by Kacey Shea
He shakes his head in the negative.
“Who’s there?” Trent shouts and glances through the peephole.
“Delivery for Mr. Donavan.”
Trent’s gaze darts to mine and he gives a shrug as if asking what he should do.
I nod to the door, signaling for him to turn the handle, and then stand to one side so our intruder won’t see me once it’s open.
Trent drags the door open a few inches. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Donavan. These came for you,” the man holding the bouquet says.
“No, thank you. I’m not expecting them.”
“Sir?” the man asks, confused. “I got the request a little over an hour ago from corporate. Security gave special permission.”
I never gave permission and I’ve heard enough. I step in front of Trent before he can take the arrangement. “I’m sorry, there’s been a mix up. Can I please see your ID?”
“Miss Miller,” the hotel employee says, clearly surprised at my presence. I recognize him from the meetings we had yesterday to go over procedure. He jostles the arrangement from one arm to the other before finally setting it on the floor. He hands over his identification.
I study the card. “So, Mark. Want to tell me what you’re doing? We talked about no outside deliveries to hotel rooms. I’m pretty sure we went over the protocol until everyone was blue in the face.”
He tilts his head, confusion etched into the furrow of his brow. “But I was told to bring these up.”
“I never spoke to you.”
He swallows and glances from me, to Trent, and then to the flowers. “I’m not trying to start trouble. Just following orders.”
“Who gave you the orders?”
“Mr. Vincent Collins.” Head of operations for WMI. Why would he send flowers to the band? “Your security team said you were off the clock. Some guy name Brian searched these before I came up. I swear.”
Now it’s my turn to swallow. I wasn’t in my room last night or this morning. Did someone try to get hold of me? Is this guy telling the truth? “Okay.” I pull out my cell, notice the time and almost blanch. My security team meeting started five minutes ago. Fuck. One night with Austin and I’m already distracted to the point I can’t do my job. I pull up my contacts and click on Brian’s name.
“Morning, Miss Miller.”
“Hey, sorry I’m running late. I’ll be there in five, but did you okay a flower delivery for Mr. Donavan’s room?”
“Yes, sure did. Vince called this morning and said to expect them.”
“Huh.” I cradle my cell between my shoulder and ear and eye the bouquet in the hall. Turning to the bellhop, I mouth a thank you and he leaves, clearly relieved. I stoop next to the arrangement and pull out the card. Looking at Trent, I hold it and he signals I should open it. I skim the note inside, feeling both relieved and ridiculous at my overreaction.
“Thanks, Brian. I’ll see you in a few,” I say, ending the call and handing the note over to Trent. “I think you’ll want to read this.”
I grab the bouquet of flowers and he holds the door open for me to pass.
“Everything okay?” Austin asks.
“False alarm.” I feel stupid even saying it. I hide my embarrassment by finding a spot on the counter for the flowers and then meddling with the arrangement. I feel so off my game right now. I’m the woman always one step ahead. I plan. I stay in control. Had I not spent the night with Austin, I would have known these flowers were being delivered. As head of security for this tour, it’s my responsibility to know things. I just had a mini-heart attack and put the band through the same, and all for freaking celebratory roses.
“Fuck, yeah!” Trent whoops as he reads the note and rushes to pull Lexi into his arms. “Baby, we’re gonna be king and queen of this year’s Grammys!”
“What?” She smiles, shaking her head with confusion until he hands her the letter. She processes the words and I think this is the first time I’ve ever witnessed Lexi Marx rattled with emotion. “Oh, my God! This is amazing! They want us to perform. Together?”
Everyone cheers and offers congratulations to their friends.
“Hey, what about the rest of us?” Austin complains.
“Find a girl with the voice of an angel who is also a rock goddess, and maybe they’ll ask you next time,” Trent teases before returning his adoring gaze to Lexi and capturing her lips in a heated kiss.
“This calls for a toast.” Sean stands from the couch and walks over to the refrigerated cabinet below the bar. “They’ve gotta have champagne or something good in here.”
Austin’s stare finds mine from across the room. The way he’s looking at me, like he’d love to kiss me right here in front of everyone, warms me from the inside. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, and while the impulse to bolt lingers in the back of my mind, for the first time in my life I consider fighting to stay. What would a life with Austin entail? Am I woman enough to handle the playboy rock star? Is he man enough to withstand my insecurities?
I don’t have time to dig into these big questions because I’m already late to my meeting. Not wanting to break up the celebration, I quietly make my way back to the door. Austin’s mouth falls with disappointment as I offer him a smile before slipping out the door. We still need to talk, but it’s gonna have to wait. I’ve already let myself down, I can’t afford to do the same with my team.
“Hey,” I say as I push into the conference room. “Sorry I’m late.” Everyone is already gathered, and their chatter ceases the moment I step inside. I’d like to think it’s only because I’m the boss. Or perhaps it’s because I’m a woman. But knowing I cut out on them last night to spend time with Austin floods my mind with guilt. It’s so out of character for me to put anything above work, or to bail early. I pride myself on my work ethic. It’s the way I earn respect from my colleagues, and somehow I feel as though I’ve let them down.
“Miss Miller,” Brian hands over a stack of papers. “These came in a few hours ago.”
“Jayla,” I say, reminding him for the thousandth time he doesn’t need to address me so formally. “What are they?”
“Reports from local law enforcement in Salt Lake. Or what the FBI would allow them to share with us. There was a local tip, and an arrest was made.”
“They caught the guy who did this?” I flip though the papers at an almost manic pace. If they caught the person who placed the explosive, the fear that it’ll happen again lessens.
“Woman, actually.” Brian shrugs.
“Motive?” I ask, already knowing Brian can tell me faster than I can skim through the sheaf of paperwork.
“Claims she had affiliations with the band, but when you get a chance later read through the transcripts. More likely psychotic or on drugs, in my opinion.”
“This is good,” I say absently. “Isolated incident.”
“Seems so.”
“Then let’s get down to business and make sure something like this never happens again.”
“Uh, Miss Miller.” It’s Casey, or Lipshitz, as the guys call him. I don’t know why he’s here or why I haven’t noticed sooner.
“Yes?”
“A word. Or rather, a minute please?”
“I need to meet with my security team.”
“It’ll only be a minute. Five tops. Promise.”
“Go.” Brian nods. “We’ll start assignments and you can approve them when you get back.”
“Thanks,” I say and follow Casey out into the hotel hallway. “Is there a problem?”
“I, uh . . .” He fiddles with his phone, then holds it out to me. “Mr. Collins would like to speak with you. He’s on the line.”
I take the phone and hold it up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Miss Miller. You’re a difficult woman to track down.”
I inwardly wince at his observation. I’ve been avoiding his calls since Austin posted the last video. Sending his calls to voicemail was immature. Then I got caught up in the responsibilit
ies of the job and never reached back out to him. I take a few steps down the empty hallway, away from Casey. “I apologize for that. It’s been busy.”
“Not too busy to make another video, though. Some might wonder whether you’re more interested in a career in Hollywood than security with all the acting you’ve been doing.”
“Pardon?” I twist to see Casey lean against the wall outside the meeting room. He whistles and taps his fingers as if he has no worries in the world. I’m pretty sure he’s out of earshot, but I take a few more steps to be sure.
“Let’s cut the shit. Yeah?” There’s a condescending edge to Vince’s tone that causes me to bristle. “Can I be frank?”
“By all means, please.” I don’t mask the incredulity from my voice.
“I don’t like you.”
What the fuck is this guy’s problem? “Okay.”
“I don’t trust you. I would have never hired you if I hadn’t been pushed into the decision.”
“Please. Don’t hold back now,” I say at his sudden pause.
“I won’t have you running this show. Three Ugly Guys are a dime a dozen. They make money for us because we know how to market them. How to pull the next top single and shove it down listeners’ throats until they claim to love it. We set up the press events. We have all the connections. I could easily do the same with any other band.”
I should bite my lip. He’s an ass and I won’t change that, but I can’t help myself. “Sounds like you appreciate your talent. Respect them, too.”
“Please.” He drags out the word. “Don’t act like you care. You’re using that band like everyone else does, to get whatever it is you want. So, Miss Miller, what exactly is it that you want?”
“I’m so sorry to disappoint, but I have no ulterior motives.” Not exactly true, but I’m not about to confess my feelings for Austin to anyone, let alone this asshole.
“Everyone has a motive.”
“I think I’ve had enough of this phone call. I need to get back to my security team. The one that keeps your expendable band safe each night. Though maybe you don’t care about that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chides as if I’m a child. “No one wants to buy concert tickets when there’s a threat of being blown to bits. It’s a public relations nightmare I don’t want to repeat.”
I want to tell this guy off, but this time I do bite back my retort.
“Anyway, if you insist on being difficult, that’s better for me. One more video with Austin, or any of the guys, and you’re off the job.”
Off the job? He thinks he can fire me? I don’t like the way the thought settles over me. I don’t want to go back to LA. Not yet. I don’t want to be apart from Austin. I like my work, and how every day brings new challenges. I like spending time with Austin.
“I have a contract.”
“The one my corporate lawyers drafted. I’m aware.” He chuckles through the line. “So, don’t cross me, stay off the fucking internet, and you’ll finish your contract. I’ll even add in a little bonus if you make it to the end. Another grand? That’s fair.”
I don’t want his money. I don’t like any of this or how it eats away at the integrity of my position. But I can’t seem to open my mouth, or form a decent comeback.
“I’ll take your silence as agreement. Have a wonderful day, Miss Miller.”
I don’t bother muttering my good-bye because without even checking the phone’s screen, I know he’s already hung up. Inhale. Exhale. I try to calm my nerves along with my spiraling thoughts. I can’t believe this is the guy Austin works with. Does he know what a horrible human being he is? Does he care? I shake off the questions and straighten my spine. I don’t have time for this. Today’s agenda is filled down to the hour, and I have a new hater to prove wrong. Vincent Collins doesn’t like me? Fuck him. I’m being paid to do a job, and I won’t give him a reason to doubt that I’m fully qualified or committed.
135
Austin
A day that started out so damn promising—Jayla in my bed, finally in my arms, and working her way into my heart—quickly turns for the worse with the news of Coy’s harassment of Jess. I can’t believe that fucker came after her again. And yet I can. It takes a few hours, but Rachel Kinsley returns my message and I thank God she’s a workaholic. She promises to get started on a settlement offer immediately so it’ll be waiting for Coy’s lawyers Monday morning.
That should set my happy-go-lucky attitude back on track, but my mood sours with each passing hour. I want Jayla. To myself. Back in my hotel suite where we can make up for thirteen years of pent-up sexual attraction. Yeah, it might be immature and I’m worse than a little kid going through separation anxiety with his favorite blankie. Only I’m a grown-ass man, and Jayla isn’t some object I can lock away in my room.
Though, the thought of being locked in a room with Jayla sounds about the best thing in the world right now.
I don’t like how our paths rarely cross today, but that’s how it works out and when they do, it’s all business. On the way to interviews. In a crowded room of fans. Mingling with sponsors. Even backstage before the show affords no privacy with my bandmates and their women in attendance. Pisses me off even further, because she’s right there, not five yards from me, and I can’t ask her the questions that’ve been racing through my mind alongside images of her naked and falling apart while we fucked.
When can we do that again?
Will you be mine?
I want you to be mine.
Won’t you ride my dick, forever?
Fuck. I sound like a dirty version of the intro to “Mr. Rodgers Neighborhood.”
“Hiya.” Casey pokes his head inside the green room. “Twenty minutes till show time.”
“Thanks, Lipshitz. You’re the shiz.” Trent lifts his chin to nod at Casey.
Casey’s lips pinch together, his smiles falls, but he leaves before saying another word.
My body thrums with impatient anticipation. My knee bounces and my fingers tap along the black fabric of my jeans. I can’t wait to get out on that stage to expel all this energy. I’d rather work it out with Jayla, but at this point I have no clue if or when that’s gonna happen again.
My gaze finds hers across the room. She speaks into her headpiece, but her stare is focused on the tablet she carries around for most of the shows. She’s working. The alpha leader and queen of her domain. I witness how the security team regards her with respect and trust. Each time I watch her work my chest swells with pride. She’s doing her thing, and fuck if that doesn’t make her even more attractive.
My phone rattles with an incoming text from where it rests on the small table at my side. A glance at the screen sobers my hopes regarding Jayla. Another photo link. Another chance to right a wrong, or more likely, another chance to fuck up everything good in my life. Every time I open one of these emails I put my place in the band at risk. If this ever came out, the guys might understand, but the public would never forgive me. It’s why I pay the guy who finds them for me a fucking pretty penny for his silence. Part of me wants to tell Jayla, but I’m scared it’ll give her a reason to push me away for good. She’d remember Brianna, I think. She helped me watch her sometimes. But I don’t think she’d be okay with the desperate measures I’ve taken to try and find Bri. Something like this could obliterate all of the trust I’ve earned.
I pick up the phone and delete the text. It’s sent from a burner phone, and I doubt anyone could decipher the meaning of the message, but after Jayla saw the note sent to my room last night, I’m certain this would spark curiosity on her part. As it is, I’m surprised she didn’t push me about the hotel note. Oh, right. That’s because I distracted her with my mouth.
My cell rings before I set it back down. I catch my mom’s name on the caller ID and let loose an audible groan. I’m not in the mood for her shit. Not ever, but especially not now. However, she only calls when she needs something and she will keep calling until I eventually answer.
“Hey, Mom.” I keep my voice low, but Trent catches my greeting and meets my stare with concern. He’s the only one who understands the depth of turbulence when it comes to my relationship with my mother. Right now I can’t handle his pity, or attention. Pushing to my feet, I stride past everyone, including Jayla, to take the call in the hall. “What do you need?”
“So, it’s gonna be like that?”
“You’re the one who makes it like that.” I scrub my hand over my face, wishing she’d get to the point. She needs something. Most likely cash.
“You always were an ungrateful child.” Her words shouldn’t affect me, but even after all these years, they fire me up.
My jaw tightens. “Oh? What should I be grateful for? The times you left me to take care of your boyfriend’s kid so you could go out and party? How about the times you said I’d amount to nothing? Told me I was an idiot for all the hours I spent practicing guitar? Or how about the times you kicked me out of the house?”
“You ever gonna grow up and let that shit go? You know I did the best I could. I put a roof over your head. We always had money for groceries. I even got you your first guitar. Remember that? No? You conveniently only remember my failings, not all the times I clothed and fed your ass.”
She’s right about one thing. I need to let it go. I shouldn’t hold on to this stuff; it doesn’t serve me to have one foot in the past. I shouldn’t get this annoyed by her calls. She’s always been the same woman. I can’t expect her to change, and I shouldn’t get so angry when she’s already shown her character.
I should cut all ties. Leave the past in the past. Except I can’t. Not when Brianna’s still unaccounted for. If there’s a chance she ever comes back, she might contact my mom, and my mom’s just spiteful enough to not tell me.
“Have you heard from Bri?”
“Steve’s kid? Why would I hear from her? I told you what happened.” I remember. I’d been on the road. Three Ugly Guys was finally gaining success. We’d cut an EP that was blowing up the radio charts. I hadn’t been home in years, not since I left my mom’s for good. Steve liked to get high, so much so that he started dealing from the apartment. It wasn’t safe. Not for me, a teenage kid, but even worse for his little girl. She spent half of her time at her mom’s, and when she was with Steve, it was mostly me who looked after her.
