Page 53 of How NOT to Seduce a Rockstar
“Then he leaves the house and every woman between fourteen and fifty-five wants an autograph or a selfie. The bold ones hit on him on the spot. The shy ones swoon, tell him he’s gorgeous, swear they’d lay down in puddles so his boots don’t getwet. Then maybe he heads to the studio to record a duet with some other famous singer—famous, but never as famous as him. One of those women known more for her cheekbones than her voice. And of course, she flirts too. Maybe they’re even friends with benefits. Who knows? Then he goes to lunch and the waitress with—”
“Okay, okay. I get the daily itinerary.”
“Good. So he’s drowning in adoration. He probably despises it by now. Which is why we’ll do the opposite. We don’t care about Ryder.”
“We only sabotaged one of the hottest hotels in Manhattan for him, but sure, we don’t care.”
“Fine. Then we’ll pretend not to care. Happy? And we won’t say it—we’llshowit. With our attitude. Which means this apartment is going to look like we’re waiting on a pizza delivery, not a rock god.”
“Got it, boss,” I sighed. “I’ll at least go put on something decent.”
“Nope. What you’ve got on is perfect.”
“We’re in pajamas.”
“Exactly. Do you think any of his countless lovers haseveropened the door in pajamas? Please. They’ve opened the door naked. Or in La Perla lingerie. They’ve laid out rose petals to the bed. We’ll open in flannel pajamas, with dirty dishes in the sink and pizza boxes on the counter. We’re superior.”
I shrugged. “You’re the seductress.”
So we didn’t clean. In fact, Tess did a walk-through of the living room with the eye of a reverse art director. The couch looked too presentable, so she rumpled the blanket, tossed the cushions, made it look like a domestic brawl had just gone down.
Then, as casually as if it were step two on her checklist, she opened the entryway drawer and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.
“Wait. Since when do you smoke?”
She turned slowly. “If the Pope comes to your house… do you blow smoke in his face? No. But Ryder? I want to almost disrespect him.”
“You don’t smoke. Have you even practiced?”
“Don’t need to.” She wedged it at the corner of her mouth like a pro. “I’ll just let it dangle. Doesn’t mean I have to inhale.”
She lit it for effect, but after one accidental half-drag, her eyes watered and she hacked like a dying engine, doubling over with the cigarette pinched between two fingers like it was a trial by fire.
“My bad,” she croaked. “Slipped. But hey—if I cough in his face? Perfect. I could even blow my nose right after. Remember the mantra…”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut her off, hand raised. “What’s the one thing his fans would never do?”
She held my gaze for a long beat, then her lips curled into a smug smile. “See? You’re absorbing it by osmosis. You’re becoming a mini-seductressalready.”
28
When I pulled back the curtain just enough to see a black limousine roll up in front of our building, my legs went hollow, as if they’d suddenly been swapped out for cardboard cutouts. Up until that exact minute, the whole thing had felt like talk—Tess daydreaming about Ryder, her living-room theories on how she’d make him fall at her feet, me nodding along and thinking,yeah, sure.No real proof that this ridiculous scheme was actually headed anywhere. And yet, there it was, sleek and massive, the hood of the limo catching the streetlights like a blade. This wasn’t hypothetical anymore. It was about to step onto our very doorstep.
Okay, yes: the method Tess had used to lure him here would never end up in an etiquette manual. But hell, it had worked.
The low hum of the idling engine drifted up from the street, every second it lingered sounding like a drumroll before the charge. I sighed, trying to calmmy pulse, but my hands were already slick with sweat.
Tess looked at me the way you watch a skittish cat circling too close to a crystal vase. She stood in the middle of the living room in full command position, cigarette balanced between her fingers, frozen midair.
“Keep it together,” she said, flat and firm. “Don’t screw this up for me. Sit on the couch, watch TV, and do nothing. If that’s too much for you, lock yourself in your room and let your cooler-headed roommate perform her little seduction dance without interference.”
Hiding in my room wasn’t an option. I had to witness every second of this, so I could turn it into one of the funniest chapters I’d ever write. The second Ryder left, I’d barricade myself in and type until the keyboard begged for mercy. Still, I followed her orders: I stretched out on the couch, arranged myself in what I hoped was the most casual position possible, and flipped the TV on to a random channel.
“Keep the volume low. Mirov needs to—” Tess paused, recalculating. “No, leave it normal. That’ll sound natural. Only a trained ear will catch it under the background chatter.”
The buzzer rang. Tess didn’t rush. She let a few deliberate seconds pass, savoring the moment, then picked up the receiver. “Fourth floor,” she said,calm as a surgeon, pressing the button like she was opening the gates of fate itself.
My heart pounded like a marching drum, ready to crack my ribs from the inside. From the elevator shaft came the grinding whir of the cab climbing. Tess, unfazed, shifted the cigarette to the corner of her mouth, lifted Rimbaud off her shoulder, and cradled him like a fussy newborn, smoothing down his feathers.
