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Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} Rock Star the Song by Kate Ward Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} Rock Star The Song by Kate Ward Rock Star: The Song (Book 1 of a Bad Boy Romance) No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Rock Star: The Song is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. A kiss is a lovely trick, designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes superfluous. Ingrid Bergmen. R ock Star : The Song. Rock Star: The Contest. Rock Star: The Deal. A ll of the Rock Star books are stand-alone reads, however, you may find they are best enjoyed in the following order so that you can see the change of the characters over the course of the series. S mall town , coffee store owner, Meghan Sullivan is struggling to keep her business afloat. Just when she doesn't think things could get any worse, they do. A large coffee franchise opens across from her. Forced to make deliveries to compete, she receives a call to a secluded cabin where she finds herself face-to-face with the dangerously sexy, rock star, Chase Bryan. Famous but damaged, Chase Bryan has been given one last chance to write a chart-topping, comeback hit or else he'll be dropped by his label. After a video surfaces online of Meghan singing and the music industry wants more, sparks fly as Meghan and Chase are thrown together to write the song that will either draw them together or tear them apart. I t was the perfect love song in every way but one: I wasn’t singing it. Now it only pained me to hear the words, to hear his and her voice singing in harmony. That was the most gut-wrenching part of it all. The song had soared its way to the number one slot on iTunes within a matter of hours. Social media was abuzz with fans sharing it around the world. Every radio station from coast to coast had it in rotation. It’s said that when you hear your song on the radio for the first time, it’s overwhelming. Some do a happy dance, others cry but most sit slack- jawed, unable to comprehend the surreal moment. Oh, it was overwhelming, surreal even, and tears were streaking my cheeks, but for all the wrong reasons. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to switch the radio off, and scream. But I couldn’t. I felt paralyzed, unable to know how to respond. Truth be told, country rock star Chase Bryan had drawn me into his world with a hook that could have come straight out of one of his songs, and I could still feel him tearing at my heart. Why me? I had asked myself that a thousand times. I never saw him coming. I wasn’t anyone special. Maybe that’s why I found it so difficult to let it go. Perhaps that’s why I sat frozen, unable to get out of my truck as he stood waiting for me outside my coffee shop. Two Months Earlier. I nitially it wasn’t an odd request. Deliveries had become a daily routine. However, what was peculiar was it was the same order every day over the past two weeks; a large coffee, banana chip muffin and one of our toasted cheese sandwiches delivered to a secluded cottage where the owner never came to the door. Outside, there was always more than enough money to cover it, and a small note indicating that I could keep the change. When the bill amounted to $5.25 and they left a twenty-dollar bill each day for two weeks — I would say that was rather peculiar. Especially since no one did that in Lakeside. People were downright nasty without their morning cup of java. If anything there was an air of entitlement from most town folk. At times it was as if the coffee I sold should flow like water and be freely available, along with my muffins. Hell, and for some of the men, they thought my ass was a side dish. Truth be told, the Steamy Beans Coffee House had taken a nosedive over the past year and delivering had become a last resort. I’d never had to go to such extreme measures before and I was pretty sure I was the only coffee house in Lakeside, Oregon, perhaps even the world that delivered coffee. Or at least the only owner dumb enough to do it. Since the new “coffee house that shall not be named” opened up, bringing with its large franchised air of hipster sophistication, locals had begun coming up with all manner of excuses to not get their cup of joe from us. Some even crossed to the other side of the road when they saw me coming, just to avoid being questioned. What ticked me off even more, was that they had the nerve to open their business directly across from me. It was almost like they wanted to rub it in. They had a drive-through, cozy couches, a fireplace and the latest jazz music playing in the background. We had hard stools, candles and a local band called the Dancing Jelly Babies that frequently gave out-of-tune renditions of “Stairway to Heaven” despite having half-eaten muffins tossed at them. One thing was for certain, I was damn sure I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. The café had been the family business since I was knee-high. I filled an order while my employee and best friend Sophie held back the roaring tide of customers — which was exactly two. Bernard, our local hobo who frequently would visit us like a lost puppy looking for any leftover muffins that we planned on throwing out, and Spike, Sophie’s boyfriend, who spent hours lingering around the shop like a fly searching for a pile of manure. All three of us had grown up together in Lakeside. We had attended the same school, shared the same dreams of getting out of town and spent most evenings and weekends together. It was an odd friendship. Two girls and one guy, but it worked. Sophie’s parents ran the library in the town. It was small, but carried some of the best classics. It was through our love of books that we had bonded. I had met her after my grandparents had taken me there one Saturday. As they spent hours reading, I wandered the long rows of shelves searching for books about adventure and love. It was at the end of one of those rows that I found Sophie smoking a cigarette. Her head perched on a window, blowing out wafts of grey smoke. Apparently she would steal a cigarette once a week from her father’s pack when he only had a few left, or when he’d had a little too much to drink. She said that was the best way to avoid detection. Take one too soon and he usually could tell. Take one on a day when he was sober, and he was liable to have a reason why he knew there was one missing. Yep, she was a quite a firecracker. One that frequently got me in trouble. As the only girl in my family, I always felt like she was the sister I had never had. She introduced me to makeup, and boys. When I say boys, I mean Spike. The kid’s house was beside mine. He had been infatuated with Sophie from an early age, however, he spent more time with me than her. Why? Well, I know it wasn’t his choice, his parents were good friends with mine. “Sophie, hold down the fort while I deliver these,” I said, pushing a fully loaded paper cup into a tray and balancing several muffins and a bag of goodies in one hand, all the while snatching up the keys to my truck in the other. “How is our mystery customer?” she asked. “I wouldn’t know, I still haven’t seen him.” “But it is a him?” she smirked. “Your guess is as good as mine. The woman who phoned through the initial order didn’t say.” “It’s not a woman,” she said matter-of-factly. “How are you so sure?” “Men love man caves.” I shook my head smiling as I backed out the door, nearly dropping the entire order on Mrs. Robson; who I might add was another fellow weirdo but an overly enthusiastic supporter of my flailing enterprise. “Oops, excuse me,” I said. “And so you should, you could have killed me.” “Huh?” I muttered, holding the door open with my back. “There was a woman who dropped an entire cup of coffee, and sued…” she began her usual rant. Some days I felt like shoving a muffin in her mouth, and wheeling her on over to my archenemy across the road. I didn’t need the headache, or her verbal diarrhea, and her charitable amount of two dollars a week wasn’t liable to get me out of the red. Instead, I smiled politely and nodded until she could see that she wasn’t going to get a free coffee.
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