by Jade Webb
“Gabby!” She squeals merrily as she grabs my hand, pulling me over to the seat in front of the large mirrored vanity. I look over my shoulder at Melissa, who is biting back an amused smile. Once I’m seated, Ellie runs her fingers through my hair, pulling out my ponytail. Confused, I let her work her fingers through my thick curls. Once she’s thoroughly assessed my hair, she smiles at me in the mirror. “We are going to make you look so hot for tonight,” she declares.
I shoot a look back at Melissa. “This is the incredibly important matter you needed to discuss with me in private?”
Her guilty face is all I need to answer my question, and before I can say another word, she interjects, “Gabby, just enjoy it. This night is important for your sister.” She starts to back out of the door. “Oh, and I left an outfit for you on the back of the door.” And before I can get a word in edgewise, she ducks out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Meanwhile, Ellie hasn’t skipped a beat. A belt filled with an assortment of makeup brushes is tied at her hips, and she is trailing her finger along a colorful eye shadow palette packed with shades from golden sapphire to fluorescent pink.
Resigned to my fate, I settle into the chair. As Ellie pulls at my hair, I convince myself to try and make an effort to enjoy this evening. Truthfully, I haven’t had a night out in forever. Thinking back, it’s been about a year. In fact, it was my twenty-first birthday and a group of Dutch exchange students had insisted on taking me out for the night. We had ended up at some warehouse club blasting EDM music, and I had sported a killer headache for the next two days. I am pretty sure the headache was mainly thanks to the music, not the alcohol.
“And then we’ll pop some gold on the lids, perfect with your skin tone. And God, your lashes are to die for. I don’t think I’ll even put falsies on you!”
Ellie’s perky voice drags me back to the current moment. She has already slathered some cream on my skin, and is going to town on the dark circles under my eyes. Good luck, those things are not going anywhere.
An hour later and Ellie declares her work is done. I raise my eyes up to my reflection in the mirror and I can’t help but admire my transformation. Ellie is beaming down at me, obviously proud of her work as well. The dark circles under my eyes have vanished and my skin looks like it’s glowing. I tilt my face and the highlighter on my cheekbone catches the light. When I had been bold and tried to use highlighter a few months back, I had turned myself into a reflective disco ball.
“You are worth your weight in gold, Ellie,” I remark as I continue to survey her work. She has created a sultry bronze smoky eye that seems to bring out golden flecks in my green eyes. The rest of my face is simple, and she finished the look with a subtle, nude lip. After seeing how she had transformed Daphni into a sexy Smurf, I had admittedly been worried, but Ellie seemed to have mastered the look no number of YouTube tutorials could help me accomplish.
Ellie beams at the compliment and starts to pack up her tools. She glances up at the monitor in the corner of the room that shows a backstage view of the concert.
“I think your sister’s set has another thirty minutes or so left, so you might want to change up.” She gestures to the garment bag hanging over the door, and I push myself out of the chair to see what Melissa picked out.
As I unzip the bag, I see a flash of black lace. A pair of strappy black heels sit at the bottom of the bag, along with a black clutch.
“Ooh, that’s hot,” Ellie coos from behind me. Her eyes are wide and she leans forward to get a closer look. “Dolce. Nice,” she remarks approvingly.
I pull the dress out of the bag and twirl it in my hands. It is undeniably both shorter and smaller than anything else currently sitting in my closet. But it is also incredibly beautiful, with intricate black lace oversetting a nude sheath that, thanks to its 90% spandex content, is made to hug every curve. The top of the dress dips down to allow for plenty of cleavage, while the back is open, with a delicate pearl clasp at the nape of the neck drawing the two sides together. The sleeves are long, covered in a sheer black lace. It was the perfect mix of sexy and classy. Yet again, Melissa totally nailed it.
Shooting a glance back at Ellie, busy cleaning her makeup brushes and putting away all the products she had used, I kick off my shoes, shimmy out of my shorts, and peel off my shirt. Another quick look at the dress tells me there is no way I can wear a bra, so that comes off next. I step into the dress and carefully insert my arms into the delicate lace sleeves. Once it’s on, I ask Ellie to help me fasten the pearl enclosure.
As she steps back, Ellie whistles appreciatively. “Hot momma!”
I roll my eyes and twirl hesitantly in the mirror. God, it’s short. I tug at the sides in a failed attempt to add a few inches. I hear Ellie tsk me as she walks over, assessing me. Without a word, she dips her hand into the front of the dress and cups my breast. As I feel her hand, I let out a yelp and jump back. Ellie rolls her eyes at me, “Oh, relax. We need to bring up the girls a bit.” Ellie dips her hand back into the dress and readjusts my other “girl,” propping it up to give me even more generous cleavage.
“There you go!” she proudly declares.
I stare into the mirror, almost not recognizing myself. I rarely, if ever, got glammed up anymore. That had seemed too much like a relic of my childhood days, and I actively avoided any events that required any sort of primping beforehand. Like most of the other students on campus, my uniform for the past four years had consisted of yoga pants and comfy flannel button downs.
I pull the shoes out of the garment bag and slip them onto my feet. Though they must be at least five inches, they are comfortable enough that I should be able to tolerate them for at least a few hours. In my head, I am already working out how I can find a way to get my sister alone, deliver the news, and sneak out back to my hotel in under an hour. It’s a tall order, but I am also the master of good excuses and treasure being in bed by ten o’clock above all else in life.
Ellie and I watch the remainder of the concert together in Daphni’s dressing room. My leg won’t stop twitching and I can’t stop fidgeting with my hands. On stage, Daphni looks so happy and carefree. She smiles and commands the attention of every single person in the twenty thousand-seat arena. It tears me up inside to know that I am going to have to ruin her night, to be the one to tell her that, “Hey, congrats on the first night of your tour. You did great. Killer job. Oh, and mom’s dead.”
Egh.
The concert wraps up and Daphni dutifully plays one encore before wishing her audience good night. As I watch her walk off stage on the TV, I feel my pulse race. I rehearse the speech I’d been working on all day. I kept it short. I even put in notes like, “offer comforting hand on shoulder.” It feels so clinical, but then again, I don’t have much experience with this. Thank God for that. As I hear the door of Daphni’s dressing room burst open, I force a smile to my face. Though Daphni’s performance has just ended, mine is just beginning.
9
Liam
I weave through the packed hallways, my grim face challenging any who dare to try and stop us. Though the whole crew has been thoroughly vetted, Daphni has a habit of attracting annoyingly persistent fans, and I don’t want to take any risks.
I lead Daphni, her dipshit boyfriend, Melissa, and a few other crewmembers safely back to her dressing room. Before I can step inside, my partner, John, calls me over to review the last-minute details for tonight. John served in the Marines with me and shares the same tactical brain. We discuss our plan of entry, any potential security weaknesses, and confirm arrival and departure times.
When we’re done, I head back to Daphni’s dressing room to see if she’s almost ready to go. We have fifteen minutes until our estimated time of departure and I have quickly learned that Daphni has a very flexible relationship with time. It drives me fucking nuts.
I offer a curt nod to Malik, who is guarding the door from the outside, before I step inside. The room is chaotic, with at least three peopl
e surrounding Daphni and adjusting her hair and makeup as she snaps continuous selfies on her phone, oblivious to everyone around her. Even with the crowd of people buzzing around Daphni, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds for my eyes to find Gabby.
I try to fight the way my body reacts to her presence, how I feel my muscles tighten and my body temperature rise, but it’s fucking useless. And even though I’m determined not to pursue her, not to let my carnal instincts kick in and plunge myself deep inside of her the minute she tells me “yes,” I decide there’s no harm in looking from afar. And thank fucking God, because even though she was stunning before in her jean shorts and high tops, now she looks like a fucking goddess. Her hair is out of its ponytail, falling down on her bare back. She has that same checked-out expression on her face, the one that says she’s fine, until you spend two seconds actually looking and see the sadness in her emerald eyes. And as if she can sense me thinking about her, she tilts her head and locks her eyes on mine. This time, she doesn’t scowl or look at me with disdain. Instead, she almost looks at me like she’s…resigned. And it instantly hits me in the gut. Because there’s this feral side of me that feels protective of her, and seeing her sad rips at me. I can try and convince myself it’s because she’s the baby sister I’m currently getting paid $6,000 a week to protect, but I would know that’s bullshit. It’s something else.
Drizzle drops down on the couch next to her and she pulls her eyes away from mine to answer him. Her body remains tense and a part of me wants to tell Drizzle to go fuck off, but I can’t. I have no claim over Gabby. I’m just the bodyguard, hired by her sister.
Speaking of Daphni, I turn my attention over to her and gesture to the watch on my wrist. “Fifteen minutes and we’re out, Daphni.”
Daphni shoots me an annoyed look, confirming that she heard me. I turn to head out when I see that Gabby has stood up, and I get a full view of the back of dress.
Never before have I seen a woman more beautiful—or tempting—than Gabby in this moment. Sexy black lace falls over her frame, hugging every goddamn curve on her tight body. Her back is bare, concealed by her thick curls. Thin, black lace wraps around her arms, offering a tempting preview of all that creamy skin hiding beneath. Only when she turns around to answer something her sister asks do I literally feel my breath hitch in my throat as I let my eyes greedily take in the most glorious, life-altering view of her cleavage. And in that moment, I make a deal with God that if he wants to strike me down now, I’ll be fine with it because I was able to witness the most fucking gorgeous woman I had ever laid eyes on in the most fucking incredible dress. Shit.
There’s such a strong part of me—the caveman part that Gabby is obviously so fond of—that wants to tear off my jacket and toss it over her, not let anyone else see her, and drag her back to my room where I can admire her more fully. I tell that asshole to shut up and from the safety of the corner of the room, I take my time admiring every dip and curve of Gabby in that dress. And really, I don’t bother to hide that I am blatantly checking her out, even when I can feel her eyes on me. But instead of anger, I see a spark in her eyes. And when her eyes find mine, the noise of the room fades to complete silence. How is it that this one woman can affect me so easily? It’s more than her obvious beauty, but I don’t know what to call it.
I do know what to call the feeling I get a second later, when Drizzle drapes his arm over her shoulder: fucking rage. Gabby pulls her eyes away to answer him and I feel my muscles tick in annoyance.
His eyes widen as he steals a look down Gabby’s dress and I clench my fist. If I didn’t hate him before, I certainly do now.
“Come on, babe, just one pic,” Drizzle whines.
I watch as Gabby uncomfortably tries to slide away, and I feel myself wanting to step in and pull Drizzle away.
Daphni turns around in her chair and glares at her sister. “God, Gabby. Just take one picture. He’s trying to bond with you.”
I can see Gabby’s jaw tick. She’s pissed and even from here, I can see it. But instead of telling her sister to just fuck off, she plasters on that same fucking plastic smile and agrees to take a picture with Drizzle. The bastard pulls her in closer and holds out his camera to take the picture. As soon as she hears the click, Gabby slides out of his grip and rigidly pulls herself away.
“Remember, you promised not to post it online,” Gabby adds, as Drizzle types away furiously at his phone. “Drizzle, did you hear what…?”
“Girl, no worries. I got you,” he reassures her, never taking his eyes off the screen.
I watch as Gabby’s eyes dart around the room, and she twiddles her fingers in her lap. I can tell she is purposely trying to avoid looking over at me. Her leg hasn’t stopped bouncing and the girl is practically vibrating with nerves. I can’t imagine it’s the whole celebrity scene. From what I researched on Daphni before I took this gig, the two sisters grew up in the lap of luxury in the Hollywood Hills. All of this must feel common. No, her anxious energy is coming from somewhere else.
“Damn girl, you’re popular!” Drizzle exclaims as he shoves his phone in front of Gabby’s face. “My Drizzlers are feeling you.”
“Drizzlers?” She asks, confused. “Wait, did you post that online?”
“Yeah, baby. I got a solid two million Drizzlers loving on me every day.”
Her hands clench at her sides and I can see a wave of panic cross her eyes.
“Girl, let me tag you here. What’s your ‘gram?”
“Drizzle, I told you not to post that!” I can hear the strain in her voice as she tries to grab Drizzle’s phone.
“Yo, Gabby, relax. It’s cool. Look, you already have like 5,000 likes.”
“I don’t want my picture online, Drizzle,” she bites out.
“Chill, girl. I didn’t even put your name.”
Gabby looks down at Drizzle’s phone and I can see her chest move up and down as she takes deep, measured breaths. “You captioned it, ‘Take a look at my new bitch’?”
Drizzle laughs maniacally as he takes the phone back from Gabby. “Chill, girl. I’m just playing.”
A dark scowl crosses over Gabby’s face but she doesn’t respond. I find myself aching to know what goes on in this girl’s head, and why she doesn’t tell this asshole off when she is so clearly fucking angry. I know she has it in her—every second she’s around me, she can’t contain her venom. Why then, is she so goddamn polite with Drizzle?
From her seat, Daphni lets out an annoyed shriek. “Seriously, Drizzle?”
Drizzle looks up from his phone, confusion on his face, as Daphni jumps up from her seat, her own phone in hand.
“What is up with your fucking caption, Drizzle?”
Ignoring her, Drizzle instead turns his attention back to his phone. Annoyed, Daphni demands that an assistant standing by unzip her dress. She slides out of it, wearing nothing but a nude thong and silver heels. A satisfied grin comes over her face as she sees she now has Drizzle’s full attention. I politely avert my eyes and swallow back a chuckle when I catch Gabby’s eyes jump to mine, eagerly verifying that I am not checking out her sister’s naked body. The small satisfaction I feel when I realize Gabby might be jealous sends a possessive feeling coursing through my veins.
Thankfully, Daphni quickly dresses and once I see it’s safe to open my eyes, I remind her that it’s time to leave. This time she doesn’t argue, and with Drizzle’s full attention now back on her, she heads out the door, a victorious grin on her face as she takes a long sip from her water bottle.
Gabby follows and as she breezes past me out the door, I offer her a bright smile. “Looking bonny, lass,” I remark, and just as I predicted, her cheeks flush a dark crimson and her pink lips visibly tremble as she gapes at me. Embarrassed, she rushes past me, and I choke back a laugh as I watch her walk away, her hips swaying as she quickens her steps to catch up to her sister. It was, admittedly, a low move for me, but I was a desperate man and eager to get whatever reaction I could out of this woman.
Because if I couldn’t have her, at least I could torment her as much as she was tormenting me.
10
Gabby
I can count on my hands the number of times I have been to a club. Not surprisingly, most of those times I had been dragged along by Daphni. Her favorite pastime had been sneaking me into clubs, forcing me to stand guard while she got plastered and made out with nameless strangers. My role had always been to peel her out of the creep’s arms, get her into the cab, and tuck her into bed, making sure that she didn’t choke on her vomit and die in the middle of the night. It was about as fun as it sounds.
Eventually, Daphni had tired of forcing her little sister to tag along and I got replaced. Not that I minded. Besides, I was more of a quiet neighborhood bar-and-a-pint-of-beer kind of girl. But alas, Daphni wanted to go to some exclusive Moroccan-themed club called Tangiers, so here I am. Resigned, I decide I’m going to give myself one hour to break the news. One hour to break my sister’s heart. I hated my father for putting me in this situation, but what could I do? Law school was my escape, and this was the price I needed to pay.
As soon as the car pulls up to the entrance of the club, my stomach sinks. A line of photographers and screaming fans stand waiting outside. Although they are barricaded off by a velvet rope, the flashing lights and throng of people waiting are completely overwhelming. I go into full panic mode and try desperately to will my body to melt into the seat behind me.
Before I can even prepare myself, the door of the car opens and a hand reaches in. Daphni steps out first, with Drizzle following closely behind. Taking deep, steadying breaths, I force myself to slide over and get out of the damn car. But my legs feel like lead. While those waiting cameras are just another blur of pesky paparazzi to Daphni, to me they symbolize the death of my anonymity. I had spent years dodging public events and building up my impenetrable fortress of solitude. One picture with Daphni is all it would take to destroy it all. It’s bad enough that Drizzle has a damn picture of me on his stupid Instagram. Luckily it doesn’t have my name on it, but it’s still far more than I’m comfortable with.
