“It’s not your fault. He’s doing this, not you,” I make a feeble attempt at reassuring her. I can tell by the slight shake that is starting to creep into her voice that she is close to getting emotional. I can see she notices it too because she takes a deep breath and blows it out, quickly composing herself. “So. All of this… is the least I can do. Whatever you guys need, I will help.” We all thank her as she stands, and Ron walks her to the door.
I let out a breath and run a hand through my hair before letting it rest on the back of my neck.
“Jack,” Matt glares at me, and there’s an admonishing tone in his voice. “I know that look. Quit worrying about the rest of us. There’s no way we want any of the things that piece of shit has thrown our way.”
“I’m with him,” Chris looks across the table at me. “The song for the film, the Superbowl… who knows how he really got us those deals.” He flops back in his chair.
“Yeah,” Josh chimes in. “I want nothing to do with any of that. I’d rather we get those opportunities the honest way - because we deserve it and it’s really our turn.”
“And all that aside…” Matt assures me, “he’s got to be stopped. Bottom line. We’re doing the right thing.”
I already knew all that, but I’d be lying if I said all of their support and reassurance doesn’t help take some of the weight off.
Without wanting to, I pull up my left sleeve to check my watch. Time to head back and wait for Morris’s call.
MAYZIE
As I screw the lid back onto my lip gloss and set it down on the vanity, I take a look in the mirror and see… myself. The girl Jack fell in love with. My makeup is my usual soft and subtle colors, pinks and creams on my eyelids and a pale pink gloss on my lips. I look the way I do every day. The way Jack and everyone else I love sees me. I like what I see. In fact, I love it, and I decide on the spot that that douche-waffle doesn’t get to see it. He’s going to see someone else tonight. He doesn’t get the privilege of seeing the real me, the me I show to Jack.
I snatch two makeup removal wipes out of their package and work the shadow off my eyes with one, before wiping my lips with the other. I pull my entire arsenal out of my makeup bag, which isn’t much, and open the small eyeshadow palette I have, the blacks and charcoals completely smooth and untouched by an application brush. Well, they are cashing in their V-cards tonight.
Warriors of all different backgrounds and time periods would put paint on their faces before going into battle for a myriad of reasons: to appear fearsome to their opponents, to look unrecognizable or unreadable, to psych themselves up, to name a few. I’m finding myself relating deeply to the theory that it would help change a warrior’s mindset and give them a sense of confidence and strength. I consider this as I lay out my color options on the vanity. I’m putting on my war paint.
My train of thought then takes me in the direction of professional sports teams and how they like to blast death metal or angry hip hop in their locker rooms to get themselves pumped and feeling hardcore before a game. I reach for my Kindle and turn on my music app.
As I take in the lyrics and tunes of my hard rock dance playlist, I get to work with some black eyeliner on my lower lids before pulling up a tutorial on smoky eyes on YouTube on my phone. Any time I’ve worn dramatic eye makeup, it’s been done to me by someone else, and I never took much note as to how they did it. Once I’m satisfied with the end result, i.e., I don’t look like a raccoon on a bender, I apply some pitch-black mascara and find a dark wine colored lipstick for the finishing touch.
Setting the lipstick down, I glance back up to the mirror. They say that how you look on the outside shouldn’t dictate who you are on the inside, and I believe that, but I also think that there’s some merit in the idea that sometimes your insides just need a little help from your outside. And on the outside… I look fierce. I keep eye contact with my reflection as I take in a cleansing breath. Once I’ve let it all the way out, I stand and head over to where my suitcase is perched on the bed and look through my after party reserves. After leafing through a few garments, I come across a dress that I had bought just before the tour but haven’t worn yet. The tags are still on it. I’ve been putting it off because I’ve since had second thoughts about buying it, and haven’t been excited to wear it. I take it over to the full-length mirror, holding it against my body. It’s a slinky knee length black wrap dress. It hasn’t felt right before, but it sure seems to now. I lay it on the bed while I unzip my hoodie…
There’s a knock at the door as I’m securing the tie of the dress at the left side of my waist. I walk out of the bedroom and into the sitting area to find Shane leaning back from the peephole. I stand still, twisting my hands together as he lets in Detective Morris, followed by a female hotel employee dressed in black slacks and a white chef’s jacket, pushing a room service cart. Once the door is closed behind them, she straightens up as Morris introduces her.
“Mayzie, this is Officer Bennett and she’ll be helping on the team tonight.” The officer pulls a badge out from inside her chef’s jacket and holds it up for me to see. And all of a sudden, it’s real. This is about to happen. Reality drops on me like a battleship, and I can actually feel the blood draining from my face.
Without a word in greeting, I walk over to the wet bar and pull out the bottle of tequila and a shot glass.
“Mayzie, you need to have a clear head for this,” Morris begins to lecture me, as the officer lifts the cloth on the cart and reaches under it to retrieve a black case.
This. As in this is it.
“I agree,” I retort flippantly as I proceed to pour the clear liquid into the glass. “And my nerves going haywire does not a clear head make.” I knock the shot back and grimace as the liquid burns a blazing trail down my throat towards my stomach. When the flash of fire simmers in my chest and disseminates through the rest of me, I screw the top back on the bottle.
“No more,” he lectures sternly.
Oh bite me.
He and his trusty sidekick follow wordlessly as I stalk back towards the bedroom and wait stoically as I walk into the adjoining bathroom to rinse with some mouthwash. When I come out, the lady officer is standing at the dresser with a small case lying on top of it, unzipped. She’s playing with and testing what appears to be a wire.
Morris waves his hand at the bed as he pulls a chair closer. “Why don’t you sit down so we can go over the plan,” Those words are another punch to the gut, and I let the feeling drag me down to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Morris sits down in the chair, but still leans forward with his forearms on his knees. “How are you feeling?” he starts in with a pleasantry, I’m sure trying to gain easier cooperation.
“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.” With all my focus reserved for keeping a grip on my nerves and holding on to my courage, other things are slipping. My manners for instance. Right out the window. I remind myself he’s here to help, and mumble a feeble ‘sorry’ under my breath. He lets it go, taking in a breath before diving in.
“Remember, he’s playing a game. Sometimes he’s content to use his money and power to let the women come flocking, and sometimes, he uses it to conquer them.” God, what a tool. “It’s pretty obvious he’s doing the latter with you, that he wants to work for what he believes will be the prize at the end. Gold digging, star-struck women looking to get ahead are one thing, but a happily married woman whose husband is a well-known rock star is quite another. It would be a big deal if he scored what he wanted from you in the end, which means you don’t want to make it too easy for him, but you do want to let on that he could be winning. It will be a tricky balance of hooking him, and then reeling it back a little. Be a challenge, but make it seem like you’re an attainable one.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean come off reluctant, but like you’re giving in. If anything is going to make him lower his guard some, it’s that. And then when you pull back, he will hopefully up his game and s
lip a little when he does it.”
This makes sense. Kind of. “Got it,” I say, giving a nervous nod.
Morris motions to the officer to come over. “Officer Bennet is going to put a wire on you.” She comes to sit next to me on the bed and murmurs a quiet ‘hi’, her voice gentle and friendly. Morris gets up and walks out of the room, and I understand why when the officer asks me to hold the sides of my dress open so that she can secure the wire to my bra. It’s tiny and black, and once it’s attached, I can’t even see it.
“Alright,” Morris says when he comes back in the room a couple of minutes later. “Everything is set and in place. My team is all ready to go in the suite below Costa’s. Your wire is working, so all that’s left is to head up when it’s time.” He gives a shrug as if he’s trying to lighten the weight of what I have to do. Right. No big deal. “And I want you to remember the word ‘shark’.” He finishes.
“Shark?” I repeat.
“Yeah. That’s your safe word. If you feel like things are taking a wrong turn and you’re seriously fearful for your safety, you say that word loud and clear and we come in.”
“Shark,” I say again out loud, more to myself, nodding.
“What about Jack?” I nudge, as he puts his hands in his pockets and his lips press into a flat line. “We agreed, Morris, I need him. I need to know he’s near.”
Morris sighs. “I just got a text from him. He’s waiting in an SUV nearby. As soon as you cross the threshold of the penthouse, he’ll be called to come up.”
I look down, giving a soft nod.
“Hey,” he prods. “We’re going to be right there too. Despite how it will feel, you’re not going to be alone. Okay?”
“Okay,” I affirm, giving a more convincing nod.
“Okay. I have my cell close. Text or call with anything between now and then.” I nod again, as he attempts an encouraging smile before turning and exiting the room. Once they’re gone, I glance at the digital clock by the bed.
Fifteen minutes…
25
Mayzie
The minutes tick by while I pace, take a drink of water, and pace some more before finally walking over to the window, letting the view do whatever it can to calm me. Gazing down at what looks like tiny lights and cars, I remind myself that it’s thousands of people, thousands of lives, with millions of things going on. And this… is just one unpleasant thing I have to do. That’s all. And then it will be over. I look over at the clock on a side table that reads 5:58. I don’t have to leave yet. I don’t have to be there on the dot.
As my gaze comes up to stare out across the city, a warm, comforting feeling comes over me, seemingly right out of nowhere. I’m suddenly compelled to bring up my right wrist and look at my tattoo. A flashback of the memory of Jack and I getting the same symbol inked into our skin quickly blinks across my mind, and I bring my fingers up to run across the two nines that forms an artistic heart over the words Only Ours. The feeling nestles in the center of my chest, and I feel it glow and pulse as if my heart is a jar of fireflies. I close my eyes and bring my hand completely over the symbol as if to draw strength from it.
In that moment, everything feels like it locks into place making me feel brave and assured. I open my eyes and whip around, heading for the door, snatching the penthouse key card off the table as I pass. Who knows how long this feeling will last. Hell, it will probably be gone by the time I reach the elevator. But it was enough to get my legs moving, carrying me out of the damn hotel room.
Okay, that elevator ride sucked. How many frickin’ floors was it from my floor to this stupid, snooty penthouse floor? Enough for my mind to wander into la-la land that’s for damn sure. I feel like a hapless bird going to face the cat who wants to eat it, or better yet, I’m heading into the damned spider’s web. Yeah, I’m the poor little fly about to get trapped in the spider’s web, Eli being the spider of course. The cartoon image of a giant, hairy spider with Eli’s face floats into my mind, making a manic, nervous giggle escape me. Eli the giant douche-spider. Damn, I’ve lost my freaking marbles. The elevator pings, wiping all traces of humor from my mind. Now I’m stuck, standing in the vestibule between the elevator and the hallway that leads to the Douche Suite. I get tunnel vision looking down the hallway and I swear it stretches longer and longer before my eyes, making me feel like I’m in the damn Shining. Only instead of creepy twins, it’s a mega-douche waiting for me. Fuck.
Once my tiny freak out is over, the hallway snaps back to its actual shorter length. Squaring my shoulders, I try not to think. At least not about anything except putting one foot in front of the other, again and again, until I reach the door, where I stop.
I see the device meant for registering the key card and realize all I have to do is swipe the card in my hand and enter. But I just stand there, flipping it over and over. I can’t seem to do it. One, it would probably make me appear willing. Two, I don’t want to because I’m not willing. Instead, I give a hesitant knock. Maybe part of me foolishly believes he won’t answer, like he’s not actually in there waiting for me.
But damnit, I hear footsteps approach before the door swings open, presenting a douche.
“Mayzie…” Eli greets me with what I’m sure he believes is a warm and welcoming smile. He stands aside to let me in, but I make no move from the doorway. My torturous heels seem to be cemented to the hallway carpet. “Come in,” he coaxes, waving his hand indoors.
“I’m afraid to,” I admit.
His face softens. “You don’t need to be afraid. Just come in and talk to me. You’ll see, everything will be great.”
For whom? I think, as I take one step and then another, talking myself through repeating the motions until I am just inside the door. Eli closes it behind me, and steps around to stand in front of me. He’s not crowding me; he’s giving me space, but God, that stare. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I think I’m feeling my back start to sweat. I breathe in through my nose and very subtly let the breath out through pursed lips, being careful not to make it obvious. I try to look everywhere but at him, taking in the space. There’s a grand piano in the corner by the windows that display the sparkly skyline through white sheer curtains.
“I’m glad to see you still know how to make smart decisions,” Eli starts in, bringing my attention away from the crown moldings and back to him.
“Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean you win,” I say, standing stiffly in front of him.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You are here after all.” He’s trying not to let his cockiness show in his smirk, but he’s failing miserably.
“That doesn’t mean I want to be here.”
“But again, here you are. And you sure as hell didn’t show up in a pair of sweats, so I’m not fully convinced you don’t want to be here.”
“Then you’re delusional,” I barb, trying to be bold.
I see a flash of scorn quickly pass over his eyes, but it’s gone almost before I can register it. He composes himself quickly, acting unfazed.
“You know, you seemed perfectly comfortable with me on the plane, Kitten. What happened?”
“I wasn’t comfortable on the plane-,” I start, and then the memory catches up to me. We did have a good time talking; for a little while. “Well, I was for the time you were talking to me, politely; like we were friends. It went out the window when you started eyeballing me the way you do other women, making suggestive comments and locking me in small spaces with you.”
“Ah, yes,” Eli smiles nostalgically at the ceiling like he’s recalling fond memories, before directing his smile back down to me. “I’ve always thought you were pretty Mayzie, but you never put it on display much; always the dressed down blue-jeaned wife of the rock star. And then, I admit, seeing you dress up for Jack got my attention. And then again at the photo shoot,” he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, “just sealed it for me.”
“Sealed what?”
He stares at me quietly for a long moment, as if he’
s gathering just the right bunch of words. “My desire to really put everything into this relationship,” he states, seemingly satisfied with his own answer.
“Which relationship?” I ask, just a hint of frustration creeping into my voice. I’m trying like hell to get this guy to verbalize one clear sentence that the cops can nail him with. “Your relationship with the band, or with me?”
“Oh… the whole package Kitten,” he gives me a cocky tilt of his head with his answer. Ugh! That could mean so many different things. It’s like he’s some storybook character that talks in riddles. I try a different way instead.
“I also thought I was comfortable when you apologized to us in Houston. Guess I’m not as smart as you think I am because I really believed you were a genuine human being.” Maybe a little guilt will get him to slip.
“PR Kitten,” he says with his voice raised, as if giving me a firm reminder. “It’s what I do.” He’s completely unshaken. “Speaking of that,” he continues, taking a few steps closer to me. “My morning perusal of social media today showed me that you and Jack were quite busy last night.” His eyes roam down my body and back up as he stops just two feet away from me. It takes every ounce of willpower I have inside me to not take any steps back and try to hold my ground.
I seem to need to take in a deep breath to deal with this part. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.” I try to keep my voice steady and firm.
“The band violated our contract. Any appearances the band makes, charitable or otherwise, are to go through me.”
Not for much longer, bucko.
“I hardly think we did anything to make you look bad by doing that.”
“No, you’re right,” he agrees, raising his shoulders, his face taking on a nonchalant air. “And besides,” he continues as his gaze travels down to my boobs, “I’m positive you could convince me to let that slide tonight.”
Still Her (Turn it Up Book 2) Page 22
