Managed: a VIP novel

by Kristen Callihan

  It is inevitable, however, that I must talk with people throughout the night. And this night is extremely long. I’ve forced myself not to text Sophie more than once, lest I “mother hen” her. But I want to.

  I don’t like the wan, yet agitated expression she had earlier, or the way she trembled in my arms, even though she clearly wanted to hide her upset. Something is wrong. Something more than the carsickness she claims.

  Whatever the problem is, I want to make it better. It is imperative that I do. My entire life has been dedicated to looking after people I care for, and she sits at the top of the list now.

  I should have stayed with her. I’m feeling…possessive—yet another emotion I don’t any familiarity with.

  Men can’t go around introducing their woman as, “Mine; Touch her and lose a finger.” Can they? I doubt Sophie would appreciate being labeled as such. Or perhaps she would if I told her to label me in the same manner?

  “Scottie, dude, you’re drifting.”

  “Pardon?” I find Killian standing next to me.

  “Completely spaced out.” His grin is annoying. “I guess the vacation did the trick.”

  “I’m cured of the compulsion to check my phone every two minutes,” I tell him grimly.

  “Uh-huh, that’s exactly what I was referring to.”

  I ignore his smug look. “It was…” The best time of my life. “…I enjoyed it very much.”

  Killian makes a noise of amusement. “Good to hear.”

  He doesn’t say anything further, but he doesn’t move away either.

  Sophie believes I should try harder with them. I clear my throat. “I’m thinking of taking Sophie to the chalet for the New Year. Would you and Liberty like to join us?”

  I grimace. That probably sounded as stilted coming out of my mouth as it did in my head. By the way Killian’s lip twitches, I am correct. Bugger.

  But he answers before I can say another word. “Liberty and I would love that.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask her before committing?” I know that much about women.

  “No need. We have mind-melded.” He leans in. “Besides, she’s behind you.”

  Startled, I step back and find Liberty grinning so wide, her cheeks bunch. “Hey, Scottie.” She gives me a punch on the arm. “Can we go skiing, and eat fondue, and do other James Bond-type things?”

  “Such as jumping off cliffs and deploying parachutes with the Union Jack on them?” I drawl.

  “Yes. But I need stars and stripes on mine. It’s my patriotic duty.”

  “I’ll put it on my to-do list.”

  “Hee!” She hugs me before I can get away. “This will be the best New Years ever!”

  Killian laughs, but then looks around. “Anyone seen Jax?”

  I disentangle myself from Liberty and nudge her in Killian’s direction. “Not since the concert ended. He was a little off tonight.”

  Killian scans the room. “He looked like shit. And now he’s gone.”

  When Jax disappears, we all worry. It is an automatic reaction now, no matter how trustworthy he seems. Instantly, I’m alert, my lower back clenching.

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Walking off stage.”

  “That was…” I glance at my watch. “Forty-two minutes ago.”

  Killian waves over Whip and Rye. “You guys seen Jax?”

  Our worry is contagious. Rye frowns. “No, man.”

  “I saw him go into the bathroom when we got off,” Whip says.

  Rye jogs away to search the bathroom, while Killian heads for Kip, our head of security.

  I move that way as well, and reach them just as Kip tells Killian he saw Jax go upstairs, hanging on to a groupie.

  “And some guy,” Kip adds.

  “A guy?” Killian repeats, confused.

  “Yeah, kind of sleazy looking. He had Jax by the other arm. But Jax waved me off.” Kip shrugs. “So what could I do?”

  Do your bloody job and tell me what was happening, I think with a silent snarl.

  Killian’s gaze darts to mine. “Jax is not into dudes.”

  “I know that,” I snap, then take a breath. “Look, we don’t know what’s going on; we’re simply being cautious. And I do not want to call attention to us, so let’s calm down.”

  Killian’s jaw tenses, but he nods.

  “Keep on with your duties,” I tell Kip. “Come with me, Killian.”

  Rye finds us as we walk across the room, his expression is grim. “Not in the bathroom.”

  “Apparently he went upstairs,” I say. “Stay here and be you.”

  He knows exactly what I mean, but he doesn’t appear happy.

  “Some days it sucks being the class clown. Text me when you find him, or I’m gonna be pissed.” He salutes us and runs off, jumping on the couch between two women. “Ladies, who wants to do shots?”

  Liberty is with us, and I touch her elbow to slow her down. “Go tell Whip to stay down here. If we all go, people will notice.”

  Killian and I fall silent as we wait for the elevator.

  “We have no real reason to worry,” I tell him.

  “He’s probably fucking some girl.”

  “Right.”

  A row of numbered lights track the elevator’s descent to our fifth floor level. Killian and I both watch it.

  “Why do I feel like it’s something more?” Killian whispers, staring at the lights.

  My heart gives a pained thump. “I don’t know.” But I feel the same.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sophie

  * * *

  Turns out I don’t have to hunt Martin down. He finds me. Of course the bastard does it his way, texting me to say he’s off to the concert—where I can’t follow without being seen by Gabriel—and then smugly adds that he’ll text again when he’s free.

  Fucker. Fuck-faced fucker.

  I have no choice but to sit tight, bide my time, and grow more anxious.

  I’ve doodled devil faces on half the models in my magazine when I hear the elevator ding in the hall. A woman’s obnoxious laughter rings out, followed by the lower tones of Jax’s voice. The concert is over, and he’s clearly in the mood to entertain.

  Their voices drift off, and I try to lose myself in TV. Unfortunately, nothing’s on, and I find myself watching Alvin and the Chipmunks in Italian. I have no idea why a kid’s show is playing in the middle of the night, but high-pitched chatter in rapid Italian is definitely a distraction.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but a terrified, ear-piercing screech coming from the hall has me jumping up and running for the door.

  A young woman runs toward the elevator in hysterics. Her brown hair is wild, her makeup smudged. Vomit splatters cover one side of her chest. That doesn’t stop me from hooking her by the arm and yanking her to a stop. She’s running from Jax’s room.

  “What happened?” I snap, my heart pounding. She tries to jerk free, but I hold her tight. “Answer me.”

  “I don’t care if he’s famous. He barfed on me. Eww…” She flails her hand. “So fucking gross.”

  She’s an American, and probably no older than nineteen. I tug her along, hurrying down the corridor. “Show me where he is.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No. You don’t get that luxury right now.” And I’m stronger. Worry and fear for Jax has that effect.

  “He’s with that other dude,” she whines. “He’ll take care of him.”

  I don’t stop, but my steps stutter. “What dude?”

  “I don’t know. Some guy. Marty.”

  I can feel the blood draining from my face. I find myself rushing forward, the girl in tow. “Shit, shit.”

  The girl wrenches free. I don’t try to catch her but run to Jax’s room and bang on the door.

  My worst fear is realized when Martian opens it with a shit-eating grin.

  “Well, this was easier than expected. Hello, pretty Sophie.”

  I shove him back with all my strength
. “What the fuck did you do!”

  He stumbles a step but then steadies, laughing. “I didn’t do shit. Just followed the trainwreck that is Jax Blackwood.”

  From the bathroom comes a pitiful moan and the sound of retching. I give Martin a death glare as I hurry off. He follows as if he can’t wait to witness this.

  The smell hits me first. It’s so foul, I stagger. Jax is on the floor by the toilet, his skin sickly gray and covered in sweat, among other things.

  “Jax,” I fall to his side, heedless of the mess. “Honey, what’d you take?”

  His head lolls but he blinks, trying to focus on me. “Nothing, babe. Swear. Don’t feel so good.”

  He shudders, then blindly reaches for the toilet, knocking me back in the scramble. I hear the distinctive click of a photo being taken. Martin has his cell out and is clicking away with glee.

  “Put that fucking phone down or I will cram it up your ass, I swear to God!” I lunge for it, but Jax collapses on the floor.

  “Jax! Shit. Give me that phone,” I snarl at Martin. “I need to call a doctor.”

  Martin dances back, holding the phone high. “Baby, I knew it would be worth it to follow you, but I didn’t realize you’d make me this lucky. Thanks, Soph. Again.”

  The words are barely out of his mouth when Gabriel and Killian appear in the doorway. Relief washes over me. Gabriel will know how to best help Jax. But a few things happen in rapid succession that prevent me from getting a word in.

  Killian shouts in fear and rushes over to Jax.

  Gabriel’s gaze darts between me and Martin. Before anyone can move, he grabs Martin by the throat with one hand, smashing him into the wall, and plucks the cell away from Martin with the other hand and pockets it.

  “Stay,” he snaps at Martin, slamming his head against the wall one more time.

  “Get the fuck off me,” Martin says, trying to break free. “I’ll fucking sue.”

  Gabriel simply pins him to the wall with the strength of one arm. Already he’s on his phone. “Stern, I need you now. Bring your bag.” He calls another a second after that. “Kip. Up here now.”

  Never once does he look at me.

  Killian has Jax in his arms. “No fucking way are you doing this again,” he rasps looking panicked.

  Jax moans and stirs.

  “What did he take?” The harsh question from Gabriel is directed at me.

  “I don’t know. He said he didn’t. Just that he feels sick.”

  Gabriel’s attention cuts to Martin’s phone as he scrolls through the pictures. Every inch of him seems to vibrate with suppressed rage. His lips are white around the corners, his grip on Martin so tight that the man starts to claw at Gabriel’s fingers.

  “You’re choking him.” Personally, I want to beat the shit out Martin, but Gabriel has too much to lose by seriously hurting a photographer.

  Gabriel’s eyes meet mine. Rage flares so hot in his expression that I viscerally react, recoiling into myself.

  “Good,” he snaps, returning his attention to Martin’s phone. His nostrils flare as he looks over what has to be dozens of pictures, the last one being me hunched over Jax.

  With a few moves of his thumb, he deletes them all.

  “Hey,” Martin tries to protest and earns another slam of his head.

  Dr. Stern and Kip rush in a second later, and everything becomes a blur of helping Jax. I find myself pushed out of the bathroom, and I slump into a chair to shake and sweat. There’s vomit on my knees, which I’m trying very hard not to look at, and I’m afraid for Jax. I’m also worried about Gabriel’s behavior.

  I know he’s in emergency mode, but I don’t like the way he refuses to look at me.

  Kip marches Martin out of the suite, with the little rat bastard protesting the whole way, and I’m alone.

  Gabriel is still with the others in the bathroom. I can hear them talking.

  “It isn’t an overdose,” Dr. Stern says. “I believe he has food poisoning. I’ve already had calls from a few of the roadies who are suffering as well.”

  Killian’s voice is subdued. “He went out to dinner with Ted and Mike earlier.”

  “Those would be the two who I’ve seen,” Dr. Stern says. “I’ll keep him hydrated until it passes through his system.”

  Jax moans. “Can everyone get the fuck out? I’ve got more to pass through my fucking system…”

  Killian and Gabriel exit the bathroom and close the door behind them. Gabriel is on the phone, giving someone an update. He keeps himself turned from me.

  Killian takes one last look at the door and lets out a shuddering breath. Weariness lines his face as he rubs a hand over it. With a pat to Gabriel’s shoulder, he walks out, never once acknowledging me.

  The sick, jumpy feeling in my belly intensifies when Gabriel finally heads my way.

  “Sunshine—”

  “Not here,” he snaps, in a low, tight voice. He turns and heads for the door.

  I have no choice but to follow.

  * * *

  He waits until we’re in our room to round on me. “All right, what the hell is going on?”

  “Don’t snap at me like I’m one of your lackeys.”

  “Answer the goddamn question,” he roars.

  My ears ring with his fury. It’s so sudden and intense, I flinch. I’ve never seen him like this, white about the lips, his eyes burning into mine. My lip wobbles. I want to cry. But I’ve never been the type to cower. I won’t now, and I find myself shouting back at him.

  “I don’t know! I only got there a few minutes before you.”

  He snorts, the sound loud and obnoxious. “He sent you the first text when we checked into our room.”

  Shit. “That had nothing to do with Jax.”

  Gabriel grinds his teeth. “You weren’t sick at all, were you? You lied to me.”

  My stomach lurches. “I was sick. With worry and shame. The mere thought of that worm being around and wanting to talk made me ill.”

  If anything, he looks more upset, hot color rising up his neck. “That’s all you had to tell me, if that was the case. Instead, you made me worry and regret leaving you behind. And all the while you were planning on meeting up with that little fuck.”

  He’s right, and there’s nothing I can do to change my mistakes. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to handle it myself, get rid of him and get on with my life. I didn’t mean to hurt you, though.”

  Gabriel waves his hand as if swatting a fly. “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  His gaze cuts to me. “Because I am. Not. Fine. I am bloody-well pissed.”

  I finch again at the hardness of his voice and the way he uses it as a whip. Having never been on the receiving end of his anger, I hadn’t realized the power of it. I’m ashamed that I’ve earned it. And I’m hurt that he won’t let it go.

  He paces over to me, but halts as if he suddenly doesn’t want to be too close. “It’s bad enough that I have to walk into what appeared to be a replay of one of the worst moments in my life, but I get the distinct privilege of witnessing your supposed ex-boyfriend thanking you for helping him film the whole fucking thing!”

  Guilt and shame hit me anew, but my mind skids to a halt. “What do you mean supposed? He is my ex. How can you even think that—“

  His lip curls in disgust. “You’re not stupid or blind. You damn well know how this looks.”

  “And how exactly does this look to you?” I ask, my heart thudding loudly in my ears. “Tell me, Gabriel, what do think went on here?”

  For a second, I don’t think he’ll answer. But then something defiant flashes in his eyes, and he stiffens, those icy, business-like walls slamming down around him. It’s so swift and effective, I can almost hear their phantom clang.

  “It looks like you fucked us over.”

  He might as well have punched me in the gut. For a second I can’t breathe.

  “Right. All of this, all of what we had together, was just some elaborate
ruse to get a story. Sure, why not? I can play a whore, can’t I?”

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  “Do not twist this, Sophie.”

  “I’m not twisting anything. You flat-out said it. I’m only clarifying your theory.”

  “I wouldn’t have to theorize if you would simply tell me what the fuck happened!” He punches the air, as the words tear from him.

  “I shouldn’t have to explain that I’m not some gutter slut,” I shout back. “You should trust me enough not to leap to that disgusting conclusion.”

  “And if it had been me? Had you walked in on me with someone who had already hurt your family, someone you knew I’d been in a relationship with while hurting your family? You’d honestly just assume it was all fine because you trust me?”

  He looks at me with wide, pained eyes, and my heart squeezes. “Well…”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” he cuts in, going hard once more. “At the very least, you’d expect an explanation without having to ask for it. And I would bloody well be giving it to you,” he shouts. “Because you’d deserve that courtesy. Anyone would. And most certainly from the person you—”

  His mouth snaps shut, and he turns away, running a hand through his hair. Hunched and trembling, he looks so defeated that I move to go to him. Because if he’s hurting, I need to stop it.

  But he doesn’t give me a chance. He straightens once more and turns to me. “I am trying my best to give you a chance here. Because what Killian and I walked in on tonight did not look good.” He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “Christ, Sophie, give me something to work with, a bloody breadcrumb of an explanation to take back to Killian.”

  My face burns so hotly it throbs. “Killian? You think I give a shit what Killian believes right now?”

  “You should be extremely worried about what the bloody hell Killian thinks of you. The band’s welfare should be your top priority, damn it.”

  “It’s obviously yours,” I snap.