22-year-old Beryl doesn't know why Gavin Slater trashed his penthouse, abandoned his dog and fled the country. But as his house sitter, she must pick up the pieces for the front man of the white-hot rock band Tattoo Thief.
When ultra-responsible Beryl confronts the reckless rock star, she wants to know more than just what to do with his mess. Why is he running? What’s he searching for? And is he responsible for the death of his muse?
New York newbie Beryl must find her footing in Gavin’s crazy world of the ultra-wealthy to discover her own direction and what can bring him back.
Steamy, sassy and tender, Tattoo Thief is a story of breaking from a comfort zone to find a second chance.
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Heidi Joy Tretheway Bio:
Heidi Joy lives in Happy Valley off Sunnyside Road. She swears she did not make that up.
Heidi’s obsessed with storytelling. Her career includes marketing, journalism, and a delicious few years as a food columnist. Media passes took her backstage with several rock bands, where she learned that sometimes a wardrobe malfunction is exactly what the rock star intends.
You’ll most often find Heidi Joy with her husband and two small kids cooking, fishing, exploring the Northwest, and building epic forts in their living room.
She loves to hear from readers via messages at facebook.com/author.heidi.
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Setup: Gavin Slater, front man for the white-hot rock band Tattoo Thief, trashed his penthouse and fled the country. His house sitter, Beryl, is stuck cleaning up the mess and must move into his apartment to take care of his dog. But her curiosity drives her to dig deeper to find out why he fled and what can bring him back.
I’m getting a little obsessed with Gavin Slater because I’m living his life by proxy: his home, his dog, his stuff. I search YouTube and find a video of his interview on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon.
“So what inspires you? What drives your music?” Jimmy asks.
Gavin looks down at his shoes for a beat, and I can see his biceps flex under a thin, tight T-shirt.
“What doesn’t inspire me?” Gavin grins, and runs a hand through his hair, spiking it even higher. “Life is music, and music is life. Music is the most important thing. And I can find inspiration in the smallest little things, like the way she sighs when she’s sleeping.”
“She? So is there a woman driving this inspiration?” Fallon sits forward, eager for the answer, and I find myself leaning forward too.
“It’s hardly a secret,” Gavin reaches across the host’s desk and taps a CD case with the picture of a woman, lion-scratched and bloody. I recognize the cover art for Beast.
“So you’re taken? That’s what the ladies here want to know.” The camera cuts to a shot of the audience and I hear shrieks from Gavin’s ardent fans.
“I’m taken by her. And I’m taken with a lot of women. Let’s not make anything too official.” Gavin smirks and I sour. Players—they’re not for me.
“So what’ll it take to settle you down?” Fallon nails it, the question I’m sure a million girls are asking. Including me. But a cloud passes over Gavin’s face and for a fraction of a second he looks lost.
“Chemistry,” Gavin says, and plays another bad-boy card with the sex-charged innuendo. “And physics.”
Fallon stutters; not much surprises him. “Physics?”
“Yeah,” Gavin hunches forward, his elbows on his knees. It’s confession time, and I really listen. “Physics. Newton’s third law says, ‘for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ And that’s what I’m looking for. My opposite, and my equal.”
I watch as Gavin’s band plays “Peace of Madness” on Fallon and scan the crowd shots for the woman on the CD cover. I don’t see her, but I do see Gavin working the mic, the cords on his neck straining, his jeans hanging dangerously low off chiseled hips. A close-up shot of his pale blue eyes arrests me.
Finally, I close my laptop and breathe deeply, calming my racing heartbeat. Now that I’ve seen Gavin Slater in action—albeit on my laptop screen—I’m even more charged by him than before.
But something runs deeper than lust, though that’s certainly what’s got my chest heaving right now. What is it? Intrigue? Fascination?
I can’t tell if crushing on Gavin Slater is fangirl crazy-talk or some kind of stalkerish need to know. Either way, it’s bad. I can’t understand why he’s gone from a confident player to a freak show, with a trashed apartment, abandoned dog, and scant communication with the real world.
Where the hell is he? It makes no sense.
I resolve to push my fixation to the furthest corners of my mind and focus on my new clients and my growing business.
Not on fixing Gavin Slater. He’s broken.
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