Page 40 of How NOT to Seduce a Rockstar
“Go get it, scatterbrain,” she ordered, still not turning around. “What you’ll learn today isn’t taught in school.”
I vanished at light speed.
Where the hell had I put it? Ah—next to the typewriter.
The night before, I’d filled page after page: the concert, the bouncer’s stoic resistance to Tess’s charm, the Aura Reflection Theory, our triumphant entrance into Ryder’s Church, her vow of imminent conquest. It had all poured out of me like I was in a trance—or possessed by the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw on amphetamines.
Notebook, pen—got them. Back to the living room.
Tess had finally turned, wearing the expression of a guru.
“Yes, my young apprentice. Today you will meet the target.” She paused. “But we won’t go to him… he’ll come to us.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The prey must approach the seductress of its own free will. Even if—in reality—it was the seductress who maneuvered him there with a few subtle psychological devices.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The queen never leaves her throne. It’s the knight who kneels before her.”
“Okay, but… how exactly are you planning to lure him to this dump?”
“Who said we’re staying here?” She arched an eyebrow, offended. “A real seductress doesn’t believe in miracles, she believes in technique. And logistics. We’ll move closer to his golden kingdom. We’ll infiltrate. Like spies. And once we’re inside… he’ll come to us.”
“And this golden kingdom would be…?”
“The Vellum.Five-star hotel on 57th and Park. Rooftop pool, panoramic suites, white-glove service 24/7. Actors, rockstars, billionaires in disguise.”
“And Ryder’s staying there?”
“Until Friday. Last New York show.”
“But… he travels with bodyguards!”
“You think I don’t know that?” she scoffed. “Please. I’m twenty moves ahead. He’s already in love with me. He just doesn’t know it yet. In twoweeks he’ll be so gone he’ll probably propose. On his knees. With the ring in his mouth.”
“Okay, and what’s the plan once we get inside the Vellum?”
She gave me an enigmatic smile, pure undercover Bond girl.
“I’ll explain once we’re there. Get ready. Wear something nice. You don’t want to look like a peasant among men who smell like vanilla and privilege, do you?”
“Wait—you mean we’re going now?”
“When else? A true seductress doesn’t wait for the perfect moment… She creates it.”
18
Walking into The Vellumwas like climbing inside a designer handbag worth six figures: silent, pristine, and way too elegant to be carrying two mortals like us. The sliding doors sighed open as if they’d instantly recognized we weren’t exactly their usual clientele.
Inside, the air smelled like cedar, white musk, and multimillion-dollar contracts. The walls looked like gray velvet—though I was pretty sure if we touched them, some invisible alarm would zap our fingers. In the center of the lobby, a black crystal chandelier dangled like post-apocalyptic art, and every receptionist held themselves with the posture of a diplomat cross-trained in ballet.
Tess walked as if she’d been called up to accept a lifetime achievement award—confident stride, dark sunglasses indoors, coat draped over her shoulders in open defiance of gravity. I followed, with the unmistakable look of someone about to be arrested for breathing too loudly in a two-thousand-dollar-a-night hotel.
“This place smells like offshore money,” Tess whispered as we passed the colonnaded gallery. “And if you order the Nebula cocktail, they literally bring the fog to your table. Liquid nitrogen. Silver-glove service.”
“Perfect,” I muttered. “I already feel broke down to my bone marrow.”
The lobby bar looked like the fever dream of a fashion designer on opiates: mirrored walls, champagne-colored mood lighting, ochre velvet chairs arranged in perfect circles. At the center, a backlit onyx bar where white-gloved bartenders in tux jackets poured fluorescent liquids into teardrop-shaped glasses.
