When Fangirls Cry

  WHEN FANGIRLS CRY

  How Not To Be Seduced By Rockstars, Book 2

  By Marian Tee

  Copyright © 2013 Blue Ribbon Books

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact us at CustomerService@BlueRibbonBooks.com

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My sincerest thanks to

  God

  My publisher Blue Ribbon Books

  My editor Wendy Chan

  My cover artist Kellie Dennis of Book Cover By Design

  My immediate and extended family

  My partner Allen Tan

  My fangirl sources (you know who you are!)

  And all the readers who have very, very patiently waited for the sequel to come out

  Thank you!

  This book is for you all! J

  Chapter One

  I’m going to visit my sick Aunt Brittany.

  Twitter, StarryEyed_4SA

  The lights went out all over the stadium, followed by explosions coming from every corner of the stage. A huge swooshing gust of wind blasted through the crowd from unseen high-powered blowers, as if mimicking the wave of excitement that swept through the thousands of fans eagerly waiting for the concert to start. The powerful flurry of air was completely exhilarating, and everyone screamed.

  Sapphire “Saffi” March screamed as loud as everyone else, her heart beating madly as music started to play in the background. Fast and furious beats of the drum burst through the speakers next, and the mostly-female crowd started jumping up and down as they recognized the song.

  One, two, three, four---

  Each member of the popular boy band Celsius performed stunning aerial somersaults as they landed on stage one by one.

  “Oh. My. God!”

  Next to her, Brittany grinned. She had long hair, chubby cheeks, and the most amazing pair of dark brown eyes hidden behind dorky-looking glasses. Saffi loved her to death even though this was her first time to meet Brittany in person, loved her even though Brittany happened to be the president of the Florida Chapter of the Official Celsius Fans Club. The enemy, in Staffan Aehrenthal’s own words.

  But she didn’t think like that. Brittany was a fellow fangirl and fangirls stuck together, through thick and thin – and that meant having to lie to Staffan about coming to tonight’s concert.

  “I told you they’re fantastic!” Brittany boasted as they started dancing. Both of them had two left feet, causing Saffi and Brittany to unintentionally bump against each other several times. It was like watching two bowling pins trying to knock each other out – without the bowling ball.

  “I know they’re good,” Saffi said laughingly. “They’re just not as good as Staffan.”

  Brittany made a face. “Staffan Aehrenthal is too much of a bad boy for my taste. Plus, he’s kinda old.”

  Saffi shook her head. “He’s not.” Old meant, like, decrepit, and Staffan could go for hours – the entire day even – making love to her. Just yesterday, Saffi literally had to beg for a time out. Well, she hadn’t really meant it, though. All she had wanted was a few minutes so she could breathe because the things Staffan did with his mouth and hands had made her gasp and gasp---

  Okay, she was starting to feel a little breathless now, just thinking about the fact that after tonight’s concert, she would be with Staffan again.

  The first song ended, and the lights went out again. Everyone screamed once more, and Brittany and Saffi did their best to shriek just as loud.

  “It’s their surprise guest!” Saffi had to yell just to make herself heard over the continuous screams from the crowd.

  “ANY IDEA WHO IT IS?” Brittany literally bounced with each word.

  “MUST BE SOMEONE REALLY POPULAR,” Saffi yelled back, bouncing with each word as well. She had to bounce – it was the only way to release the excitement inside her so she would not self-combust.

  “I’M SURE OF IT!” She added. And she was. Saffi took her fangirl craft very seriously, and concert politics was among her favorite subjects. If the surprise guest had been less popular than Celsius, then the artist should have served as the opening act instead. But no – it had been the other way around. Celsius was tonight’s star, but the group had chosen to perform as the opening act for its guest.

  “MAYBE MADONNA?” Bounce, bounce.

  “IMPOSSIBLE. SHE’S ON TOUR.” Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce. Brittany was just as serious as Saffi was when it came to her craft, and that meant keeping track of the touring schedules of the other popular artists. It paid to keep an eye on the competition.

  “Then who could it---”

  Music played ever so softly in the background, but its distinct notes were more than familiar.

  Saffi’s jaw dropped. So did Brittany’s. They exchanged glances. And then---

  Bounce. Bounce. Bouncebouncebouncebouncebouncebounce---

  “OH MY GOD!” Brittany and Saffi shrieked at the same time. “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD---”

  Powerful beams of light exploded from overhead, all directed at the center of the stage where one man stood. He had longish blond hair, a classically beautiful face, and the most amazing body, all sculpted muscles with not even a fraction of an ounce of fat.

  Saffi should know since that was her lover on stage.

  “Staffan Aehrenthal in the house, everyone!” the leader of Celsius roared.

  Saffi died.

  Wait, she just didn’t die. She died and went to heaven with those words. She really did, even if it was just a second. Celsius – her favorite band – performing with her favorite rock star Staffan Aehrenthal on one stage!

  She sooooo died.

  Staffan slowly looked up, and the crowd went wild as the cameras zoomed in on his face, flashing that delicious image on the giant screens flanking each side of the stage. His fuck-me hazel eyes were as potent as it ever was, promising the most illicit things that would have a fangirl screaming in ecstasy.

  And so they screamed…and screamed and screamed as Staffan started to dance the way only he could do.

  Although the majority of the world’s female population knew him as Sweden’s #1 Sex God, the 10,509 girls crying inside the stadium knew he was so much more than that. He was Staffan Aehrenthal, Europe’s badass version of Justin Timberlake – the most versatile rock star that ever lived.

  Saffi’s throat went dry as she watched Staffan dance on the stage, his every move graceful and seductive. His lovely dark voice mesmerized – the male counterpart of a siren, if there ever was one. His voice tantalized. With each word that came out of his mouth, it beckoned his listeners to come closer, to inhale his scent, to reach out and feel the impossible hardness of his body.

  “YOU ROCK MY WORLD, STAFFAN!” Saffi shrieked the words so loudly she became lightheaded. But she didn’t care. It came with the job, so to speak.

  And then---

  Staffan’s eyes were suddenly on her.

  She could have been imagining it. She must have been imagining it. But Saffi knew she wasn’t. There might be thousands of girls in the crowd, many of them prettier and sexier than she was, but this was Staffan, and he was the man who was in love with her.

  Those fuck-me eyes were laughing at her. But they were also loving her, seducing her, cherishing her--–

  Oh, she just died all over again.

  “SCREAM FOR ME,” Staffan invited his fans.

  Of course they screamed
. They screamed and screamed, screamed with all their hearts, and Staffan smiled, taking it all in.

  “Now, I’m going to sing for you.”

  Saffi and the other fangirls had to scream again after that. They just had to.

  Eyes widened, lips parted, and throats went dry as Staffan started to sing. Unlike most of his peers, Staffan was dressed stylishly – a black silk polo with the first few buttons undone, a leather belt with a gold Chanel buckle, and the most amazingly sexy pair of silver jeans complemented by gleaming mahogany-colored boots. The entire ensemble should have been outrageously fashionable, but all it did was just make Staffan more breathtaking.

  His every word, every look, and every move whispered the same thing. Love me.

  And so the crowd did, crying out his name over and over when his song ended and darkness reclaimed the stage.

  Someone was tapping Saffi’s shoulder from behind.

  She turned, aware that Brittany was doing the same, and gulped at the sight of a man built like an ox wearing a disapproving look on his face.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” Bob said warningly, his fingers clamping around Saffi’s wrist when she immediately tried to escape.

  “Is he your dad?” Brittany whispered.

  “He’s…worse,” Saffi mumbled.

  Bob scowled. “You lied to us, Saffi.”

  Persnickety pearl danio!

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She tried twisting her wrist away. “I’m just, umm, going to the restroom---”

  Bob shook his head again. “No can do, Saffi. The boss’ orders,” he told her.

  “The boss?” Brittany’s confused words reminded Saffi that she was technically not alone. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE A STUDENT!” Evil glances were aimed their way as the other girls hissed at them to keep quiet.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Saffi mumbled, knowing it was her fault. This was a concert, and rule #1 for every fangirl was to not make any distracting noises whenever an artist was performing on stage. She tugged at her wrist, but Bob’s fingers remained an unbreakable cuff that kept her imprisoned.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Brittany. “I really have to go.”

  Brittany’s face fell. “But why? We were having so much fun---”

  “I’m sorry.” Regurgitating requiem shark, she was such a bad friend to do this to Brittany. “I just have to go---”

  “What boss is he talking about?”

  Her mind shying away from the truth, Saffi heard herself saying, “It’s a recent gig, really top-secret and high-profile stuff.” Ah, damn. There went her promise never to lie again.

  Bob was gaping at her, but Saffi pretended not to notice.

  Brittany’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

  Bob slowly turned to look at Saffi’s friend. Were these kids for real? She bought Saffi’s lie – for fucking real?

  “You’re auditioning for a music video, aren’t you? For Staffan Aehrenthal?”

  The words made Bob want to smash his head against the wall. How the heck did these girls survive in the real world? Saffi was one of the smartest persons he knew, but somehow she just didn’t think like a normal person did and it seemed this one was exactly the same.

  Saffi nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s it. So, like, they totally want me in the video because of my dancing skills---”

  Bob barely managed not to roll his eyes.

  Saffi ignored that too. “And I told them, sure, I’d be more than happy to do that, you know?” She looked at Brittany apologetically. “So---I have to leave. You know how it is.”

  Brittany nodded understandingly. “Of course. We owe our loyalties to our favorite stars first.”

  “Exactly,” Saffi said, but she still looked a little uncertain. “Are you sure you’ll be okay alone---”

  “She’s not going to be alone,” Bob said gruffly. “The boss thought of it.” He jerked his head to the back.

  Saffi and Brittany looked at the direction where he was pointing. Saffi’s eyes widened before she started waving enthusiastically. “Alan, hi!”

  Alan Carson walked towards the two girls even as he cursed Staffan Aehrenthal in his mind. How in the world did babysitting a fangirl get included in his job description? But then, he hadn’t had the guts to ask Staffan that. He still felt guilty about the role he played in Staffan and Saffi’s breakup – and the damn rock star knew it. Worse, he never hesitated to take advantage of that guilt.

  Serves him right to have Sapphire as a girlfriend, Alan thought. Saffi was a nice girl and all, but she would always be a handful since her extremely smart mind operated on a different level than the rest of them.

  Alan’s handsome face was all smiles when he reached the trio. He greeted Saffi pleasantly then focused all his attention on the girl next to her. “Hi,” he said, easily falling into the role of a guy who might or might not have an interest in the girl he was talking to. He had this role down pat, having needed to exercise it for years as a closet gay.

  Brittany’s eyes widened. “A-aren’t you one of the permanent back-up dancers for Staffan Aehrenthal?”

  “Yep,” he said. “I’m hoping I can be a suitable replacement so Saffi can leave? Staffan sent me here to keep you company.”

  Brittany looked at Saffi, impressed. “Wow, Saffi. I didn’t know you were that good a dancer!”

  Alan was incredulous. Saffi had used that lie again?

  Saffi did her best not to turn red. Carefully keeping her eyes averted from her friend, she said, “Err…yes. So...you’ll be okay with him?”

  Brittany glanced at Alan shyly.

  Alan winked. “We’ll have fun, don’t you think, sweetie?”

  Brittany’s eyes were dazed. “We will.”

  When she and Bob were near the exit, she asked, “Do you think I should tell Brittany Alan’s batting for the same team?”

  “What I think is that you have a greater problem to worry about, and that’s making sure that Staffan isn’t going to skin you alive for this latest stunt.”

  Saffi cringed. “Can’t you be more optimistic?”

  “I can do optimistic.”

  She started to smile.

  “Staffan won’t shout at you in public,” he told her affably. “He’ll just be furious with you in private.”

  Saffi’s smile disappeared. It was times like this she sort of thought she was better off being just one of Staffan Aehrenthal’s fangirls.

  ****

  The crowd started out as a dozen of people loitering outside the concert venue, but as time passed, more people trickled in and then it had become some sort of silent explosion, with multitudes of gawking tongue-tied females of all ages converging on just one spot.

  It was enough to have Charles Baker, the venue’s head of security, call for backup. If this turns into a stampede, Charles thought, those three are definitely to blame.

  He could understand why Staffan Aehrenthal was here, being the special VIP guest performing for Celsius’ tour. But what about the other two puss-fucks or whatever it was that those women called them? Why in hell were they here and trying to turn what should have been a peaceful security gig into a potential disaster?

  Three billionaires who were too damn attractive for their own good – all in one place! If Charles had been born a woman, he supposed he would have been speechless with sheer awe, too. One of the three men laughed, and the rise of excitement from the crowd was palpable.

  “Get into position,” Charles snapped at his men.

  Another spoke quietly, and then all three turned around.

  Charles turned around too, hoping that whatever it was – it would be something that would get the three billionaires out of his turf as quickly and safely as possible. The women around him were releasing all kinds of hungry vibes, like sharks circling their prey.

  At that moment, he did not envy any of the three men at all.

  These women would tear them apart given the chance.

  ****

  Saffi stopped dead in her tracks when s
he saw the trio of Pussketeers waiting outside, lounging against a stretch limousine parked directly in front of the venue’s main gate.

  The man laughing out loud was Constantijin Kastein, the media tycoon and Netherlands’ #1 Playboy, golden-copper hair glinting under the moonlight. The man standing next to him spoke, and he looked up, his silver eyes glinting with knowing amusement as he looked at Saffi.

  At that moment, Saffi could definitely understand why Yanna Everleigh, Constantijin’s fiancée, and millions of other women were so in love with him.

  The man who had spoken to Constantijin was the one she had just recently met. But of course Saffi knew of Rathe Wellesley, and it wasn’t just because he was Staffan’s friend. Tall, with chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes, Rathe was said to be the epitome of the Iron Duke, who was his great-great-great-something-grandfather. He was also England’s #1 Heartthrob, a title that the coolly analytical Rathe had always despised.

  Rathe raised a brow at her, but his blue eyes were smirking, as if knowing something she didn’t.

  If she hadn’t been nervous earlier, Saffi was beyond nervous now. She took several deep breaths before allowing herself to meet the gaze of the last Pussketeer.

  Staffan Aehrenthal was leaning against the passenger door of the limo. He was freshly showered and wore a long-sleeved striped cotton sweater, slacks, and stylish-looking loafers. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

  Saffi had curled her long dark hair for the occasion, and she matched the sexy-wild hairstyle with dark mascara on her eyes. She was wearing a cropped shirt that would have exposed her black bra if she raised her hand even an inch above her waist, and denim shorts so short that it had Staffan gritting his teeth while his cock immediately reacted in response to the sight, growing engorged beneath his pants.

  Ah fuck, only Saffi made him hot with fury and arousal at the same time.

  Saffi’s mind became a blank when she found all three Pussketeers gazing at her.