Queen Of Hearts

Queen Of Hearts- Episode 3

Music to my heart

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Music to my heart

A Celebrity Romance Novel

Written By: Pamela James


Do not copy or repost



” We leaving at exactly 11 A.M. to make it to the next show. You are responsible for finding breakfast, or waiting until lunch. Your decision. Do not make me come and get you.”

And with that, we all stumbled towards the elevators with our overnight bags and keycards, completely wiped from performing.

“That wasn’t very nice of you.” Simeon mumbled to the creator of the scene beforehand, pushing the button for the fourteenth floor.

“Maybe if you didn’t f**k like a rabbit….” Felix started to gripe back, but I cut in.

“Stop it, no one is in the mood. Let us just go to bed.”

We nearly broke out into laughter.

Felix was the only one to ever come back from a show with his pockets full of phone numbers, and just go to bed.

Still, if that is what he wanted to do, none of us were going to stop him.

More for the rest of us.

Walking down the dimly lit, carpeted hall, we began finding and entering our rooms.

As felix put the keycard to his door, I coughed loudly, as if to remind him that he was forgetting something.

Felix froze, but then relied his shoulders in an exasperated sigh.

Finally, he turned.

“Alright, just hold on. Let me unpack and maybe grab a shower, I will be there in a second.”

“Hurry up.” I grumbled, walking into my own room, letting the door shut and flopping down on the white bedcovers.

I had no regard for the filth I was covered in or the lack of light in the room.

Breathing in deeply, I smelled the clean scent of a hotel bed, something that had grown familiar, and yet cold to me.

Flipping over ontomy back, I pulled out my phone, clicking through my notifications.

Tweets were popping up across the top of the screen every few seconds, tags from the show continually being posted.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

I clicked into my settings and turned the notifications off, relishing in the silence that followed.

It didn’t take me long to get bored, though.

“I’m f****ng h0rny.” I said to myself under my breath.

I pulled the papers and miscellaneous items out of my pockets, spreading them out across the end table next to my phone, the keycard, and my water bottle.

Sifting through them, I was trying to put faces to papers, but it was nearly impossible.

I groaned in annoyance.

Unlike Simeon, I wouldn’t go to bed with just any girl, appearances did matter, but at the same time, I didn’t have beauty standards and eye for huge, multi-person escapades.

I dpdn’t want to call someone and risk them being a nightmare.

Thought coming to mind, my eyes slid over to the water bottle.

Sure, she hadn’t been a model, but I at least knew what I was getting myself into.

I have had plenty of opportunities to try and find the hottest of the hot at other shows.

Plus, she wasn’t overbearing or loud, and I could use that right now- no sick fantasies to fulfill, no strings attached, easy lay.

I Picked up the water bottle, I squinted at the Sharpie, punching the numbers into my phone.

I thought about just texting, but deciding that I didn’t want to go through the whole process of proving who I am, I just decided to call.

One ring… two…


I was on my way back home, tired and sore from the rock concer when i received a phone call.

I reek of cigarettes, although not my own, and my head was pounding from dehydration.

Still, I was holding signed merchandise and memories of an exhilarating experience, as concerts always were.

Hearing the ring, I plucked the device from my pocket, looking at it.

Not recognizing the number, I just hung up.

A few seconds later, though, it started again.

Sighing, I hit the accept button- worst case, it was a scammer, and I plan to block them.

📞”Hello?” I asked, voice cracking slightly against my will.

All the screaming hadn’t really been doing me any good.


When I heard the voice, I nearly dropped the phone.

It took me a moment to get ahold of myself, trying to figure out if I am dreaming.

Pausing, I didn’t even know what to say.

📞”Um… are you there?” He asked again in a deep tone deep that sounded fatigue.

📞”Yes!” I started to say, then coughed, realizing I sounded overeager.

📞”Yeah. Who is this?”

📞”Oh, it’s Arden. From Gold Star.”

I tried to stop myself from freaking out as he confirmed my suspicions.

Obviously, there was only one reason a celebrity would be calling a fan, and he had no problem cutting right to the chase.

📞”You know the Seleneway….? On… sh*t, I forget the road name. I will just text you the address. I’m in room 1407.”

📞”O…okay!” I stumbled.

📞”Cool, see you in a sec.”

Before I even got a chance to stop stumbling over my words, he had hung up.

I stopped, trying to figure out if what I just heard was real.

I screamed in astonishment, jumping as I held my phone to my chest, clutching the screen with trembling fingers.

Realizing I was creating a scene, though, I was forced to stifle my emotions as the promising buzz of a text message vibrated against my skin.

There was no other text in the message besides the address.

Copying it into my GPS, there was a typo, but I easily fixed it.

It wasn’t even twenty minutes away.

Not that I was expecting for anything to happen, but like most concert-goers, I am basically already prepared.

Aside from the sweat on my skin and the cigarette smoke on my clothes, I am dressed nicely…… all manners.

When I entered the hotel, I was dumbfounded by the sheer magnitude of the place.

Most musical artists were stuck in seedy places between tours, no matter how popular, but they were really living the life of luxury.

I am honestly surprised that a rock band would even enjoy such a place.

I went to the hotel bathroom on the bottom floor, taking a few minutes to make sure I looked alright.

I changed my hair sryle a little bit, putting on some deodorant and perfume, and washing off whatever sweat I could.

Straightening my top and giving myself a little confidence boost in the mirror, I walked to the elevator.

“1407…” I muttered to myself.

“So… floor 14?” I pushed the button.

I reveled at the size of the lift, looking at all the buttons.

I wondered if the rooms had skyline views… Judging by the luxury of the rest of the place, I won’t be surprised.

Stepping out, I started to walk down the hallway, assaulted by the clamoring of s£x, drugs, and partying.

I find myself wondering if I will be able to find the Arden who just called me in his room.

Reaching door 1407, it was eerily silent inside.

Breathing in deeply, I knocked.

My heart was pounding as if something rustled inside.

There was a thump, as if something hit the floor, then a few steps, until finally, the door opened.

Standing in front of her was, as promised, one of the lead singers, Italy best eapper, and composers for rock sensation Gold Stars, Arden.

He was clearly disheveled, hair a disaster and stage makeup smeared all over his face.

His breath smelled like cheap hotel alcohol, and his shirt was already half hiked up, caught on itself, revealing the toned skin underneath.

Breathing in, almost impatiently, he asked,

“Rose, right?”

I nodded.

That was the only courtesy he offered me as he grabbed me by the arm, dragging me into the darkness of his hotel room.

He pushed me up against the wall as his hands grasped at my frame.

His skin was flaming hot and he was sweating slightly, voicing a low, dissatisfied hum.

He completely skipped any semblance of introduction as his lips pressed into my neck- this clearly isn’t new to him.

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, though, and I am not going to complain.

People would kill to be where I am right now.

So, instead of focusing on how unconventional this was about to be, I slid my hands over the open area of skin before moving to lift up his shirt.


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