Because of You

by T. E. Sivec

  “Oh come on, it’s fun! It’s great to dance to. It’s feel-good music. Emma loves her. She always makes me play her newest CD when I drive her to school in the mornings,” Gwen said with a smile.

  “That is NOT feel-good music. Feel good music is Back in Black by AC/DC or Blaze of Glory by Bon Jovi.”

  “Whoa, slow down there, Grandpa. You might bust a hip.” She raised one of her eyebrows and asked with a laugh, “You do know you’re only twenty-nine and not fifty-nine, correct?” Gwen shook her head at me. “You really need to expand your musical horizons.”

  She jumped off of the edge of my desk and walked over to her own, sinking down in the seat, crossing her legs, and folding her hands in her lap.

  Gwen started to ramble facts off from memory. “Layla went to the best private schools up until she started singing professionally and enjoyed your typical high society life while growing up. She lost her father at fifteen when he went to run some errands and wrapped his car around a tree. From what I heard, though, he was packing up and moving out. Wanted a divorce and wanted to get the hell out of doge. Anyway, Layla’s mother immediately took over Hummingbird Records, and within a few short weeks, Layla was signed to the record label and producing music.”

  I clicked on the print button while Gwen took a breath. Who needed the internet when I had a sister who was addicted to tabloid magazines. While the printer whirred to life and spit out the pages of information, Gwen continued.

  “Layla was an instant success at fifteen. She had that whole sweet girl-next-door demeanor going on, and she really does have a solid singing voice, although in my personal opinion, she doesn’t stretch it like she should. Anyway, within two months of its release, her first album went platinum and a month after that she was singing to sold out venues across the globe. Her first couple of songs, I Love That Boy, Girls Night Out, and Wishing for the Weekend, went straight to number one within hours of their release. Totally crazy how much her fans adore her and will seriously buy absolutely anything she puts her name on. Wishing for the Weekend was at the top of the charts for a record breaking seventeen straight weeks, beating the competition that held that record previously since nineteen-ninety-five.”

  I got up from my desk and walked over to the printer to grab the pages that pretty much contained all of the information Gwen rattled off. I folded them up and stuck them in my coat so I could go over them later when Gwen wasn’t looking at me like I’d been living under a rock just because I couldn't have cared less about some Britney wannabe that had probably never even heard of Led Zeppelin.

  I skim the pages one last time and the information on the last page jumps out at me, just like it had every time I read through this shit.

  Layla was an overnight star and through the years her fans have remained loyal and enthusiastic, embracing each new record with mounting fervor. Given her overnight success and increased net worth, Layla has remained humble and close to her roots.

  I snort to myself at that last line, knowing full well either Layla herself or someone in her camp came up with those carefully constructed words. No one born with a silver spoon in her mouth and worth more money than I will ever see in my lifetime could still be humble.

  YOU were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.

  I ignore the words my conscience screams. Sure, my parents have money, and Gwen and I had grown up well-off, but we didn’t take advantage of that shit, and we didn’t stick around long enough for it to change us. We are normal, everyday people who have to work hard for the money we earn, and we don’t take handouts from anyone. We are grateful for what we’ve been given, and Gwen and I have been through more hard times than this Layla Carlysle could even imagine. I may not have been in the private detective business for long, but what I see doing this job and my time as a cop in Nashville has given me enough real life experience about just how the world’s rich and famous behave: always a good show for the public—all sweet and innocent—and then as soon as the cameras are off and no one is looking, they turn into man-eating sharks ready to chew up and spit out anyone who got in their way.

  I quickly refold the papers and shove them back into my coat pocket as the door to the conference room opens. I keep up my I’m-bored-to-death-and-don’t-give-a-rat’s-ass attitude as an entourage of five people enter the room, ending with the object of this meeting.

  Google image search and YouTube don’t have anything on Layla Carlysle in person. She stalks into the room wearing a tattered jean skirt that clings to her hips and ends not much further down, showing off smooth, toned legs that look a mile long with the four-inch fuck me heels on her feet. The click of her shoes on the tile floor as she rounds the long table forces my gaze away from the naked legs I so desperately wanted to slide my hands up so I can feel if they’re as smooth as they look. She tucks them away behind the glossy mahogany table, which is probably for the best. The first thing that strikes me about her is that she’s not all done up in pageant hair, make-up, and sequins like she usually is in all the pictures I've seen of her online. The black, long-sleeved Jimi Hendrix concert T-shirt she’s wearing looks out of place with the image I had in my mind of how she’d look in person. That thing looks like it’s swallowing her whole. It isn’t molded to her body like the get-up she normally wears in the tabloids, but it does hang loosely off of one arm, and I can see a glimpse of the skin of her shoulder. There is a major contrast in public Layla and private Layla, ending with her hair. The wild, wavy blonde mane that is usually always around her shoulders and trailing down her back is pulled away from her face in some kind of messy knot thing at her neck, some of the strands escaping the knot and framing her face. If I didn’t know what kind of person this chick was, I’d have to say that she had been hand-picked for me with the concert t-shirt, the long legs, the natural face without all that gunk on it, and the blonde hair that isn't a fire hazard from all the hairspray…in other words, perfect.

  Fuck, stop ogling the client. And absolutely stop picturing her naked.

  As Layla takes a seat directly across from me, I stare her down until she removes a pair of black sunglasses with a band of crystals near the temples that probably cost more than my townhouse.

  Startling, crystal blue eyes look at me from beneath the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen as everyone else that has entered the room with her takes their seats and calls out greetings.

  She eyes me with a small hint of annoyance on her face, her eyebrows furrowing as she studies me and her full, heart-shaped mouth pressed tightly in a straight line with no sign of a smile anywhere.

  Good. Let her be pissed. It will make this job so much easier when she starts acting like a bitch and I can put her in her place when she realizes she’s not the one calling the shots this time.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming in on your day off,” Eve says to the room from her place at the head of the table. “I’ve called you all here to discuss a concerning matter that, as of late, has forced me to take some extreme measures.”

  Eve is cut off suddenly as the conference room door flies open and all eyes turn and see a tall, brown-haired man waltz in. I groan internally as he smirks, watching all of the women in the room sit up straighter and begin fidgeting with their hair and clothing. I can only assume the six foot-one, a hundred and seventy pound, lean-muscled man who makes his way over to the empty chair next to Layla is Finn Michaelson: current bodyguard to the diva. And if the tabloids and Gwen are to be believed, Layla’s on-again, off-again lover. I have a dossier on every single person who surrounds Layla on a daily basis. I know Finn Michaelson used to be a Marine before receiving an honorable discharge five years prior for being wounded in action in Afghanistan. The bullet he’d taken to the left shoulder meant he's no longer fit for combat, but he is still an excellent marksman and could disarm and overpower a threat faster than you could blink.

  On paper, I figure I could get along quite well with Finn Michaelson, even though on principal, the fact that we were Navy/Marine should mea
n we remain archenemies. But sitting here, watching him eye-fuck every female in the room and smirking at the irritation on my face I can’t manage to mask makes me rethink my opinion of the ex-Marine. I don’t have the time or the patience for some pretty-boy who can’t keep his dick in his pants. As a bodyguard, this guy should be more concerned with who he's protecting than who he's going to take to bed later that night. The number one rule in this business: never mix it with pleasure. Finn Michaelson has a lot to learn.

  With a fist-bump to one of the production managers as he walks by, I watch closely as Finn gets to Layla’s side and leans down, pressing his lips to her offered cheek with a loud smack before pulling out his chair, momentarily diverting her attention from me.

  “Hey there, gorgeous,” I hear Finn whisper to her, his eyes straying to a woman across the table from him as he blatantly checks out the cleavage popping out of her shirt.

  He flops down in his chair and clasps his hands behind his head, refusing to break his eyes from my glare.

  “As I was saying,” Eve says irritably, shooting a nasty look in Finn’s direction, “Layla has been receiving some very troubling correspondence the last few months. I’ve decided to hire a third party to investigate the issue and help make sure everyone on this tour, not just Layla, is safe and secure. Mr. Brady Marshall will be with us twenty-four seven to make sure we are doing everything we can to protect ourselves and to find out just how big of a threat the person sending these letters seems to be. Whatever questions he has, you answer them as honestly and thoroughly as possible. Anything he tells you to do, you do it without question. And that goes for every single person at this table.”

  Eve stares pointedly at Layla, most likely knowing full well that her daughter will be the most difficult one to get on board with this plan.

  Oh this is going to be too much fun.

  Everyone goes around the room introducing themselves to me, and I nod at each person in return. Even with memorizing everyone’s names and faces while they say hello and tell me what their job titles are, my eyes remain trained on Layla as she glares at her mother the entire time.

  “I know you aren’t happy about this, but I’m only doing it to make sure nothing happens to you,” Eve pleads with Layla, a hint of an emotional quiver lacing her voice.

  Finn covers up a small snort of laughter with a cough and a hand over his mouth, and my eyes flash to his face with a stern glare. I turn my gaze back to the woman across from me and watch a muscle tick in her jaw as she stares at the older woman standing at the head of the table.

  I find it pretty interesting she obviously knows nothing about me being hired to protect her. And by the looks of it, she isn’t too thrilled.

  Even from this distance, I can see tears pooling in Eve’s eyes. She is genuinely concerned about her daughter, and this spoiled brat better take notice of that real quick and cut back the attitude she's giving the older woman.

  Picking her sunglasses up from the table in front of her, Layla slides them back on to her face and covers up those gorgeous blue eyes.

  Jesus, what is wrong with me? She’s just a woman. An insanely hot woman whose legs I can just imagine wrapped around my waist while her blue eyes stare up at me as I pound into her.

  “Fine, whatever you need to do. If that’s all, I need to get to sound check and go over the new set list with the band,” Layla states in a quiet, bored voice as I readjust myself after the mental image running through my brain.

  Eve nods in Layla’s direction, a look of pleasure on her face, obviously relieved her daughter has gone along with the plan without too much of a fuss. Everyone else at the table stands up and starts to leave, waving their goodbyes and saying their nice-to-meet-yous to me as they walk out of the room. Layla, Finn, and I are the last to stand. The three of us walk down our respective sides of the table at the same time until I’m standing in front of the door, blocking Layla’s exit with Finn standing close behind her.

  Layla comes to a sudden stop before she barrels into my chest, the top of her head stopping right at my chin so she has to look up at me. Even with her eyes artfully hidden behind her dark sunglasses, I can see the irritation all over her face. She crosses her arms protectively in front of her, and I can’t help but smirk down at her as her eyes trail up and down, taking stock.

  The head in my pants that does most of my thinking for me tries to prove he's in charge when once again, my brain is filled with images that have no right being there. I suddenly have the urge to yank her hair out of its knot so all of those soft waves are sliding across my thighs as she takes me in her mouth or maybe just clutch a handful of her hair in my fist as I bend her over the desk in the corner and slam inside of her. The photos on the internet and the videos Gwen made me watch don’t do this woman justice. Saying she is beautiful and has a body made for sin is an understatement. Her blatant perusal of me makes my dick twitch and my mood sour.

  “Can I help you with something?” Layla asks with just the right amount of attitude in her voice, a voice that practically flows out in song form even with the arrogance in it. No wonder she became a singer. That voice is silky smooth with just a touch of gravel in it that's practically made for singing rock ballads or belting out the blues. She could be the next Lita Ford or Janice Joplin. So why the fuck is she wasting time singing teeny-bopper shit? Because that’s where the money is, obviously.

  I force myself back into professional mode and remember who it is I'm dealing with: a spoiled bitch.

  Feeling in the mood to play with her a little to gauge just how many buttons of hers I can push without even trying, I lean my head down until my mouth is close to her ear, breathing in the soft, floral scent, from what I assume is expensive-ass perfume probably harvested from diamonds and shit.

  “I’m sure you can help me with a lot of things, Miss Carlysle. But for right now, you can get me a list of everyone you know who doesn’t like you.”

  I move back away from her a few inches and watch as the breath she’d been holding slowly leaves her lungs.

  Well isn’t that cute. Little princess is affected by my close proximity. Good to know.

  I look down at her and smirk, totally enjoying the movement at the corners of her mouth as her full lips began to form a small, friendly smile, and she lets down her guard just a little bit.

  Perfect. A little bit is all I need to make her realize she isn’t running this show anymore.

  “I’m sure that list is pretty fucking long, so you might want to get busy,” I finish with a wink.

  The partial smile dies from Layla’s face, and with a huff, she brushes past me, slamming her shoulder into mine.

  With a chuckle to myself and a wink to her boy toy as he follows close on her heels, I pull my own sunglasses out of my inside coat pocket and slip them on before turning to follow the woman who's most likely cursing my name.

  “That arrogant prick. Who the hell does he think he is?” I ask Finn angrily as we walk out into the bright sun and over to his black Chevy Tahoe.

  “I think he’s—”

  “I’m sure that list is pretty fucking long, so you might want to get busy,” I say in a deep, scruffy voice, mimicking said arrogant prick and cutting Finn off as I carry on with my tirade.

  I wince as I sit down on the scorching hot leather seats, but even having my thighs and ass on fire right now doesn’t stop me from continuing.

  “What kind of a guy says that to his client? A pompous asshole, that’s who. What a piece of work. He’s not fooling anyone with that leather jacket, tight T-shirt, and dark stubble. Talk about having a long list of people who don’t like you,” I complain angrily as Finn starts up the SUV and blasts the air conditioning before pulling out of the parking lot. “That guy probably has a list that could circle the globe twice and still have enough names left over to make it to the moon and back.”

  My outburst comes to a stop when I realize Finn is completely silent, which is pretty unusual for him. Finn always has something to
say, especially when it comes to me.

  “Are you even listening to me?” I ask, glancing over at him just in time to see a smirk disappear. “Were you just smirking at me?”

  Finn lets out a small laugh as he hits the turn signal at the first intersection.

  “Layla, I have been listening to every single word you say. Listening and taking notes. You think Billy Badass is pretty, and you want to play with his gun,” Finn states sarcastically, dimples forming on his cheeks as he presses his lips together in irritation. His bright blue eyes are swimming with anger hidden just below the surface.

  “Are you high? You haven’t listened to one word I’ve said since we got in this car. I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt even though Eve hired him, and surprise, surprise, he shows his true colors.”

  I turn my gaze to the front window and cross my arms over my chest with a huff.

  Why the hell did he have to smell so good? From a distance, the jerk seemed bored and like he hadn’t showered or shaved in days. Up close, he was all chiseled jaw hidden underneath day-old stubble, and I had a fleeting thought about what that prickly hair would feel like scratching against my inner thighs. A recent shower was evident by the clean, soapy smell with a hint of masculine body wash that came from him and surrounded me, tickling my senses since I stood so close.

  I almost sniffed his fucking shirt. I actually looked him up and down like he was a piece of meat, which he obviously noticed. Son of a bitch!

  “We don’t know anything about this guy yet. Just because Eve hired him, doesn’t mean he’s all bad. Although, I have to say, a little bad might do you some good,” Finn says with another smile aimed my way while we wait at a stop light.