Managed: a VIP novel

by Kristen Callihan

A snort of annoyance leaves him. “Fine.” He walks briskly toward me, and I stiffen, but he turns, opens the laptop, and with a few hard clicks, pulls up a file. “Here,” he says, turning the screen my way. “My health report. Or did you think I was exempt?”

  “Honestly, I did.” I can’t help it. I read. So sue me, it’s right there in front of me, and he saw mine. I now know he’s six foot three, one hundred and eighty-five pounds when last weighed, and in perfect health. “Why do you do this?”

  “Insurance, in some instances. And it’s a safety precaution. If you’re going to work for the biggest band in the world, we’re going to know all we can about you.” His gaze clashes with mine. “I won’t apologize for it, if that’s what you want.”

  “No,” I shut the laptop. “I just got a little freaked, okay? Is this why you brought me here? You can see I’m not a criminal, or in debt.” Shut up, Soph. You’re babbling like a freak. “And no cooties to speak of.”

  Gabriel’s lids lower, and the look he gives me is calculating. “No cooties at all,” he agrees.

  I flush, thinking of how we could fuck hard and fast without fear of any consequences. And just maybe he’s thinking the same thing.

  Only he abruptly stands and walks to a bar across from the door. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No tea?” I’m nervous now that I know this isn’t about firing me.

  He glances over his shoulder at me. “Would you like some?”

  “No.” I need something stronger. “Bourbon?”

  With a nod of approval, he pours us both a good helping. I don’t miss the way his hand trembles just once as he passes me the glass. He gives me a tight smile and takes the seat across from me.

  The coach is absolutely silent as we sip our bourbon and watch each other warily. He still hasn’t told me anything, and I’m pretty sure I just made a fool of myself. So, yeah.

  Gabriel expels a soft sigh and gently sets his glass on a small, chrome table. The click of glass to metal is like a gunshot to my overtaxed nerves.

  “I can’t sleep,” he tells me with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. I stare at him, unable to respond, and he meets my eyes. “Not a fucking wink.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I empathize. I can’t sleep either. I’ve become some mental princess and the pea. My bed is too hard, the pillow too soft. I toss and turn, my eyes wide open. I’m either too cold or too hot. It’s a freaking nightmare. And I think way too much about a certain grumpy man who currently sits in front of me, looking a bit like sleep-deprived death warmed over.

  His smile is brief and weak. “I slept that night.” Blue eyes meet mine. “When it rained.”

  Something hot and strong rushes through my limbs. I slept then too. So well. All warm and snug, wrapped up in strong arms. Sometimes, when I’m really weak, I close my eyes and try to remember the exact feeling of Gabriel’s hard body behind mine. Try to recall his exact scent. If I’m lucky, I drift off to sleep thinking of that night.

  He thinks of that night too. I might turn into a puddle of mush. I manage to keep still, though.

  Gabriel leans forward, bracing his forearms on his bent knees. “I want to hire you.”

  My mushy feels solidify a bit. That wasn’t what I expected. I take a hasty sip of bourbon and lick my dry lips. “I’m… Okay, I’m not following.”

  A dull flush washes over the high crests of his cheeks. “I want you to sleep with me.”

  “Uh…what?” I can’t form better words.

  “Just sleep,” he clarifies quickly. “I…bloody hell…I sleep when you’re there. I have to sleep.” For a second, he looks so weak, the circles under his eyes deeper and bruised. So weary. “You can stay here, travel with me. The compensation will be—”

  “Sunshine,” I cut in. “Are you seriously trying to pay me to sleep in a bed with you every night?”

  And holy hell, if his tense, straining body language is anything to go by, he wants this badly. I’m so shocked I have to take another sip of my drink. God, the idea is tempting. But dangerous. He hasn’t said, “Sophie, I want you and can’t live another night without you.” He’s trying to hire me, for fuck’s sake.

  He sits straight, his jaw clenched. “Look, I know it’s ridiculous.”

  “It is,” I agree, heartily.

  His expression goes blank. “You’re right.”

  He moves to rise, and I reach out, laying my hand on his stiff forearm. “It is ridiculous because you don’t have to pay me for that.”

  If anything, he looks even more put out. “Yes, I do. This isn’t… If I don’t pay…” He shakes his head with an exasperated breath. “It isn’t right not to pay.”

  My fingers curl around the hard muscle of his arm. “Do you need this?”

  He pulls at his cuff. “The fact that I’m humiliating myself ought to tell you as much.”

  I give him a watery smile. “All I’m trying to say is, even if you don’t consider me a friend, I consider you one. I help my friends. And it wouldn’t be right for me to take money from a friend. Besides, you’re offering to let me stay here. This is flat-out luxurious compared to being cramped in with five other people.”

  His expression is so perplexed, my heart hurts for him.

  “You’ll do it?” he asks.

  That’s what I just said, wasn’t it? I didn’t even think it over, just blurted out my answer. I should be thinking this over. How am I supposed to live with this man? I’m attracted to him—total understatement. And he expects me to sleep next to him every night? Torture. And yet so very appealing. I want this. For reasons best ignored. Focus on the now. I’ve always operated on instinct. It has yet to fail me. And my instincts had me agreeing from the start. I’m not going back on that.

  Gabriel sits quietly, fidgeting with his cuffs, though clearly trying not to. The man has the most ferocious scowl, and I’ve never seen grumpy look so hot. Inappropriate visions of a naughty schoolgirl and the punishing headmaster fill my head. Down, girl.

  He makes a noise of impatience mixed with self-disgust. “I apologize for putting you in an awkward position. It was badly done. Let me walk you back—”

  “Show me the bedroom.”

  He blinks at me as if I’ve spoken in a language he can’t understand.

  I start walking to the back of the bus, kicking off my shoes as I go. He watches me the way someone might track a stray raccoon who’s found its way inside. But I notice he stands as well, slowly following.

  The bedroom is as gorgeous as the living area. With the glossy, mellow wood paneling, it’s cozy and warm. His bed is a king, taking up most of the space. I crawl onto it, sinking into the cream-satin covers.

  Gabriel stands at the threshold, his gaze darting from me to the space beside me. I lay on my side, resting my head on my hand. This isn’t going to be easy. Stretched out on his bed, with him looking on, this feels like something more.

  It feels like seduction. I’ve never been good at lying to myself, either. I want his weight on me, the solid strength of his muscles shifting and bunching as he moves between my legs. I want that heat, to feel his cock sliding thick and wide into my empty, aching sex.

  But he didn’t ask for that. And the fact that he needs me for something non-sexual means something to me. I’m not just a pair of tits and ass for him to get off on. He could get that anywhere. We both know it. He needs me for this.

  I let my head fall to the pillows. “Don’t leave me hanging, sunshine.”

  “It’s…” He glances at his watch. “Ten-fifteen in the morning.”

  “And I’m tired. I need a nap.”

  I really do. I hadn’t realized how very exhausted I am until I said it out loud.

  A calculating gleam enters his eyes. My nipples pulse in response. Damn.

  Slowly, he takes off his jacket, the move pure suit porn. He takes his time, hangs it up, slips off his shoes, and removes his cufflinks. Muscles strain against his fine, white shirt. I watch him with a lazy sort of attention.
The intimacy of his action soothes in a strange way, and my lids grow heavy.

  He pauses at the edge of the bed. “Every night?” It’s a husky rasp, with more yearning than I think he realizes.

  Soft warmth blooms in my heart. “Naps too, if you want them.”

  His gaze is liquid heat. “I want them.”

  He crawls onto the bed. The wary, hesitant man is gone. Gabriel moves with grace, nearly prowling, hot eyes on me, his body coming flush with mine. I start to pant as he deftly rolls me to face the wall and curls himself around me, pressing my back to his front. He does it all as if he’s had this planned in his head for some time, as if he’s been thinking in great detail about what he’d do with me once in his bed.

  His arm wraps around my middle, snaking up between my breasts before I can even blink. He cups my shoulder, holding me close—snuggling me.

  I tremor, a swarm of bees bumping around in my belly. This feels too good. My skin is burning, my heart racing. He has to notice. I feel the rapid thud of his heart against my shoulder blades and know he’s agitated too.

  We struggle with the newness of the situation for a few seconds, and then he sighs, his warm breath stirring my hair, and his hard body eases. It’s so peaceful, that sound, that I sink into his hold. We’re over the covers, but I’m so warm, so secure, that it doesn’t matter.

  Gabriel’s lips press against the crown of my head. “Every night, chatty girl.”

  The possession in his voice is absolute. I’m in so much fucking trouble.

  Chapter Ten

  Gabriel

  * * *

  “So, what are we going to tell people?” Sophie’s big brown eyes gaze up at me with worry as we make our way to the practice room set up at a local recording studio.

  Kill John is going to do a run through of a new song before we set off again, and I want to see if they’re up to snuff. Sophie, of course, will be there to take photos.

  Having gained two hours of sleep—a bloody miracle, by my count—I’m feeling so relaxed and mellow that I nearly hum one of their tunes. I might very well be losing my mind, but I don’t bloody care.

  “About what?”

  “About me rooming with you.” She waves an arm in exasperation.

  She’s adorable, really. And so fantastically soft and rounded and warm. God, she’s warm when she sleeps, her lemon tart scent stronger, earthier somehow. I’m tempted to turn us around and demand more nap time.

  I have to force myself to pay attention. “Do you not want them to know?”

  “Well,” she falters. “I don’t know. It’s just kind of…” Brown eyes narrow on me. “Do you want them to know you need me to fall asleep?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She stops at the threshold of the room. No one has noticed us yet, so we have a bit of privacy. “They’re going to think we’re together.”

  A lovely flush pinks her round cheeks. My finger itches to stroke them.

  “And that would be a problem?” I find myself asking.

  Her full lips part, then snap shut before she answers. “It’s a problem if it’s a lie. And, no, I don’t like the idea of people I work with gossiping about us.”

  “I see.” With a nod, I turn toward the room. “Oy, listen up. Sophie will be traveling with me on my coach. And it’s none of your bloody business why, so I’d better not hear a word about it. Understood?”

  At my side, Sophie makes a strangled gurgle that sounds like a drowning chipmunk.

  My boys, however, just blink back at me before grinning.

  “Well, all right then, Scottie,” Rye drawls. “Glad to see you taking initiative in your personal life.”

  Whip shakes his head. “Fucking knew it.”

  “You know nothing,” Sophie hisses at him.

  Jax high-fives Rye. “You owe us each fifty bucks, Killian.”

  “Shit, and I was so sure he’d hold out longer. Thanks a lot, Scottie.” Killian glares at me. The little arse.

  “What did I say about speculating?” I warn. “One more word and I’ll have you all doing a music video with synchronized dancing faster than you can say Backstreet Boys.”

  Whip lifts up a hand. “Okay, geesh. Got it. You two are an impenetrable wall that no one shall gaze upon. No need to go all Simon Cowell on us.”

  I don’t have time to see how the others react. Sophie pinches my side.

  “Ouch. Do you mind? This is a silk-wool blend. You’ll wrinkle it.”

  “It’s about to be shredded.” She seethes up at me, eyes shooting sparks. “You just totally threw our business out there.”

  “I told them not to talk about it.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “Which means they’ll be talking about it even more.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “Yes, we will,” Rye calls.

  I point at him. “Start practicing your Running Man.”

  “Is anyone else impressed that he knows dance moves?”

  Sophie pokes me with her finger to punctuate each word. “This is all your fault.”

  Brenna takes it upon herself to stroll over. Her smile is wide and smug. “What did I tell you, Scottie-boy? I hire the best people.”

  Poor Sophie is beet red now. I feel a pinch of regret for putting her in an awkward position. But I know these people. They are my family. Better than family. Teasing aside, they’ll do as I ask, if only because I’ve never asked them for anything personal before.

  I would tell Sophie this now, but I think it would embarrass her further. So I settle for meeting her gaze and putting all the tender gratitude I feel into my voice. “Yes, Brenna, you do.”

  My reward is Sophie’s expression going soft and luminous. Something cracks open within my chest. I don’t know what it is, but I do know one thing: my chatty girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. Because I’m not letting go.

  * * *

  Sophie

  * * *

  “You excited about touring?” Jules asks as we sprawl on the grass lawn in Edinburgh’s West Princes Street Park.

  Above us is a rare, cloudless blue sky. If I lift my head, I’ll see the dark, craggy face of Castle Rock rising almost straight from the earth and the low-slung, imposing fortress of Edinburgh Castle sitting on top of it.

  Last night, Kill John played at the castle’s Esplande, which is an open, U-shaped stadium on top of Castle Rock with the castle as a backdrop. I’ve never experienced a concert like that, the glittering lights of the city below us, the medieval-looking castle creating an air of timelessness as Kill John brought fans to a screaming roar. It lifted goose bumps on my skin.

  After taking a few pictures of the guys practicing at a recording studio this morning, I was given the rest of the day off. Since Jules also has free time on her hands, and I was too worked up about the prospect of rooming with Gabriel, I convinced her to escape with me and tour the town until we leave later this evening. And so we are taking full advantage, soaking up the sunlight streaming down on this lovely day.

  “Completely,” I answer, cracking open one eye to glance at her. “This isn’t your first tour, though. Does it still hold any excitement for you?”

  “Of course. I live for this.” She turns my way. In the sunlight, I see that her eyes aren’t simply brown but streaked with green. “It’s more than a career; it’s a dream come true. And one day, I’ll be in charge of my own bands.”

  “I envy you. I don’t have a dream like that.”

  Jules rolls to her side to face me, her head pillowed on the big, green hobo bag she always carries. “What do you mean?”

  As I think about how to explain, a mime dressed in a tuxedo stops on the wide walking path and sets down a portable radio, which starts playing Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” I watch him dance and fight a smile. At the far end of the park, by the Ross Fountain, a guy in a kilt plays the bagpipes. Their music blends into a disjointed clash of sounds. It’s wonderfully horrible, and nothing I’d ever have experienced if I hadn’t t
aken a leap and gotten onto a plane with only the smallest bit of information to go on.

  “I’ve never had a set dream job,” I tell Jules, watching the mime dance. “Never had an intense ambition. And sometimes I wonder if I’m defective that way.”

  “You are not defective,” Jules says with feeling. “Maybe you just haven’t found what you love to do yet.”

  I shake my head and smile. “No, that’s not it. I simply don’t really care what I’m doing as long as I get to live life, be happy, and enjoy new things. Making money is great because it helps me travel, puts a roof over my head. But at the end of the day? I’m not ambitious and never will be.” I shrug and pull a blade of bright green grass from the dirt. “Even worse? Eventually I want a home and to share it with someone who gets me completely, someone I can’t keep my hands off. I want babies, and to decorate my porch on Halloween and Christmas.”

  Jules frowns. “Why is that bad?”

  “Okay, it isn’t bad per se, but all my peers seem to have this drive to make their mark in the world. And here I am thinking that a simple thing like this—” I sweep my arm toward the looming hill face, which looks like a Victorian painting. “—is something to live for.”

  Jules scans the scene before us, and a slow smile lights her face. “Well, then, I envy you more. Because I should be living in the moment. Worrying about what could go wrong in the future gives me fucking heartburn.” She chuckles, and her fuchsia curls bounce around her face. “And I really need to stop worrying about disappointing Scottie.”

  “That’s easy,” I say. “Just remember he’s all bark.”

  God, I love it when he barks, gets me all shivery and hot. Which should tell me I’m completely twisted.

  Jules certainly looks as me as though I am. “Girl, I’ve felt his bite. Trust me, it’s real, and it’s scary.” But then she winces. “Shit, I forgot you’re with him now.”

  “Consorting with the enemy, you mean?” I tease.

  “Something like that.” She doesn’t look as though it really bothers her, however.