hurrying off somewhere and, come to think of it, I probably do the same thing more often than not. For the moment, however, I just sit and wait to see what will happen next. Much as you must be doing now, dear readers.
“There,” Zane says pleasantly, “taken care of. I hope you enjoy the show.”
That’s very kind of you, Mr. Mallick!
“Please, never Mr. Mallick. Never Mr. anything. Just Zane, alright?”
Of course, whatever you like. Is it alright if I ask you a few more questions?
Zane takes a moment to thank a nervous looking guy who brings him a gigantic cup of coffee and then settles back down in his chair. He considers me a moment with those overwhelming eyes and I shift in my own chair, admittedly a little uncomfortably. It really is a lot to take, having the weight of his eyes on you. You'll have to take my word for it on this one.
“Of course you can,” he finally says with a smile, “It’s why you came here, right? Wouldn’t want you to come all this way for nothing.”
For starters, people are all wondering. Is this tour the start of something new for you?
“Sounds like a bit of a loaded question, darlin. What kind of thing are you speculating it’s the start of?”
Believe me, it’s not just me. There seem to be two prevailing schools of thought. The first is that after this tour you will be taking your band in a whole new direction. A sort of a reinvention, if you will.
“Interesting,” he answers, his eyes bordering on expressionless, “and how about the second one?”
