Her eyes narrow, and I can feel the anger rolling off of her in waves. It’s hard to remember that there was a time when she was one of my best friends, someone I thought of as family. Her voice is guttural when she answers me. “I fucking hate you, Joss Jamison. You hear me? I hate you. You’re a bastard, and I will not let you take my sister from me.”
My voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Get out.”
The whole bus shakes when she slams the door.
Mel
WE ARRIVE in Denver and everyone collapses after two straight days on the road. It’s mid-June, the weather is gorgeous, and the Rocky Mountains rising above the city are still capped in snow.
I’ve had a nap and I’m typing up some notes on the concert for the next night when there’s a knock on my door. “Come in!” I yell from the desk where I’m working.
“Come in?” a deep, velvety voice rumbles through my room. “Are you serious? You’re in a strange hotel room all alone and you leave the door unlocked and just invite in anyone who knocks?”
I look up from my laptop then give him a scowl. “Joss. I’m on a floor only used by your band and crew, with security guys stationed at the elevators and the stairwells. Seriously, how much safer can I get?”
He walks across the room, stopping when he reaches me, and looks down. He’s tall and I’m sitting. It’s a long way up a lean, muscled torso to meet his serious gaze. I can’t help but notice that the deep green t-shirt he’s wearing is tight in all the right spots. I’m only human.
“No security is foolproof. My lawyer’s got the photos of groupies who snuck past my security to prove it. Please don’t leave your hotel room door unlocked again.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the screen. “What do you need?”
“You and your camera,” he declares.
“What?”
“Grab your camera. We’re going on a fieldtrip and you’re going to get exclusive pictures for the project.”
I look at him skeptically but stand up. He doesn’t move back and now I’m chest to chest with him, my pulse racing. I can hear him breathing rapidly, but then he gives me a little smile. “Meet me in the lobby in ten.” And he’s gone.
WHEN I walk out of my room a few minutes later, one of the security guys is standing right outside my door. “Good afternoon, Miss DiLorenzo,” he says politely.
“Uh, hi, Jeff. What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’ve been assigned to you, Miss. Well, for day shifts anyway. Ethan will be on for nights.”
“What do you mean ‘assigned’ to me?” I have a bad feeling about this.
“I’m your personal security member. I’ll be taking you to your appointments, escorting you wherever you need to go. Stationed here outside your room when you’re on the floor at the hotels.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Miss.”
“How did this new assignment of yours come about?”
“Mr. Jamison’s orders.” Jeff is looking somewhat nervous. I think he knows what’s coming.
“Well. Mr. Jamison doesn’t get to make that decision, and I definitely do not need full-time security, so you can go off and do whatever you were doing before this ridiculous assignment.”
“Miss. DiLorenzo? I know you didn’t choose this, but you have to understand. I work for Mr. Jamison. If he assigns me to watch you, then that’s what I’ll do. It’s really not so bad. I’m actually pretty good company. Or at least that’s what my girlfriend says.” He blushes.
Crap. I’m going to kill Joss. “Fine,” I snap. “Let’s go then.”
On the way down in the elevator, I’m fuming. Poor Jeff has to absorb the evil vibes emanating from me. It’s not his fault, but until I can tear into Joss, Jeff is it.
The elevator doors open and I see the standard gaggle of women lined up outside the hotel. Joss is standing in front of the elevator waiting for me. As soon as I step out, he takes my arm and starts giving instructions to Jeff and the other security guy who is already in the lobby.
“If you two come with us, Manny and Greg can stay on the floor and we’ll leave the local guys down here,” he tells Jeff, who immediately gets on his walkie-talkie and relays the instructions to Manny and Greg. “You ready to brave the mob?” Joss asks as he sweeps me through the large, open lobby.
“You know, about the security guys—”
“Yeah, we can talk about that later. Put your head down and hold that camera bag close, all right?”
We hit the front doors to the hotel nearly at a run, Jeff on one side and Joss’s security guy on the other. The noise from the fans is deafening, mostly because it’s so high pitched. I’ve never heard so much screaming and shrieking in my life. The tour is going well, and it seems to me the crowds get larger and more rambunctious in every city we hit.
Joss has his arm around my back and is sheltering me with his body. When we reach the car, he swings the door open and slides me in before him. It’s a limo with facing bench seats. I’m on one; he’s across from me on the other.
The door shuts and Jeff gets in the passenger side while the other guy jogs around to the driver’s seat.
We slowly pull out into the downtown Denver traffic, the driver carefully maneuvering around parked cars, fans with cameras standing in the parking lane, and moving vehicles, most driven by people who probably have no idea what this ruckus is all about.
Joss addresses the security team. “So are we set, guys?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Jamison. We’ll be at the switch-out lot in just a few minutes, and from there you should be free to go where you want.”
“Thanks very much,” Joss answers. Then he pushes a button and the screen between the front and back seats closes up.
He leans back and finally looks at me. He’s smiling. I’m not.
“Sorry about the commotion,” he says, even though I can tell he’s not really. “Are you ready for the exclusive on Joss Jamison?”
He seems abnormally happy, and he’s making me extremely suspicious.
“Maybe. But first we’re going to talk about the security staff you assigned to me.”
“Okay,” he answers pleasantly. “Talk.”
I raise one eyebrow at him. Something is going on, and I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.
“I don’t need my own personal security guard. No one else has one, so why in the world should I?”
“That’s not true,” he says. “I have one. Mike has one. Colin and Walsh have them too.”
“Yeah, do you notice anything about the names you listed there?” He looks at me with that same happy, placid expression. Joss is not happy and placid, he’s hot and disturbed. Maybe he’s on something. “Are you on something?”
“What?” He looks puzzled for a moment.
“Never mind. Look, I understand why the band members need personal security. I am not a band member, in case you hadn’t noticed. I don’t need personal security.”
He shrugs, still smiling. “I disagree,” he says.
I wait. And wait.
Still waiting.
“Is that it? You disagree?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
I wonder briefly if the security guys could stop me from killing him here in the back of the car.
I grind my teeth and grit out, “How about some explanation as to why you made this decision without talking to me?”
Suddenly, Joss is leaning across onto my seat, his hands on either side of my thighs caging me in, his face mere inches from mine. His smile is gone, and his eyes are heated, sparks flying from their green depths.
“I was ready to give up on you last night, Mel. But then I woke up this morning with you in my bed and I knew it was a sign. No matter what you think you know about me or about what kind of woman I want, you’re wrong. I want you. You’re special. Very special. But you seem disinclined to be careful with yourself, so I’ll make sure I’m careful with you.
And as long as I can prevent it, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I protect the things that matter to me.” He runs his cheek across mine and I exhale against my will in a breathy little sigh.
My voice is shaky when I reply. “We already talked about this on the bus. It’s a mistake, you and me. I can’t do this with you. Ohhh—” My protests fade as he moves his lips down the line of my jaw and over my neck. He’s not kissing me, just brushing his lips across my skin. Whisper soft and warm, like heated chocolate pouring over me.
“Mel?” he whispers in my ear. “You had your say last night. Now I’m having mine.” He inhales deeply, and I realize he’s smelling me. Then he pulls away so I can see his eyes, but he’s still in my space, his warm breath spilling across me. “You’re meant for me. I’ll protect you, I’ll help you, I’ll care for you, because you’re meant for me. No matter what you say, no matter what you’ve heard. This is meant to be, and I’m not stopping until you give us a chance.”
Then he leans back in his seat.
I’m a shell of the woman I was moments ago. Joss Jamison just sniffed me like I’m a giant flower. I may never be the same again. I swallow and look at him as a smile spreads across his face.
“Now,” he says cheerfully as if he’s completely unaffected by what’s just happened. “You want to hear about our fieldtrip?”
Joss
MOST PEOPLE don’t know that, although I’ve been in Portland for as long as I can remember, I was actually born in Denver. My parents were married then, and my old man worked doing construction on big commercial projects. He was the guy who ran the huge cranes they use to build skyscrapers. One moment of operator failure and you can wipe out half a city block with one of those suckers.
After my parents split up when I was four, my mom found a job in Portland and that’s how we ended up there. My grandmother lived in Denver until she died when I was twelve though, so I’d go visit her every summer for a few weeks. For the first couple of years, my old man would sometimes come by my grandma’s while I was in town. He’d take me to a baseball game or something, but that was about it. By the time I was in elementary school, I never heard from him or about him, anymore.
I don’t know why I decide to take Mel to my grandmother’s old house, but it makes a great excuse for spending a few hours with her. The first thing we do is drive to a parking garage on the edge of LoDo in downtown. It’s almost certain we’ve got some fans trying to follow us, so security set up this switch for me. Once we’re in the garage, we go to a restricted area where Mel and I move to a silver Rolls Royce. My guy then takes the limo out the same way we entered and heads off to drive around, acting as the decoy while Jeff drives Mel and me.
Once we’re on the road again in the Rolls, the security team confirms that everything looks clear.
“Where are we going that we need all this security?” Mel asks after we’re underway again.
“Into my past,” I answer cryptically. She rolls her eyes, pulls out her phone, and starts to scroll through messages.
She’s been working really hard at appearing unaffected by what I told her a few minutes ago, but I’m not buying it. I saw the look in her eyes when I said I wasn’t giving up. She wants this every bit as much as I do. She’s not ready to admit it, but she wants it.
I watch out the tinted windows as we pass through pre-war era neighborhoods full of tiny bungalows, back alleys that parallel the streets, and ancient elm trees. When we finally come to a stop, we’re in front of a red-brick ranch house with a front porch that runs the width. The street in front is narrow and the garages are entered from the alley behind, so no driveways or curb cuts interrupt the sidewalks. The yard of the place is green and neat with flower boxes on the porch and rosebushes in front.
“Here we go,” I tell Mel. “Grab your camera.”
She looks at me suspiciously but gets out of the car, carting her camera bag with all of the lenses and other attachments I don’t understand.
We stand on the sidewalk in front of the tiny house and I say, “I used to tie a rope to the ceiling of the porch right over there and swing out over the yard like I was Tarzan.”
She looks at me warily, obviously unsure of what I’m doing.
“Until the time when I was eight and misjudged and slammed into the wall of the porch. I had the biggest fucking bruise you’ve ever seen all along my left side and my grandmother forbade me from ever playing Tarzan again.”
I see understanding dawn on her face.
“Your grandmother lives here?” she asks.
“Did. A long time ago. She died when I was twelve, but I used to come see her for a few weeks every summer.” I lean back against the car, and Mel does the same next to me. “I was born in Denver. Lived here until I was four, but I don’t remember that part. What I do remember is this house and this neighborhood.”
She smiles. “So all this time, Portland thought you were a native son, and in reality you’re from here?”
I nod.
As if she understands what I wanted out of this trip in a way I couldn’t even explain myself, she starts to ask me questions. I talk and answer, and before I know it, I’ve spent nearly an hour walking around the streets I remember from my childhood, talking about things I haven’t thought of in years. It reminds me of a time in my life when I was happier, more carefree. Even though the old man didn’t come see me much when I was in Denver—and never when I was in Portland—I always felt closer to him here. As if he might show up at any time. As if, by looking at the tops of the giant office towers he helped build, I was somehow seeing him.
Life with my mom meant school, which I never enjoyed, and her job, which took most of her energy. But at my grandmother’s, it was her and me. We spent our days together, and when she got tired of me, I’d roam the neighborhood for a while, meet other kids at the school playground, swing from the porch roof, then come back home where Grandma would be waiting with a plate of cookies and a video of Star Wars. It was the best, and so was she.
Mel and I walk back to the car from the schoolyard and I tell her about the time the kid down the street and I lashed my wagon to his bike. I rode in the wagon and he pedaled like a bat out of hell until we hit an uneven spot in the sidewalk and I flew out, skidded five feet on my face, and landed in the gutter. She’s laughing and asking where the scars are when I realize she’s also taking photos.
“How do you do that?” I ask as I step closer to her where she’s standing on the sidewalk.
She lowers the camera. “Do what?”
“Take pictures without me realizing it?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment, her juicy lips pursed in a way that makes me want to kiss her hard and long.
“I don’t know. I guess when you’ve taken enough pictures, it’s second nature, so you can talk and shoot at the same time.”
I run my finger up her arm, watching in fascination as little goose bumps break out along her skin.
“You’re amazing,” I say, and I lean in and kiss her softly on the cheek before she can stop me.
She blushes, and it’s so fucking cute I nearly leap around like Tom Cruise on the Oprah Winfrey show. I want to tell the world that Mel DiLorenzo is the most spectacular woman I’ve ever known.
“Joss,” she says with a warning tone in her voice.
I smile at her, grab her hand, and start walking back to the car.
“Yes, Mel?”
She gives me a sideways glance. “Behave yourself.”
“With you? Never.” I laugh and so does she. I keep ahold of her hand as we walk in the waning sun, along the sidewalk leading to my grandmother’s house, in the city my dad helped build. It might be the closest to Heaven I’ve ever been, and I wonder, not for the first time, where being a rock star fits with all of this.
WHEN WE get back to the hotel, I’m immediately accosted by messages and crew needing me. Mel heads off to her room, Jeff hot on her heels. She glares at me when he starts to follow her, but I pretend I do
n’t notice.
The concierge shows me the stack of about one hundred and fifty messages that have been left by fans trying to get into my room. I take the whole damn batch and toss them in the trash. I appreciate the hell out of my fans, but as I’ve said, I don’t enjoy waking up with strangers touching me.
Next up is the crew chief asking me if I’ll come over to the auditorium to check out the setup. There are some unusual aspects to the venue and he’s concerned our standard stage format won’t cut it. I tell him I’ll meet him there in an hour and go to hunt down Mike.
When I knock on Mike’s door, I can hear music blasting from inside. I can’t tell if he’s playing or his iPod is on though. I know knocking will be useless, so I ask his security guy to open it up.
“He’s, uh, entertaining someone right now,” the guy warns me.
“Yeah, seen it before. I’m already scarred,” I reply as I walk in the door he’s holding open for me.
I start yelling as soon as I hit the entryway to his suite. “Mike! Dude, we got to talk about the show tomorrow!”
The music is coming from the bedroom, and Mike’s not playing. It’s a Stevie Ray Vaughn solo that goes on for about five minutes. I step over the various articles of clothing strewn across the living room and go to the bedroom door, where I start pounding.
“Mike! Finish it up. We gotta go to work!”
I hear a girl’s voice shriek. A moment later, the music is turned down.
“Mike? Dude, we’ve got work shit to discuss, get out here.”
I hear his deeper voice, and then the girl squeals some more. Finally, the door swings open and there stands Mike, leather jockstrap and nothing else on, a pair of handcuffs dangling from one hand.
“Jesus, man. Get something the fuck on before you greet me, will you?”
He smirks and leans against the doorframe. Over his shoulder, I spot a naked woman with enormous false tits and bleached hair. She gives me a slippery smile and bats her fake eyelashes. I’m sure she’d do me too if I asked.
A Lush Betrayal Page 10
