Read Online Gauge: Rockstar Romance (The ProVokaTiv Series Book 1) by Cara Nelson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cara Nelson
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three.”
“Yeah. Who’s your favorite?”
“I’m not allowing myself to have one. Need to stay impartial for the article.”
“I’m calling bullshit,” Lauren said. She had a wicked grin spread across her face. “I saw that picture, and it doesn’t take a hell of a lot of investigating to know who your favorite is.”
I couldn’t say anything immediately, feeling like my tongue weighed a hundred pounds. Laurel let me off the hook. “Don’t sweat it. Journalists fuck around with musicians all the time, it’s part of the game.”
“Well, I didn’t do that,” I said.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Out of curiosity, don’t employers usually frown on that type of thing?” I asked casually.
“There’s nothing typical about our industry, and I know you know that. It’s why you’re there, and I’m here in this office ready to live vicariously through your words.”
“I think I’ll stick to journalism and not try to be an amateur groupie—not sure I’d be good at that schtick, as you put it.”
“Honey, don’t even try to pull off Jewish lingo. It took a very authentic grandmother to teach me that one.”
“Got it.” I was silent, not having much else to say. It was my fingers that needed to start doing the talking.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Looking forward to receiving the goods. Everyone’s eager.” Then her phone. She put her finger up to the camera, reached down and answered her phone, then looked at me and waved before signing out.
I estimated that I had two hours to get started before getting ready for the concert that night. If my time went ideally I’d be able to get an outline complete. Then, after the show, I’d come back, get a good night’s sleep and start burning the oil first thing in the AM.
There was one aspect of my assignment that I’d been avoiding since getting to know the guys of ProVokaTiv a bit better. That was the fact that I just didn’t respond to their music the way most everyone else did. In fact, when I tried to find data on poor reviews or negative critiques, I came up with only eight credible sources. When it came to finding positive feedback, I found more credible sources than I could even add up. I reached the conclusion that there must have been some sort of subliminal messaging in there that brainwashed the followers like a cult.
Staring at my tablet’s blank page, I wrote the start of my first sentence : I don’t know when ProVokaTiv became a synonym for ‘contagious.’ I put some strikes through my first sentence immediately afterward, staring at the tablet closer, more enamored with the reflection of the rising sun on it then the sentence I’d written.
“It’s going to be a long damn life if I’m already getting stuck for the right words,” I muttered. I looked to see it was 8 AM. Liquor stores opened at 8 AM in the Twin Cities. Risking some speculation and raised eyebrows from the hotel staff, I picked up the phone and dialed room service. “Blueberry muffin, fruit, oh, and a bottle of Pinot Noir…no just once glass…10:00? Oh, okay, just bring it all up then.”
I had two hours to kick it into gear. I could do it! I started to type out my thoughts, diving into everything that had been happening over the few weeks. I still had three weeks to go before my ‘research’ was complete, and this draft was the best way to fill in the blanks about what I still needed to get; my interview with Gauge being the main one. I’d been putting that off, feeling like it was easier to get to know him through other means. Who would have thought that dirty dancing was one of them? Go figure.
“Room service,” a thick Italian accent called out from the other side of the door.
I jumped, not realizing that 10:00 had arrived, and opened the door. A middle aged man was standing there behind a wheel tray with four items on it: a small silver platter with a lid, a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a single red wine glass.
“Come on
“Yeah. Who’s your favorite?”
“I’m not allowing myself to have one. Need to stay impartial for the article.”
“I’m calling bullshit,” Lauren said. She had a wicked grin spread across her face. “I saw that picture, and it doesn’t take a hell of a lot of investigating to know who your favorite is.”
I couldn’t say anything immediately, feeling like my tongue weighed a hundred pounds. Laurel let me off the hook. “Don’t sweat it. Journalists fuck around with musicians all the time, it’s part of the game.”
“Well, I didn’t do that,” I said.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Out of curiosity, don’t employers usually frown on that type of thing?” I asked casually.
“There’s nothing typical about our industry, and I know you know that. It’s why you’re there, and I’m here in this office ready to live vicariously through your words.”
“I think I’ll stick to journalism and not try to be an amateur groupie—not sure I’d be good at that schtick, as you put it.”
“Honey, don’t even try to pull off Jewish lingo. It took a very authentic grandmother to teach me that one.”
“Got it.” I was silent, not having much else to say. It was my fingers that needed to start doing the talking.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Looking forward to receiving the goods. Everyone’s eager.” Then her phone. She put her finger up to the camera, reached down and answered her phone, then looked at me and waved before signing out.
I estimated that I had two hours to get started before getting ready for the concert that night. If my time went ideally I’d be able to get an outline complete. Then, after the show, I’d come back, get a good night’s sleep and start burning the oil first thing in the AM.
There was one aspect of my assignment that I’d been avoiding since getting to know the guys of ProVokaTiv a bit better. That was the fact that I just didn’t respond to their music the way most everyone else did. In fact, when I tried to find data on poor reviews or negative critiques, I came up with only eight credible sources. When it came to finding positive feedback, I found more credible sources than I could even add up. I reached the conclusion that there must have been some sort of subliminal messaging in there that brainwashed the followers like a cult.
Staring at my tablet’s blank page, I wrote the start of my first sentence : I don’t know when ProVokaTiv became a synonym for ‘contagious.’ I put some strikes through my first sentence immediately afterward, staring at the tablet closer, more enamored with the reflection of the rising sun on it then the sentence I’d written.
“It’s going to be a long damn life if I’m already getting stuck for the right words,” I muttered. I looked to see it was 8 AM. Liquor stores opened at 8 AM in the Twin Cities. Risking some speculation and raised eyebrows from the hotel staff, I picked up the phone and dialed room service. “Blueberry muffin, fruit, oh, and a bottle of Pinot Noir…no just once glass…10:00? Oh, okay, just bring it all up then.”
I had two hours to kick it into gear. I could do it! I started to type out my thoughts, diving into everything that had been happening over the few weeks. I still had three weeks to go before my ‘research’ was complete, and this draft was the best way to fill in the blanks about what I still needed to get; my interview with Gauge being the main one. I’d been putting that off, feeling like it was easier to get to know him through other means. Who would have thought that dirty dancing was one of them? Go figure.
“Room service,” a thick Italian accent called out from the other side of the door.
I jumped, not realizing that 10:00 had arrived, and opened the door. A middle aged man was standing there behind a wheel tray with four items on it: a small silver platter with a lid, a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a single red wine glass.
“Come on
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