Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell
Chapter 5
Angela Morales
Look at him sitting there with a smug grin on his irritatingly handsome face.Ugh. A crazy urge rose in me to do whatever I could to wipe that arrogant smirk from his lips and ensure he’d never want to return to K-ROC again.
“Good afternoon, Mica. We’re so happy you were able to join us on the line. Have a great day.” I flicked the switch off and scrolled the comments pouring in from social media. “Debbie from Crystal Springs wants to know what you’d consider a romantic date.”
Sticking his dick in the first hole he can find flitted through my mind. It was no secret he’d been a player while on tour, and there’d even been rumors he’d enjoyed more than one woman at a time.
My upper lip curled in disgust. Men are such pigs. I tried to block out the memory of that last night with my ex-husband, and a chill crept over my skin.
“Oh, Debbie. If you and I were going on a lovely, intimate date, I think I’d start with an expensive dinner at a romantic restaurant.” Viktor’s eyelids lowered, lending him a sexy I’d love to devour you right here look, and I cleared my throat and snapped my attention to the screen in front of me. “Then, under moonlight, we’d walk to a quaint little park, and under the trees, I’d kiss your jawline, moving down to your neck, taking my time to savor each and every part of you before—”
“Okay,” I interrupted. “That’s where we’ll stop so this remains a PG-13 show. I think we all know about Mr. Farrow’s sexual prowess.”
“Angel, you have no idea how many women I’ve made happy over the years.” The smug grin deepened. “I might even be willing to give you a turn if you want to come over here and sit on my lap.”
I ground my teeth together, trying to remember I had an audience out there listening. Inhaling a deep breath, I released it slowly.
“Yeah. No. That’s a hard pass for me. No telling what kind of STD I might catch.” Well, damn. Terri’s going to kill me. The interview would go down in history as one of the worst I’d ever performed if I didn’t turn it around.
Viktor tilted his head, and something shone in those soft, mesmerizing eyes, but I couldn’t tell which emotion. Anger? Probably.I’d just accused him of being a manslut in front of a dozen or more people. Well, at least we don’t have a lot of listeners—he was right about that. Stupid jerk.
“I’m clean as can be. All of my partners were required to be tested before they could get to the fun.” One corner of his mouth twitched, and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
Put your eyes back in your head, Angela. This guy was something else. How could I turn this around to help K-ROC and hang on to my job?
“That’s great, I’m sure.” I straightened in my chair. Keep it professional. Stop baiting him. “Mr. Farrow, why don’t you tell our listeners what you’re doing in Mesa Palms?”
I raised an eyebrow at him and nodded, twirling my wrist as if I could hurry his response.
He paused, as if trying to decide if this was a trick or a real question. After three seconds, his shoulders relaxed, and a genuine smile replaced the annoying smirk. “Well, I’m recording a new solo album in a nearby studio. And”—his fingers scratched his jawline, creating a slight rasp against the whiskers—“I’ll be starting a comeback tour soon, playing some of the new material.”
The phone buttons were a flash of reds. Every line the studio had—which wasn’t that many, four—were inundated with callers.
“Sounds like an ambitious plan.” I really had nothing else to say that wouldn’t sound bitchy. “Good luck with that. Let’s take another caller and see—”
“I’d rather talk to you.” He steepled his hands and tapped his chin. “Tell me, what’s a hot little spitfire doing out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere wasting her days in such a dump.”
Oh no he didn’t. In one sentence, he’d complimented and insulted me and my career. An urge to jump over the table and throttle him heated my blood.
I glared daggers at his stupid, handsome face. “First off, no swearing on air unless you want to pay the FCC fines. Second, your compliment is rude and demeaning, and third”—I clenched a fist and took a moment to steady my voice—“this little dump has helped your career whether you want to acknowledge it or not. If it weren’t for radio stations—past and present—putting your music out there, you wouldn’t have fans. Yes, in this day and age, listeners can choose to have their music streamed, but K-ROC’s goal is to bridge that gap, to give personal attention and interaction to the artists and fans.”
He ran a hand absently through his hair. and glints of gold sparkled with the movement. What would those strands feel like against my fingertips? Focus, Angela. He’s an addict, a womanizer, and so full of himself his ego could be its own person.
But the words built at the back of my throat, demanding release. I hadn’t been furious in a while, but Viktor Farrow had burrowed under my skin as easily as an annoying sticker. “So, you can sit there in all of your high-and-mighty glory and snarl in contempt, but it’s these little shitty dumps you’re treading over as you climb that ladder to fame and glory.”
Well, crap. How many swear words did that make? We’d never be able to afford the fines. I smacked my fist on the table and bit my lip, giving Farrow the most scornful glare I could muster.
His smile widened and his lips twitched, as if fighting a chuckle.
This interview needs to be done before the station’s shut down.