Title: The Rocker's Muse
Author: Penelope Ward
Genre: Standalone Contemporary Romance
Tropes: Rockstar/15-Year Age Gap/Small Town
Found Family/Slow Burn/Forbidden
Release Date: August 26, 2024
From New York Times bestselling author Penelope Ward comes a new, STANDALONE novel…
No one but me knew why I was actually in the California desert that day.
Nestled deep within the desolate, rocky area was a recording studio.
When a door suddenly opened, a man mistook me for someone he was supposed to be interviewing for a job.
The next thing I knew, I was whisked inside.
The position? An assistant on the upcoming tour for one of America’s most famous rock bands.
Pretty exciting opportunity for a twenty-two-year-old, just out of college.
Not surprisingly, I bombed the interview.
When I ended up mistakenly walking into the men’s room on my way out, I struck up a conversation with a stranger—not realizing it was the lead singer, Tristan Daltrey.
He seemed to like the fact that I had no idea who he was, that I saw him as a normal person.
That night, I got a call offering me the job.
So began my complicated story with Tristan.
Millions of women loved him.
Yet for some reason, after the shows, he only wanted to hang out with me.
Late-night talks. Casual dinners in his hotel room.
I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the band’s frontman.
Despite our fifteen-year age difference, Tristan and I had a connection.
But I had a secret.
One that would eventually lead to my leaving the tour.
And one that would lead Tristan and the band straight to the small town where I came from.
APPLE BOOKS / KOBO / B&N
**No Amazon e-book preorder.
Both the Kindle version and model-cover paperback will go live on/around release day.
The current paperback preorder is for the special-edition, floral cover only.
WHAT YOU CAN EXPECT
ROCKSTAR
15-YEAR AGE GAP
SMALL TOWN
FOUND FAMILY
SLOW BURN
FORBIDDEN
Copyright © 2024
By Penelope Ward
I stayed close to the door as Tristan sifted through some stuff. There were a bunch of papers with handwritten words scattered on his bed. A leather jacket lay over a chair. He’d lit a candle on the bedside table—smelled like vanilla. This scene was a little different than I might’ve imagined in here. Much more Zen.
He zipped open a bag. “I guess you didn’t realize wrangling drunk assholes was part of your job?”
“Thankfully, it’s not, usually.”
“I kind of feel guilty now,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”
“What do you mean? The condoms weren’t for you…”
He froze for a moment. “Condoms?”
“That’s why I was over here. To drop off condoms for Atticus.”
“What a jackass.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what I meant was, you were nervous about taking this job to begin with. I told you nothing bad happens on tour. And then you ran into that situation tonight. I was the one who told Doug to hire you.”
I nodded as understanding dawned. “Thank you for putting in a good word, by the way. I wasn’t sure you remembered me. We haven’t spoken since the tour started.”
“Don’t take it personally. Tour’s just been crazy. I’ve been meaning to say hello. Just under different circumstances.”
I nodded. “Why did you tell them to hire me? You don’t even know me.”
“I liked that you didn’t know who I was. That was the first time in a long time someone’s looked me in the eyes and seen a normal person, not some musician they’ve made a million incorrect assumptions about.”
“I saw more than your eyes in that bathroom, unfortunately.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I’m just kidding. I was the idiot who walked into the men’s room. Served me right.” My eyes traced the ink at the base of his neck, just peeking out from his white T-shirt. “Anyway, I probably would’ve recognized you from the Internet if you hadn’t had that long beard.”
“That’s exactly why I had the beard. I grow one every recording season when we don’t have to perform. It helps me not be recognized in public. I hated having to cut it before the tour.”
“Makes sense.”
Tristan opened another drawer and finally pulled out the ibuprofen. “Ah! Got it.” He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” I cracked open the bottle and took a sip before downing the meds. “I’m surprised you’re alone tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve heard you guys have a different girl every night on hotel stops.”
“Wow.” He scratched his chin. “A different girl every night. I think my dick would fall off. Where are you getting your information?”
“I don’t disclose my sources.”
He shrugged. “Some nights I just want to be alone. I do have to write music at some point, rest my voice, get sleep.”
I nodded. Now the papers scattered over his bed made sense. “You write a lot on the road?”
“I write whenever inspiration strikes, but being on the road is actually when I’m most creative. Late at night on the bus, when everything goes quiet? That’s what I like best about touring. That’s my favorite time to write.”
“That’s my favorite time of the day lately, too. There’s something so relaxing about staring out at the moving darkness.”
He cocked his head. “What do you do?”
“On the bus? Read or listen to podcasts…”
“Sorry, I meant in general. What do you do when you’re not held captive by a tour for four months?”
“Not much of anything, actually. I’m trying to find my place in the world at the moment. I just graduated from Nevada State University.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-two.” I’d googled his age but asked anyway. “How old are you?”
“Almost thirty-eight. Old as fuck, right?”
“You don’t look thirty-eight. I would’ve guessed, like, thirty.”
“What did you study at Nevada State? Blowing smoke up people’s asses?” He winked.
I laughed. “It’s true. You look younger. But I majored in communications.”
“Nice.”
I shrugged. “Well, it’s been challenging finding a job with such a broad degree.”
“You’re in a good position,” he assured me. “I envy you.”
“Envy me?” I drew my brows in. “Why?”
“You’re a blank slate with your whole life ahead of you. Some days I wish I could go back and start over.”
“Why would you want to do that? You’re a huge star. If you did even one thing differently, you might not be where you are today.”
“Where I am today isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.” He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m very grateful for it all. But there’s always a price to pay for fame. Like giving up your privacy.”
“Yeah. I’m seeing that. You guys can’t go anywhere without being mobbed.”
“You clearly don’t give a shit who I am, though. I need that sometimes.” He smiled. “Your innocence is refreshing, Emily.”
Innocence? “I may be young. But I’m not innocent.” I scoffed.
“I don’t believe you. I can see it in your eyes. You’re innocent as hell.”
“You’re not a good reader of people, then.”
Tristan crossed his arms. “Tell me the worst thing you’ve done, and I’ll believe you.”
No one had ever asked me such a direct question before. And something about looking into this man’s eyes made me want to answer honestly.
So I did.
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With millions of books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over forty books. Her novels have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
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