But that was different.
Wasn’t it?
I’d thought about it last night and this morning, but I still wasn’t sure.
Have a nice ride.
That’s what she’d said to me yesterday, just before I got on my bike to head to the liquor store for her. I knew she was a natural flirt; that much was obvious. I’d seen her in action last night, at her party.
But I was still trying to read between the lines of everything she said to me. And when she’d walked me out to the driveway and watched me get on my bike, her eyes had a lot to say.
Did she like motorcycles?
Did she want to go for a ride on mine?
Nope. Bad idea.
Client. Only.
You do not take hot clients for rides on your bike.
Get your head in the fucking game.
With every passing hour, it seemed to be getting harder to be sure of what my motivations were. Which actions I was taking based on instinct, experience and professional concern for my client’s safety… and those I might be taking because of my growing attraction to her.
Because I was definitely starting to take those actions.
Eating meals with her when I didn’t need to. Getting to know her on a personal level.
Undressing her with my eyes every time I thought I could get away with it.
Running to the liquor store and the weed dispensary to pick up party favors for her, just because she’d asked me to, while gently pleading with those pale-blue eyes.
I think I need to not be around you twenty-four-seven.
What the hell did that mean?
She didn’t want to need my services; I knew that. But was this whole situation getting complicated for her, like it was for me?
Because for me, it was fucking complicated. And I wasn’t even sure how or why or when that had started.
Did it start from moment one, as soon as I walked into her house?
Or sometime later?
Was it before or after I decided I was taking this assignment?
I tried to focus on my workload, get organized for the day. Focus on much more important questions that needed answering.
But it was fucking bothering me, this second-guessing my own intentions.
When I checked my phone, I had a message from Jude. He’d called early this morning to check in. I wasn’t sure if he was checking in because he’d heard about my conversation with Piper, or if he was checking on the restraining order situation, or both. But I called him back.
“I had a nice visit from your brother the other day,” I told him as soon as I got him on the phone. Might as well get right to it.
“Yeah? How’d that go?”
“He told me if I see Sanchuk around, to report to him first. That what you want me to do?”
Jude was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Yeah. Let the Kings deal with it, if it comes to that.”
“Alright,” I said. I still didn’t like it.
I still didn’t know for sure if I was actually gonna adhere to that request.
In reality, it probably depended on a few things. Like how fast the restraining order came through. And the circumstances, if Sanchuk ever did show up again. If he posed any serious threat to Summer, I was absolutely calling 911.
“Let me know when the restraining order comes through,” Jude said.
“I will.”
I made a few more calls, checked in with Naveen.
The cleaner left sometime after ten, leaving a spotless and fresh-smelling house in her wake. I’d worked out in the sunroom for a bit, while she cleaned my room. I saw her out, took a quick shower, then started searching for a restaurant close by that I hadn’t eaten at yet, to get lunch delivered.
Summer hadn’t come down from her bedroom yet. Though I did hear the cleaner chatting with her when she went up there to clean.
I sent her a text.
Me: You want Thai for lunch? I’m ordering.
Summer: Fuck yes. Coconut curry chicken whatever. Lots of it.
Me: Done.
Summer: And some spring rolls if they have.
Me: Ok.
Summer: And a Thai iced tea.
Me: Anything else?
Summer: I thought you’d never ask. I’ll take a shit ton of coconut rice. And I do mean a shit ton.
I smirked a little. Girl had an appetite. I liked that about her, unfortunately.
Actually… judging by how many cocktails she’d downed last night, the large joint she’d smoked with her girlfriends, the music she’d played while her friends danced, the amount of dancing she’d done herself, and the abundance of hugs she’d given out to everyone who came to her party, Summer Sorensen had an overtly sensual relationship with everything around her, food included.
It was sexy as hell.
And it was a good thing I’d witnessed it in full effect last night. Because I was gonna have to be careful about it. I could too easily imagine myself getting sucked into that sensual aura of hers if I wasn’t on-guard for it.
I couldn’t risk that. I was distracted enough already, just looking in from the outside.
And clearly, there were many men who were already circling.
I really didn’t need to add jealousy to my growing list of distractions on this job.
As I was ordering lunch, Summer came downstairs in a black wrap dress, her hair down around her shoulders and subtle makeup on. She looked gorgeous.
She looked like a woman who belonged on my arm.
Very. Bad. Thoughts.
She looked me over, briefly, in my jeans and fitted black T-shirt, and I wondered if she was thinking something similar.
More bad thoughts.
“Good morning,” she half-sang.
“Morning.” I watched her put on coffee. She seemed pretty bright-eyed.
The party seemed to do her good.
I realized it made me feel… pleased… to see her happy. When she smiled at me, I could’ve sworn my cold, dead heart pushed out a single, creaky thump.
Fucking dangerous.
The last time I’d tried to make a woman happy, the result was a painful shit-show of a disaster that played out in a lingering, almost two-decade-long drama that I didn’t care to repeat.
Lesson learned.
I looked down at my laptop. I was sitting at the bar, where I’d been waiting for her. We had a meeting with Brody in a few minutes.
Summer disappeared down to her studio, briefly, returning with a laptop. It looked new, top-of-the-line, but was haphazardly decorated with band stickers, which was strangely cute.
While she got set up, I fixed us both a mug of coffee, and at eleven o’clock sharp, we were in a virtual meeting with Brody. Summer’s assistant, Pam, who lived down in L.A., also joined us. They were reviewing Summer’s schedule for the next few months, basically until the end of the year, and I was sitting in on their chat. I needed to be brought up to speed for my security assessment.
Summer had a number of gigs coming up—about two to three a week. Her final DJ gigs, booked through her former booking agent, Yancy, who also lived in L.A.. Her next event was tonight, here in Vancouver. After that, she was booked regularly right through the beginning of December.
Then she had a generous break scheduled around Christmas.
“You’re sure you don’t want any gigs over the holidays?” Brody asked her. “Replace the ones you lost in New York?”
“Nope. If that’s okay with you. I want to make the mental shift, start the new year with a fresh rock ’n’ roll mindset.”
“That’s fine with me,” he said.
“Next year, I’m a rock star. Let’s make that clear to the world.”
“That’s the plan,” Brody agreed. “I’d like you to make some public appearances with Ash and Xander before Ash heads out on the road with Dirty.” Brody had already brought me up to speed that Ashley Player would be joining the Dirty tour for a few months, starting in December, when Jesse Mayes came off the ro
ad. “I’ll make sure he gets his ass out to as many of your events as possible. Xander, too. Not like those two have anything better to do right now.”
Summer grinned, clearly loving that. “I’ll see if I can wrangle them a seat in the VIP section.”
“I’ll be there, too,” Brody said. “As often as I can. With Jessa, whenever she wants to join us.”
“Fabulous.”
“That reminds me,” Pam spoke up. “Yancy’s confirmed that he’ll be coming up for your Montreal show, Summer.”
“That’s great,” Summer said.
“I’ll be booking his travel today. But I’ll let you know exactly when he’ll be seeing you. He’s got a small window for that night, swinging through on his way to New York.”
“Perfect.” Summer glanced at me. “And if you could book travel for Ronan and Andre, too. They’re coming with me.”
“Of course,” Pam said.
“I’ll put you in touch with my office to coordinate,” I told Pam.
Our lunch arrived, and I went to get it. When I came back to the bar and unpacked the food, Summer and Brody were talking about Summer “moving forward” and “going big” next year. She was obviously excited, borderline impatient about it.
While we ate, they went over a bunch of invitations Summer had received for events and appearances—there were a lot of them, way more than one woman could attend. Brody approved or disapproved, Summer sometimes trying to steer him one way or the other. Pam adjusted the schedule in real time, and I weighed in when Brody asked. I was constantly weighing security concerns with budget in my mind, because every time I said, “We’ll need another guy on that,” it would cost Brody, which ultimately cost Summer.
I’d worked with Brody and Jude long enough, though, that I knew they didn’t take advantage of their clients. And Brody was savvy as hell. He knew what Summer could afford, and he wanted her safe. In dealing with her, he was the same calm and focused businessman I’d always perceived him to be. The man juggled a lot; he’d been doing this on a grand scale with Dirty for more than a decade. But he definitely didn’t seem to be relegating Summer to second-rate attention.
He was treating her like a VIP, and I was glad to see it.
There was nothing worse than knowing your client needed more security than she—or her manager, or her spouse, or whoever—was willing to agree to because of financial concerns or other issues.
After we’d wrapped up and Brody left the meeting, Pam said to Summer, “Look, I’ve been wanting to ask you, hon. I’m wondering if you might have to let me go, since you’ll no longer be working with Yancy.”
“Aw, babe,” Summer said. “I don’t have any plans to do that.”
“Okay.” Pam seemed relieved. “That’s good to know.”
“I’ll keep you in the loop, sweetie, okay?” Summer assured her. “Take care, and let Yancy know I’m looking forward to seeing him in Montreal.”
“I will, hon. Thanks.”
When Pam was gone, I told Summer, “You handled that diplomatically.”
She sighed. “The thing with ‘moving forward’ and ‘going big’ is you have to leave some people behind.”
“Are you going to let her go?”
“For now, no. But in the future…” She got up to put on a fresh pot of coffee. We were just finishing up our lunch. “The bigger things get… and they will get much, much bigger once I’m releasing an album with the Players and going on tour with the band… my career and the daily demands on me will get bigger. My team will need to get bigger. Brody and I have already discussed it at length. He’s got a really clear vision of how this is all going to build. This is not his first rodeo. And he’s already prepared me that there will come a point, probably before the tour, when I’ll need a full-time assistant who lives here. So, unless Pam wants to uproot her entire life from Los Angeles, including her husband and children, and ditch her other clients, I’ll likely have to hire someone local.” She shrugged. “That’s just how it goes. I’m sure Pam will understand.”
I studied her. “You feel bad about it.”
“Letting her go? Yes. I sent Yancy like five hundred gifts since I told him I wouldn’t be renewing our contract because I was signing with Brody.”
“How did he take it?”
“The gifts? Oh, I’m pretty sure he enjoyed them. I give great gifts.” She smirked. “But the rest of it? Not so well. There were a few pleading phone calls. He’s been threatening to come up here to see me in person, but he’s busy in L.A.. Anyway, this is Brody’s turf, and honestly I think Yancy’s a little wounded. I don’t blame him. But it’s not his fault. There’s really nothing he can do here, and he knows it. The Players are a rock band, and rock isn’t Yancy’s game. He’s managed my career as a DJ for the last few years, sort of, meaning he was the closest thing to a manager I ever had before Brody. But he’s not a band manager at Brody’s scale. Yancy is more of a booking agent. He booked my gigs and he made me connections. But Brody has a vision for the Players that no one else could bring. I mean, he manages Elle Delacroix, for fuck’s sake, and that woman is a superstar. I feel incredibly lucky to have Brody Mason on my team, helming the ship.”
“I doubt luck has much to do with it,” I told her. “You work hard. You know what you want. You deserve what you’ve achieved.”
She shook her head. “Other people work hard, too. Other people are as talented as me. Maybe more. And they’re definitely as deserving. And yet some people never break out of playing the local clubs. I say there’s always an element of luck to it. Like, if I never met Ashley and we never fell in love, and he never introduced me to Dirty… who knows what my life would look like right now.”
“It would look just like it does,” I said. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“No, I just don’t give myself all the credit. I know when people have helped me. Ash helped me. Yancy helped me. Elle definitely helped me. All of Dirty helped me. Brody is helping me, and Pam is helping me. Sledge, too. I can’t count the number of times that man worked gigs for me in shit conditions, in the rain, in the dark, in a farmer’s field…”
“Don’t tell me you played a hoedown,” I said dryly.
“There were some really curious festivals in the early days.”
“Ah.”
“Sledge was always there. He came through for me, with way too little pay and always with a smile on his face, when I was pretty much no one. The list of people who’ve pulled through for me over the span of my career goes on and on.”
“Well, you’ve got a solid team and people who believe in you. And there’s a reason they believe in you.”
“You know something about that,” she mused.
“I may.”
My company had an excellent retention rate because we treated our guys well, but also, they believed in us—me and my partners—because we always had their backs. Loyalty was a two-way street.
At least, it should be.
I got up and picked up my laptop. “I have some calls to make before we head out.” She had a hair appointment this afternoon, followed by a fitting, and obviously, I was going with her.
“Coffee?” she offered.
“Sure. Thank you.”
She refilled my mug for me. “I realize you’re helping me, too, Ronan.” She glanced at me, then watched as I put sugar in my coffee. “And maybe it pains me to admit that I need that help, but that’s my bad. My ego, maybe. That’s got nothing to do with you.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I tell myself I always give credit where credit is due…” She looked up into my eyes. “But I haven’t done that with you. So… thank you for doing what you do.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“Really, I appreciate it.” I stirred my coffee. “But no thanks are necessary.”
“I know you’re getting paid,” she said softly. “I know it’s a job. And maybe other guys
could come in here and play tough guy. But you make me feel safe. There’s a difference.”
I picked up my mug, avoiding her blue eyes. “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Hearing her tell me that I made her feel safe was sending an adrenaline high straight to my dick. I really needed to clear out of here. “What time did you want to head out for your appointment?”
“One o’clock should do.”
“I’ll see you then.” I turned to head to my room, then paused. When I turned back to her, I would’ve sworn under oath that I caught her checking out my ass. “Any chance you’ll let me drive this time?”
She sipped her coffee, but I saw the smile in her eyes. “No chance at all.”
“You know, I have advanced driving training.”
I casually mentioned that to Summer as she changed lanes on Main Street—aggressively—and I gripped the “holy shit” handle above the passenger door. I’d gripped it pretty much all the way to the hair salon, and now we were heading to a fashion designer’s studio for her fitting.
If we got there in one piece.
“And your point would be…?” she said.
“I’m fully qualified to drive you and keep you safe at the same time. I’m not sure that’s true the other way around.”
She laughed. “Ronan Sterling. Does my driving make you nervous?”
“I wouldn’t say nervous. Though I’d feel more relaxed if you let me take the wheel.”
“That’s incredibly sexist of you.”
“I don’t think so. I prefer to drive my clients, when I’m on a close protection detail, no matter what gender they are.”
“Close protection?”
“It’s a term.”
“It sounds sexual. Just so you know.”
I glanced at her, then looked out the window. “Does everything sound sexual to you?” Judging by her playlist at the party last night, I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to that.
Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3) Page 18
