Dirty Laundry

by Lauren Landish

  "He's actually a lot different than I thought he’d be,” I finally reply. “I was expecting a good ol’ boy vibe, even with the awkwardness of the forced interviews, but he's . . ." I pause, searching for the word I want before continuing, "intense. He was definitely pissed when he figured out that I was the one who wrote the original article and that I would be the one interviewing him. He slammed the door in my face."

  Maggie, whose idea of rude is to not offer you a cookie when you stop by her desk, gasps. "Oh, my gosh, he did not!"

  "Oh yes, he did. But we seem to have worked it out," I reply, leaving out the arrangement I made on answering questions tit-for-tat with him. "The interviews have been going really well since then. I haven't got any real dirt, no hidden secrets, but he’s letting me in. I feel like he’s at least being honest and not totally PR with me. I think I’ll be able to show a real and deeper picture of who Keith Perkins is. Not just the image he portrays on stage."

  Maggie looks like she’s about to swoon, and I’d bet fifty bucks she’s got one of those huge Keith Perkins posters at home. "Speaking of stage, didn’t I hear on the radio that he's doing a local private show this weekend?"

  I nod. It was something we went over right at the end of last night’s talk . . . it’s hard to call something as intimate as what we’re doing an interview. "Yeah, he is. That's actually our next interview date. He said that we could do a field trip and he would get me a front-row seat for the show. I'm hoping to get backstage access before and after too so I can see his whole process for a show. I think that'll be a slam dunk for the article . . . him in his element, doing what he does."

  "So you're going to his private show with a front-row seat and backstage access?" she asks, blushing as she clutches at her chest and sighs dreamily. "That sounds like heaven! Surely, you'll get some juicy details there?"

  I smile. Maggie’s too cute not to. "Honestly, I haven't found any dirt . . . really, none at all. He's a bit of a controlling jerk, but no deep, dark secret that I've been able to find yet."

  Maggie pouts. I don’t think she likes the idea of Keith being controlling as much as I secretly do. "Well, you know Donnie won't be happy with that. You're going to need to find something."

  I wave it off. "I know, but I swear he's basically boring . . . he writes, he does shows. I don't know what else he does with his time."

  Maggie taps the tip of her nose, smiling as if she’s got the perfect idea. "And there's your story. What's he do in his free time, because you know he doesn't write and sing all the time. That's what he's hiding."

  I purse my lips, mulling that over. Maggie looks young and innocent, and many a mark have taken her to be naive, and well, she is cute in a way that makes you want to pat her head like a sweet puppy sometimes. But she's also a shrewd and brilliant investigator who uses her gifts to her benefit without getting jaded or down from the dirt she digs up. "Hmm, maybe you're right. I'll have to stick my nose into that area . . . carefully. But this weekend, I'm staying with the performance aspect because I know that’ll be interesting. Trying to dig up what else he does in his free time could be a dud, and it’s risky. But thanks, Mags."

  She smiles, planting her hands on the corner of my desk and transforms back to looking cute enough I want to stick her in my backpack and take her home. "No problem! I'm just as curious as you are. Lord knows, there's a whole lot of women who'd love to know what makes that man tick, and I bet you'd be up for a promotion if you can figure it out and let us all know."

  With a hop, Maggie is off my desk and off to do her own thing, leaving me tapping at my keyboard. I'm not sure what I want to say yet, and her comment about wanting to know what makes Keith tick rings a bit true and close to home.

  He's been angry, dismissive, and downright rude to me in some moments, the perfect target for one of those bloodletting exposes that can get a shitload of website traffic. I’d have no problem with ripping him apart if that’s all he was.

  But it’s the other moments where he's attentive, open, and intriguing. Not to mention, he’s just so damn sexy when he gets all bossy and gruff. I've always gone for confident men, but Keith is on a whole different level. It's not confidence. It's raw power over his domain. And fuck, do I want to be in his domain.

  That means I’m not being objective, and that makes me hesitate before I start to write. The words come slowly, slow clicks of my old-fashioned keyboard that start to string together, slowly becoming like machine gun spurts of words, long pauses shortening until I find my stride.

  This first article, it’s going to be mostly surface, about a country star who cherishes his privacy but is allowing his fans a peek into his private life. I'm careful to paint an accurate picture, including his gruffness and larger than life presence along with his passion for his music.

  By the time I hit my two-thousand-word goal for the first feature, I think I've managed to hit all the points I need to, both the basics and giving hints at a deeper picture. There are no groundbreaking dirty secrets, but even if I had any, I wouldn’t want to spill too soon anyway. But I've got a solid, intriguing hook so readers feel a more intimate connection with Keith and to the series for follow-up feature reads.

  After some edits, I hit Send and submit it to Donnie with a smile.

  Now . . . what am I going to wear to Keith’s concert?

  Chapter 8

  Keith

  Pulling up in the service’s rented Lincoln Town Car, I tell my driver to let the engine idle for a moment as I take in Elise’s apartment building. It’s pretty standard for East Robinsville, far enough from the downtown center to be needing a coat of paint, but probably close to work for her and has rent that fits her paycheck. Seems safe enough, I guess, although the homeless guy lounging up against the corner seems a bit out of place. I’m about to hop out to ring the bell when the bodyguard in the front seat does it for me.

  Fuck.

  I swear sometimes I forget that I can’t just do shit like that, even if it should be no big deal. But since I topped the charts for the first time, the label keeps putting in new rules on their ‘investment.’ Number one, I can’t do shit when I’m dressed in my usual boots and hat, making me more recognizable. Chances are, it’d be fine. But just in case, that’s what the bodyguard is here for. I sigh, leaning back in the seat . . . until I see her come out.

  Behind the dark tint of the car window, I can look my fill as she comes closer. And what a fill it is. She’s strutting, but not in an overt way, just a subtle natural feminine roll of her hips. And oh, sweet mercy, her legs, just thick enough to make them sensual, covered in slightly torn white denim that looks painted on. She’s got on slouched black cowgirl boots, and I wonder vaguely if they’re new, but when I scan up . . . my breath catches in my chest.

  She’s the epitome of country sexy, with her hair curled and fluffy, makeup that looks sultry and sexy, not too dark but not too bright either. She’s got a face that could sell about ten million pickup trucks back home right now, and that might be a conservative guess.

  But what grabs ahold of my attention is the fullness of her breasts, pushed up high in the simple black tank she has on. I can see the outline of a bra, but that makes it even sexier, like she’s dressed down but dressed up at the same time. She’s somehow managed to be both girl-next-door and femme fatale all at once, and my cock surges in my jeans. I press my palm against the fullness, willing it down by sheer mental force.

  I clear my throat, needing to get my head on straight before the door opens. I wish I could step out, greet her like a lady, but I can’t. Security rule number two . . . stay in the vehicle unless instructed by the guard.

  Sigh. All it took was for one dickhead to threaten one guy, and now the label’s gone apeshit whenever I have to be ‘the artist’ Keith Perkins. Sometimes, I miss the days when I showed up by pulling around back in my pickup and grabbing my guitar case out of the truck bed.

  But as she ducks in, climbing in beside me, I forget about my first world problems
and try to make up for my apparent lack of manners.

  “Holy fuck, Elise. You look gorgeous.”

  Okay, so maybe my manners aren’t quite up to snuff after all. I can’t help my mouth, except around Carsen, and even then, I slip up every now and then. I am human.

  She doesn’t seem to mind, though, judging by the smile that breaks across her face. She’s checking me out too, and I swear her gaze lingers on my crotch for just a split second longer. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part and she’s checking out my belt buckle.

  “You too, Keith. You look ready to rock . . . I mean, ready to country?” she teases.

  She laughs at her own joke, but I chuckle, dropping a wink for her. “Definitely ready to rock. Just don’t ask me to dance.”

  She laughs, and it’s comfortable for a moment, just sitting next to each other on the leather seat, two people just . . . I don’t really know. The feeling is broken, though when my phone rings shrilly, shattering the silence.

  I stifle a curse and fish it out of my pocket. Glancing at the screen, I answer. “Hey, Todd.”

  Todd, who’s in either LA or New York, I’m not sure and don’t really care to find out, sounds energetic. “You good to go tonight, man?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in. Security and driver were right on time. I’ll do a gear check when I get to the venue.”

  “Good, good . . . what else?”

  I roll my eyes at his usual pop quiz, glad he can’t see me. For fuck’s sake, I’m a pro. “KCTY radio sponsor, promote the summer tour and the new single.”

  “Perfect. You’ve got this, man. What about the reporter? She’s coming to the show tonight, right? It’d be a good image for her to highlight. Maybe some pics of you onstage or with fans to help kick the grocery store ones down the image search on Google?”

  The reminder pisses me off, and I know the grit is in my voice because Elise flinches beside me. “Yeah, she’s right here. I’ll tell her what you said.”

  Todd sounds apologetic, and I can understand why. He knows the interviews are a pain in my ass. “I know you can’t say much with her right there, but are the interviews going okay? Tell me if you need a rescue or if we’re going to need some spin doctoring.”

  I glance over at Elise, who is pointedly staring out the window, but I know she’s hanging on every word. “It’s fine. A bit rough at first when I slammed the door in her face . . .”

  I see Elise crack a tiny smile, confirming my suspicion as Todd sounds like he’s about to have a coronary. “No you fucking didn’t!”

  I chuckle, reaching over and patting Elise on the knee. “Actually, I did. But we came to an agreement and it’s been fine since. She’s . . . she’s good.”

  Todd laughs, while I can see Elise blush lightly at my compliment. Or maybe it’s my hand on her knee, which I still haven’t lifted yet. “I can’t imagine what your agreement is, and I probably don’t want to know, do I?”

  “Nope, you don’t.” I’m not even sure what our arrangement should be called. I’m just wondering if she could stretch across the backseat so I could touch every inch of her silky skin.

  Todd lowers his voice, virtually whispering in the phone as though Elise could hear him, and I smirk over at Elise, who’s smiling back, her eyes gleaming as she stretches out a leg for my perusal. “Any suspicions on the you know what front?”

  I think for a second how to answer in a way that won’t make Elise suspicious, and part of me is reminded again why I have to be careful around her. I’ve got miles to go and secrets to keep. “So far, so good.”

  Todd sighs in relief, and in the background, I hear someone holler out his name. “All right then, man . . . listen, I gotta cover some fires on this end. Have a great show. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Sure thing,” I answer easily, glad I don’t have his career. “‘Bye, Todd.”

  I hang up, turning to Elise, who’s still not taken my hand from her leg. “Sorry about that. Manager always checks in before a show to make sure I’m not gonna screw something up.”

  Elise looks thoughtful for a second, then gives me a raised eyebrow. “So, you’re here alone, basically. No big crew, no manager clearing the way, no team of stylists getting you primped and teased up for stage. That seems . . . unusual.”

  There’s not a question in there, but I treat it like one anyway. A part of me wonders if Elise sort of likes it that it’s just me and her. It’s more intimate this way.

  “For tour, there’s a bigger crew and a whole team of folks that travel with us. I mean, I don’t need a huge backup band, but I do like to have a consistent crew for that. But for shows like this, I try to keep it simple. I’ve done bar gigs my whole life, so I don’t need a bunch of guys telling me how to tune my guitar or what to wear. Damn sure don’t need a hair stylist,” I say, taking my hat off to run a hand across my bare head. “Although I should get Gillette to sponsor my next tour.”

  Elise laughs, moving her leg but scooting a little closer. “Holy shit. Did you just make a joke? I didn’t think you knew how.”

  I smile, leaning a little closer to stage whisper in her ear. “It’s been known to happen . . . on rare occasions. So consider yourself lucky to witness one.”

  I turn my head, and Elise locks eyes with me, the magnetic pull between us shimmering in the air. “Oh, I definitely feel lucky.”

  There’s another one of the increasingly frequent moments where I’m this close to grabbing her by the neck and kissing her, but the car stops with a slight jerk, bringing my attention to the front seat, where the bodyguard is already moving to our door.

  Without thinking about it, I grab Elise’s hand, her soft warmth immediately sinking into my skin and forming some sort of bond between us. She looks down, then up, where I catch her gaze with my own.

  “I’ll get out first. Follow behind me and we both follow the guard,” I explain quickly. “Things shouldn’t be bad, not many people out here right now, but don’t stop and don’t look scared. Smile and look friendly.”

  Elise nods her head, but her eyes give away the panic she feels.

  A tiny part of me thinks evilly, ‘Not so great on the other side of the paparazzi lens, is it?’ But another, maybe more nobler side of me wants to protect her from the fear and the pain. Mostly, though, I just want to get us in the backdoor of the bar as quickly and safely as possible.

  We step out of the car, and the flashes immediately go off. I basically drag a stiff Elise to the door, a smile frozen on her face as I smile and wave, and I only stop once to sign one autograph for a little girl holding a sign that says Keith, I’m too young to see the show tonight so will you sign my poster?

  I know I really shouldn’t, but the kid’s cute, and just a little younger than Carsen. The beaming smile she gives me as I ruffle her hair is worth the delay, even if my bodyguard is a little abrupt, shoving us inside and slamming the door behind us. We’re thrust from the light to being alone in the dark. We’re not really, because I can hear people onstage setting up, and there are no doubt radio people already out in the bar, but backstage in this little alcove hallway, it’s just the two of us.

  I can feel Elise’s body pressed tightly against me, her hand still grasped in mine. She’s so close I can feel her heart hammering in her chest, and her breasts heave as she catches her breath.

  “Wow, that was insane,” she whispers, our eyes adjusting enough that I can just start to see her face. “How can you do that all the time?”

  I shake my head, wanting to brush a lock of hair out of her face but not wanting to let go of her hand. “That was nothing. When I’m on tour, it takes four guys to get me in the building because there are hundreds of people yelling your name, grabbing at you, and shoving Sharpies and more in your face.”

  She’s hisses, obviously imagining what that’d be like. “Shit, no way could I do that.”

  In the sub-twilight dimness, I cup her face, tracing her cheekbone with my thumb, marveling at the texture. “You oka
y, Elise?”

  I feel her nod, but I can sense the tension in her body, and even though I damn well know I shouldn’t, I dip down, catching her mouth with mine, needing to make sure she’s okay. It’s soft, tender as our lips press together for the first time for real and move against each other.

  I feel her free hand move up, and she lays a flat palm against my chest, but she’s not pressing me away. She’s using it as leverage to get closer to me, wanting more.

  My hand moves from her cheek to grip the back of her neck, encouraging her and taking that touch of control I need. She responds to it with a moan of enjoyment and desire, opening to let me take the kiss deeper.

  Our tongues tangle, and it’s like getting hit by white-hot lightning. Her body galvanizes and she lunges into me, the softness disappearing into almost a thrashing battle for dominance. It’s just for show though. We both know I’m going to win this. She wants me to—she just wants me to work for it.

  And I do, overpowering her even as she grabs my belt loops, pulling me in tighter, and when she feels the hard ridge of my cock against her belly, she moans. I grind against her, letting her feel what she does to me.

  Vaguely, from seemingly far away, I hear my name being called, and it’s like a bucket of cold water. I pull back, wiping at my mouth. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Elise. That can’t . . .” I curse, not believing that just happened.

  Elise understands my muttering, nodding. “Me neither . . . conflict of interest. For work, I mean.”

  I know it’s the right thing to do, step away from the woman who has the power to ruin me, but goddamn, do I want to press her up against the wall and take her raw, hot, and fast right now. I think if we’d met under different circumstances, I’d fucking do it.

  I haven’t dated in . . . well, ever since I got custody of Carsen, but I’m not sure I could date Elise anyway, even though she is the most interesting woman I’ve met in a long time.