by Maya Banks
Connor groaned.
“She’s flying in this Friday. You’re meeting her for dinner Friday night and then she’s coming in to the office on Saturday for a meeting with you and me.”
“Why am I meeting her for dinner?” Connor demanded.
“Because the two of you are obviously off on the wrong foot, and you need to kiss and make up if we have a hope of making this work.”
“Goddamn it, Pop. You go out to dinner with her. I’ll make the Saturday meeting, but I have no desire to spend five minutes with her alone, much less an entire dinner.”
Pop stared at him for a long moment. “Are you refusing the job?”
Connor swore long and hard. “No, I’m damn well not turning down the job. You’ve made it personal by asking a favor and you know damn well I’m not going to tell you no. But I don’t have to like it.”
Pop grinned. Cagey old bastard. “Phillip Armstrong will be e-mailing all the pertinent information as well as what they want from us as far as security. Tomorrow afternoon I want you to sit in on the conference call that he and Barry Kennedy will be heading up. Then you and I will hash out a game plan so that when she arrives on Friday, you two can discuss what will be done during her time in Houston. I left a detailed file on her on your desk. It will give you a very good idea of what this job will entail.”
“Fine,” Connor muttered.
Pop straightened and started for the door. Grudgingly, Connor stood and turned around to follow. Pop paused in the doorway and faced Connor. The old coot was working to keep a straight face. “Think of it this way. You’ve been bitching about wanting to take vacation for a long time now. Now you get two whole weeks.”
“Fuck you,” Connor growled.
Connor sat at the bar in Cattleman’s, sipping a cold beer as he waited for Lyric Jones to make an appearance. He checked his watch again, irritated that she was fifteen minutes late.
Pop was disgruntled that he hadn’t picked a classier spot, but then, from what he’d seen, Lyric wasn’t the epitome of class, and if he was going to be forced to endure this meeting, then she could damn well come to him on his turf.
He’d spent the better part of yesterday reading the notes that Pop had compiled. Micah had even made an appearance, only too happy to shove the latest tabloid under Connor’s nose with a smug, shit-eating grin. How one woman could cause so much trouble and garner so much press was beyond him.
His trip to the grocery store to get a steak and a six-pack of beer had been soured when he noticed that every single magazine at the checkout had some tale of her latest antics or publicity stunt plastered over the covers.
It would seem that nothing the woman did was shielded from the world, and worse, she seemed perfectly okay with that.
He downed the last of his brew and shoved the empty bottle across the bar. As he glanced sideways, he saw her come in. To his surprise, she wasn’t accompanied by her bodyguards. Not very smart.
She was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a regular white T-shirt. There wasn’t a hint of pink in her hair and not a spot of makeup dotted her face. She looked remarkably clean-cut and wholesome. Good grief.
Her fingers were shoved into her jeans pockets, and she looked around warily. Unease billowed off her body in a cloud. She looked uncertain, and again he was struck by the odd vulnerability he had glimpsed during her last number at the concert. Clearly he was losing his mind.
Finally her gaze locked on to his and he lifted his hand in greeting. Her eyes glazed over, and it was as if she locked the attitude in place. The cockiness was back in spades.
She twisted her lips and sauntered over, throwing her bag over the bar stool as she slid up to the bar beside him.
“Nice place,” she drawled.
“I think so.” He held up a finger and motioned to the barkeep. “Drink?” he asked her when the bartender walked over.
“Just water.”
“Beer and a water,” Connor ordered.
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the scarred wood of the bar. As she wiggled her body to move closer so she could lean, he caught a whiff of her perfume. To his surprise it smelled soft, nice even. He would have expected something strong and overpowering. Like her.
“So,” she said as she made a V with her fingers and pressed them to her lips. “Here we are.”
Connor nodded.
She sighed and turned sideways to look at him. “Look, let’s at least be honest. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. Neither of us wants to be here and you don’t want to babysit me any more than I want a goddamn nanny.”
Despite himself, he chuckled. He couldn’t help it.
“Not bothering to deny it, are you?” she said dryly.
He shook his head. “Nope. Don’t see the point in blowing smoke up your ass.”
She sighed again. “I’m guessing you weren’t given any more choice than I was.”
“Nope.”
“Not a man of many words, are you?”
He shrugged. “You pretty much said it all.”
“Well, it’s obvious that we aren’t going to be best friends forever, so why don’t we sit here for a few minutes, you can have a beer or two, and then we can leave and pretend we played nice?”
Connor smiled and, though it pained him, he found himself not quite hating the thought of spending a few more minutes with her.
“I can play nice for a few minutes,” he conceded.
She snorted. “You mean if we ignore each other.”
His smile widened. He glanced over her again, noting the absent flash and glitz. “You look . . . different.”
She cast him a baleful stare. “Just in case you think that the pink hair and flashy clothes are just part of the stage show and that underneath I’m this really nice, boring girl, let me dissuade you of that notion. I just didn’t want to get my ass kicked by coming into a place like this in anything but good-ole-boy gear.”
Connor was fascinated by the snarl on her lips. It almost looked cute. Then he shook his head. She had as much personality as a pit bull and the pit bull was probably friendlier.
She spread her hands and turned up her palms in a supreme “I don’t give a fuck” gesture. “What you see is what you get.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”
Anger flashed over her face and her eyes narrowed. He could get off on pissing her off. She rose to the bait so easily.
“Just tell me what it is you’re supposed to do for me so we can get this over with,” she muttered.
Connor studied her for a moment, her stiff posture, her obvious discomfort being here with him. She shouldn’t have come alone, especially not in light of the details he’d gotten from Phillip.
“How bad has it been?” he asked bluntly.
She looked up, her blue eyes flashing in surprise. Then she shrugged. “You’ve talked to Phillip and Barry, I’m sure.”
“They haven’t been with you,” Connor pointed out. “A few visits on the road and phone calls from their office don’t count. Not with me. If I’m going to be responsible for your safety, then I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
For a moment it seemed her shell cracked, and he could see the lines of fatigue grooved around her eyes.
“It’s not as bad as they make it out to be. I bring a lot of it on myself.” She lifted one small shoulder in a gesture of indifference. “I never wanted to surround myself so tightly with security that the public couldn’t get in. But now . . .”
“It’s too much,” Connor guessed.
“It’s exhausting. There have been a few threats.”
“And Phillip wants to crack down, not make you so accessible.”
Lyric nodded.
“So tell me. How hard is my job going to be?”
A small smile curved the corners of her mouth upward. “I won’t lie to you. I’m used to doing things my way.”
“We don’t have to get along for this to work, but you do have to listen
to what I tell you. Every word. And you have to follow directions.”
She made a rude noise under her breath. “Just stay out of my way as much as possible.”
“Deal.”
She glanced sideways and appraised him with a seeking stare. “I think I like that you’re not kissing my ass.”
“It’s not your ass I want to kiss.”
The statement stunned both of them. Holy fuck, had he just said that? She blinked in surprise and then visibly retreated. The cocky, self-assured veneer was back, but for a moment, he’d seen something in her gaze that spoke to him. Longing.
With a smirk, she leaned forward and planted her lips solidly on his. Heat scorched a path from his mouth straight to his dick and flayed open every nerve ending along the way. She licked over his lips as if challenging him to open to her, but before he could, she pulled away and slid off the bar stool.
“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She gave him a flip wave and strode out of the bar.
CHAPTER 4
A fter an early morning jog, Connor showered and headed into Malone’s, hoping for some time to go over the file on Lyric Jones before everyone else showed up for this farce of a meeting. He should have known that Pop would already be in.
When Connor let himself into the office, he heard voices from the conference room and frowned. Pop wasn’t the only one in way ahead of time.
He went to the doorway to peer in and saw Phillip Armstrong having coffee with Pop. Pop looked up and motioned Connor in.
“Glad you came in early, son. Phillip has something he wants to discuss with you before Lyric arrives.”
Barely able to control his sigh, Connor pulled out one of the chairs and took a seat across from the two men.
“I really appreciate you rethinking this,” Phillip said. “William tells me you’re well suited for this job, and the truth is, I need someone I can trust.”
Connor shot Pop a glare. Well suited? What qualified him to be a babysitter slash bodyguard? His years in the army didn’t exactly prepare him to hover over a spoiled diva.
Pop glared back and Connor refocused his attention on Phillip.
“The danger to Lyric is more specific,” Phillip admitted.
And Connor hadn’t thought this could get worse. “Care to explain what you mean by that?”
“We’ve received what we believe to be credible threats. I pay a team a hell of a lot of money to discern whether a threat is merely someone mouthing off and wanting attention or whether it’s something we need to pursue.
“Mostly it’s the former and we nip it in the bud. People aren’t terribly smart and the trail back to them is usually easy to follow.”
“You’re getting threats you can’t trace back to an identifiable source.”
Phillip nodded. “Exactly. What concerns me is that whoever is doing them is delivering them in person. It started five shows ago and he’s followed her from city to city.”
Connor raised an eyebrow. “He?”
“We assume it’s a he.”
“An obsessed fan?”
Phillip frowned. “I’m not sure. Typically when you have some fan who’s obsessed or fancies themselves in love with a star, there’s a courting stage and then anger because their feelings aren’t acknowledged or reciprocated. This . . . this is just plain weird and unsettling.”
“Tell me.”
“He always leaves a note. Where varies. Once, it was taped to the bus. Once, it was on her guitar case. Another time it was in her dressing room.”
“No wonder you fired her security,” Connor muttered. “No one should be getting that close to her.”
Phillip nodded. “One of the many reasons. I also couldn’t be certain it wasn’t one of them. I got rid of everyone I had the power to fire. Unfortunately, Pete and Repete, her two pet bodyguards, are hers. She hired them. But I want you to keep an eye on them. I don’t trust them.”
“Lyric didn’t mention any of this when we met last night,” Connor said. “She mentioned that it had gotten harder to keep a distance from the fans and that she’d made a mistake in making herself too available.”
Phillip shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced over at Pop. Pop grunted. “You may as well tell him. You should have told us all this from the beginning. Last thing he needs is to go in blind.”
Jesus. What now?
“Lyric doesn’t know,” Phillip said. “I’ve kept a tight lid on it.”
“You want to say that again?” Connor asked.
“She doesn’t know.”
Connor shook his head in disbelief. Pop was right about one thing. People in show business had no common sense.
“What could you possibly hope to gain by keeping this from her? She has to be careful, which means she has to be aware of the potential threat to her. She can’t do that if no one tells her that some creep is stalking her. I don’t understand why you haven’t canceled her show or at least her appearance at the music store. Are you just trying to get her killed?”
Phillip’s lips pressed together. Connor hadn’t come out and said, You’re a dumbass, but his tone certainly implied it. Phillip didn’t look happy, but if the shoe fit . . .
“Lyric is her own worst enemy at times,” Phillip said. “If she knew some weirdo was leaving notes for her, there’s no telling what she’d do. She’s not the type to be cautious and play it safe. And we can’t go around canceling events every time some whack job starts threatening her. If we did that, we’d be out of business.”
“It seems to me, whether there’s a threat or not, she does whatever the hell she wants and damn the consequences.”
“Yeah,” Phillip said wearily. “Something like that.”
“So if she’s doing it either way, it makes no sense not to tell her what’s going on. At least then she might adopt a little self-preservation. Especially if you aren’t going to cancel a public appearance that most definitely puts her at risk.”
Phillip’s eyes narrowed. “Look, you don’t know Lyric—”
Connor held up his hand. “You’re right. I don’t know her. I don’t have a desire to get to know her. But if I’m going to take this job, I’m not coddling her, which means I’m going to be straight with her from the start. She’s going to be briefed on everything. And then she’s going to do what I tell her, when I tell her, or I walk. It’s as simple as that.”
“She’s never going to go for such heavy-handed treatment.”
Connor shrugged. “It seems to me you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you. I’d love nothing more than for her to fire me.”
“You work for me,” Phillip was quick to say. “She doesn’t have a choice.”
“Then I guess she better get used to a heavy hand. She’s too used to having her ass kissed.”
Phillip surprised Connor by laughing. “I suppose to you that’s the way it looks. When someone makes your label as much money as she has, you do whatever’s necessary to keep her happy. That’s business.”
“It’s not my job to make her happy,” Connor said evenly. “It’s my job to keep her safe.”
Phillip smiled broadly. “You know what, son? I think I’m sorry I’m going back to L.A. It might be worth being a fly on the wall for the next two weeks. I’m not sure Lyric’s ever met someone she couldn’t steamroll in two seconds flat.”
“Well, now she has.”
* * *
Lyric tapped her finger on the steering wheel of the BMW and glanced over at the GPS guidance system. She was just a block away from the place she was supposed to meet Connor Malone. It was tempting to show up late, just because, but to be honest, she wanted to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible.
She could have showed up in a limo and made an entrance, but Connor would probably be expecting that—he did seem to expect the worst—and while she’d normally enjoy feeding it to him with a silver spoon, she preferred to be perverse and surprise him.
How pathetic did it make her that she’d actually spe
nt an inordinate amount of time analyzing what he would expect and therefore go the opposite direction?
She glanced at her manicured nails as she turned into the parking lot, relieved that she’d gone an entire day without breaking one—a new record.
Her outfit was hot, again, in a totally-not-what-he’d-be-expecting way. She didn’t really care for the slutty pop rocker look except onstage because, well, it worked there. She loved expensive clothes, or, more important, clothes that looked expensive. She liked they way they felt on her. The way they looked.
She’d come a long way from Bum Fuck, Mississippi, and it would be a cold day in hell before she’d ever go back. She wouldn’t even do shows there. Not that there were many places to put on a concert the size of hers.
Hell, she wouldn’t even drive through the godforsaken state. She was sure her road crew thought she was nuts because she made them detour around the state when they’d driven from New Orleans to Atlanta.
She got out of her car and straightened her suede miniskirt. She had on a killer pair of heels. They were total fuck-me shoes and gave her a much-needed three inches in height. She liked looking good. It gave her confidence, especially in situations where she felt at a disadvantage. Not that she’d ever admit such a thing to anyone. Only a moron admitted weakness to her enemies.
She slipped her shades down over her nose like a shield and entered the building.
“Ms. Jones?”
Lyric turned in the direction of the feminine voice to see a blond woman standing in the doorway to the front office.
“I’m Lyric Jones,” she acknowledged.
The woman smiled and walked forward, her hand stuck out. “Faith Montgomery. I’m Connor’s sister. They’re waiting for you in the conference room. I’ll show you back.”
Lyric shook her hand and felt distinctly uncomfortable. Faith struck her as one of those genuine, disgustingly nice people, and Lyric was never sure how to act around them. Nobody was genuine in her world.
Silently she followed Faith down the hallway. Faith walked through the open door and the room went quiet. All eyes fell on Lyric when she came in behind Faith. Lyric surveyed the room with a frown, noticing quite a few faces she didn’t recognize.
