The Fragile Line: Part One (The Fine Line #2)

by Alicia Kobishop

  I almost wished I was simply on door-man duty tonight. Would’ve been a hell of a lot easier. The line of people waiting to get in had extended almost two blocks, which meant the door guy would have hecklers and troublemakers, but I’d prefer that to dealing with Marc’s cocky attitude.

  At the moment, our private loft encompassed an exclusive party of the show’s producers, stars, a few friends, and some random women who all fought for the attention of Mr. Marc Davis, despite his derogatory remarks. I had no clue how women could be interested in someone like him, but hey, money, fame, and looks tend to have an effect on some people.

  “Hey, you!” As I checked my incoming text, I vaguely heard an intoxicated Marc shout to someone over the muffled bass of the club’s music stemming from beyond the glass, “You! Meathead! Go fetch me some more women!”

  I caught heads turn toward me out of my peripheral and when I glanced up to see that douchebag diva staring directly at me, I damn near jumped him on the spot.

  Had I been in a better mood, I’d probably laugh at the half-witted remark, but tension had been building inside me ever since the day I spent with Chloe. Each day that passed without her contacting me put me in a shittier and shittier mood. I had put the ball in her playing field by leaving that message on her mirror, and not only did her not reaching out to me put me in funk, but the fact that I was so damn eager for her to contact me annoyed the hell out of me.

  And it wasn’t just the irresistible image of her in that tight white t-shirt that had me thinking about her either, although that’s what I chalked it up to at first. The more she lingered in my thoughts, the more I realized it was more than her sweet, tempting body that I was fixated on. The underlying level of comfort between us, her funny-as-hell dry humor, the intriguing way her eyes spoke to me—the way they screamed that she needed my help even when she couldn’t say it—all of it had me fascinated, wanting to know more about her and why she put up such an impenetrable façade.

  Fuck.

  I shouldn’t give a flying shit whether she called or not. Hell, because of her history with Logan, anything more than friendship was off limits as far as I was concerned. But I couldn’t get a grip on my feelings. Unwanted feelings that stirred like wicked little devils under the surface of my skin. Feelings that I hadn’t felt in years. And the fact that I was even thinking so much about my fucking feelings for her, like a damn love-sick fairy-princess, pissed me off even more.

  Mix all that with the frustration of today’s security planning and Marc’s holier-than-thou attitude, and you’ve got one pissed off asshole, damn near close to the brink of losing his shit.

  Brushing my murderous thoughts aside, I calmly walked toward Marc, the expression on his drunk-ass face turning from humor to fear in zero-point-two seconds. The change was subtle. But I noticed it.

  The blonde sitting on his lap, and the brunette on the arm of his red leather chair casually excused themselves when they saw me walk toward him. Good girls. Leaning my fist on the arm of his chair, I brought my face within inches of his and responded with a higher degree of patience in my voice than I actually felt as I attempted to calm my boiling blood. Regardless of this dickhead's behavior, I couldn’t forget that had a professional reputation to uphold.

  “We don’t know each other very well, Mr. Davis,” I said with an undertone of hostility, “which means I’m going to let that comment slide. We clearly have a small misunderstanding, so let me explain my role here tonight. As the head of your security team at this venue, my duty is to keep you safe from outside threats. Not get you women. Not permit condescending remarks. I strongly suggest you don’t confuse my role with that of your personal assistant or underestimate the fact that I have no problem putting you in your goddamn place if need be. That being said, it would be in your best interest to treat your security team, including myself, with the same respect we give to you. Is that understood?”

  “Hey, man. Take it easy. I’m not trying to start anything here.” He shrugged me off with a smile and a pat on the shoulder, the nervous look in his eye quickly covered by his attempt to uphold the illusion of his self-affirmed authority. “It was just a joke.”

  I sighed, “Whatever, man. Just take a second to think before you speak next time.”

  He nodded.

  This guy wasn’t worth my time. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, walking away. When I saw that Chloe finally texted me, my mood instantly lightened. And when I knew she’d be coming to the club tonight, Marc’s idiocy didn’t seem so important anymore.

  On my way to leave the loft to tell the doorman to put her and her friends on the list, Marc’s father intercepted me. He’d been within listening distance of my confrontation with his son, and I briefly resumed my on-guard persona, unsure if he had taken offense to it. I dropped my guard when I noticed the genuinely compassionate smile on his face.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met yet,” he extended his hand. “I’m Dalton Davis.”

  I shook it, “Matt Langston.”

  I hope this guy didn’t expect me to apologize. If so, he’d be disappointed.

  “Pleasure, Matt. You’ll have to excuse my son. That kid’s head is too far up his own ass to know what he’s saying.”

  “No problem, sir,” I responded, stifling my laughter at the unexpected comment.

  He walked toward the bar as he continued the conversation, clearly expecting me to follow. I hesitated, knowing I only had a few minutes before Chloe would get here, but then I remembered I didn’t owe her anything and that my balls were still firmly attached to my own damn body. She could wait.

  “Had I known he’d end up like this,” Dalton persisted, “I never would’ve pushed him to do the show.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

  We arrived at the bar, and Dalton flagged the bartender.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  “No thanks. I don’t drink when I’m on duty.”

  “Understood,” he nodded. He ordered his Jack and Coke, and once he got it, leaned his elbow on the bar, looking over the room and taking a sip.

  “I saw you busting ass during prep today. I can tell you take pride in your work, Matt. You’re a natural-born leader. You know how to take charge of a situation. That’s something I have yet to see in my boy.”

  I remained quiet on the topic of his son. Anything I’d say about that jerkoff would most likely be taken the wrong way. Or worse yet, taken exactly how I mean it. I wondered why Dalton felt compelled to talk about his son with me.

  “Thank you for the compliment, sir. The military trained me well, but there’s always room for improvement.”

  “See? Now that’s what I’m talking about. That’s exactly what he needs. A little bit of modesty like that goes a long way. His mom and I made a mistake in handing him everything he’s ever had. We shoulda made him work for what he’s got like I did. That boy has a sense of entitlement like I’ve never seen.”

  As annoying as Marc was, the way his father spoke of him to me, a complete stranger, made me pity the guy. “We all need a little tough love sometimes, I guess.”

  “There’s a lot of things I never expected when I signed with the network to do the show.” He mumbled under his breath, “There’s a lot I would’ve done differently.”

  “Seems to me like the show’s doing alright.”

  “Yeah, the show’s doing just fine.” He forced a chuckle and tipped his head toward his son who currently had his face in some girl’s neck and a hand on her ass. “Real life is another story.”

  “I take it fame comes with its challenges?”

  “Ha! That’s the understatement of the year,” he laughed.

  “C’mon, it can’t be that bad.” I pointed toward the club below. “From the looks of it, you’ve got quite the following. Success like that has got to feel pretty good. Marc’s young. What is he, twenty-one? Twenty-two? He’s enjoying himself.”

  “Enjoying yourself is one thi
ng. Self-destructive indulgence is another.”

  I knew all about self-destruction. I remembered my high school years and how, despite my supportive family, I did everything I could to rebel against everything normal. I was the guy who got stoned in his basement with a few close friends while everyone else was at the Friday night football game. The guy who boycotted Homecoming and Prom because I’d vowed to never be part of something so cliché. The guy who pranked the Varsity quarterback, just for shits and giggles, by putting a dead fish under the driver’s seat of his car.

  One thing led to another back then, and before long, my rebellion became more extreme. It became part of who I was. I found myself in the midst of dropping grades, low school attendance, and in detention more often than not. And it wasn’t because my parents abused me or I had been through some horrible trauma in my childhood. My parents treated me well.

  I did it because I despised the ordinary. I sought out adventure and wanted to take a new road. Something different than what my parents had planned for me—college, a traditional job, marriage, and grandbabies—what they called “a better life.” But school had never been for me. I did fine with grades, but sitting bored in a class all day made me damn near psychotic.

  My family struggled financially, which meant work kept them away from home and unable to keep track of me, thankfully giving me free rein to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it.

  Mostly, my rebellion was about making a statement that I wouldn’t be controlled. By anyone or anything. Until Maya. She changed my world. Made me want to better myself. She was the reason I wanted to straighten my life out so that I could provide her with everything she deserved. So, I looked for a way to give her a good life. I even considered college before I realized how expensive it was. After weighing my options, I found the Army to be my answer.

  If it hadn’t been for her, I’d probably still be in my parents’ basement getting drunk or high. Even though I didn’t end up with her, at least she made me see how I was throwing my life away. And even when I tried to get her back and failed, the Army had given me the confidence to never go back to sabotaging myself or my life.

  Maybe that’s what Marc was doing. Rebelling. Maybe he just needed to find his way on his own terms.

  “I’m not one to judge,” I acknowledged, discerning the fact that had I been in the same position, I could’ve ended up just like Marc. “I raised hell in my day too.”

  He sighed, “Well, I hope he grows out of this phase soon. We started filming right after he graduated high school, you know, and he clearly wasn’t ready for somethin’ like this. Having the public analyze his every move was more pressure than he could handle. He went through girls in high school, but his caravan of women took on a whole new intensity after the show started. Having groupies dropping at his feet the way they do? I shoulda known it would happen like this. The kid’s got an addictive personality. Sports consumed him in high school, and his addiction to winning kept him focused on something positive. But when high school ended and the show started, he got stuck on the only thing that was right in front of him…girls. Then drugs. I thought involving him in the show would give his life the direction it needed. Thought involving him in the family business would keep him grounded. Unfortunately, his heart was never in the shop. Including him in the show was the worst thing I could’ve done.”

  Damn. What was this? An episode of American Muscle Confessions? With me as the shrink? As displaced as his revelations were, I felt bad for the guy. Seeing someone you love go down the wrong path must be hell.

  “No one can predict the future,” I replied. “There’s no way you could’ve known how it would affect him.”

  “Yeah. Right,” he sighed. “Ah shit, it is what it is. Can’t go back now, and there’s no use in trying. We can only learn from it and move forward.”

  I nodded, “He’ll come around.”

  “Maybe. I hope he does. But I can’t watch him go through it anymore. And I can’t enable his self-destruction anymore either. It’s not doing either of us any good.”

  I waited for him to explain what he meant, but the event planner cut our conversation short when she announced that Dalton and Marc had ten minutes before going on stage. Dalton chugged the rest of his Jack and Coke before extending his hand, “See ya around, Matt.”

  I shook his hand and watched as he and Marc were escorted out of the loft through the back hallway. I’d have a few minutes to meet Chloe at the door before they went on.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ~Chloe~

  Present Day

  “I thought you said you’d get us in,” Emily muttered in annoyance when the doorman refused to let us into the club.

  “Chill, Em,” I snapped, unable to hide the irritation that her impatience sparked in me. “I’ll get in, but I don’t need to bring you with me.”

  She giggled, “I know, hon. I’m just giving you shit. You know I love you. It’s just that we’ve been out here a while, and I think I’m getting frost bite. Oh my God, what if I lose my fingers?”

  “You’re not really dressed for the weather, are you, Em?” I joked, eyeing her skimpy royal blue strapless dress, her long black flowing hair as the only thing keeping her shoulders warm.

  I had left my coat in the car, knowing that Rain didn’t have a coat check, but at least my waitress clothes kept me warmer than if I were in my regular “clubbing” clothes. I sort of hated the fact that I was going out wearing my work uniform—black pants, flats, and a white button up shirt—but this was a last-minute decision, and I didn’t have time to go home to change first. Instead, I embellished the outfit by adding a variety of bracelets and necklaces that I had stored in my handbag, removing my undershirt, and undoing the top few buttons of my shirt showing just a tiny bit of my hot-pink bra to give my outfit a little highlight.

  What was taking Matt so long? In his text, he said he’d give my name to the doorman, but it hadn’t been done yet. I was getting restless. I needed a drink. And the touch of a man.

  “Emily, maybe we should just go,” Elle said, her brown wavy bob swooshing up with a gust of wind. The brutal wind had forced her eyeliner to run from the outer corners of her eyes, making it look like she had been crying black tears. “Seeing some stupid celebrity isn’t worth this. Look,” she pointed to the corner bar across the street. “There’s no line there. Let’s just go warm up there for a while.”

  “Stupid celebrity? Are you kidding, Elle? Marc Davis is here,” Emily replied in shock. “Marc. Davis. We LOVE him, remember? I would walk a hundred miles barefoot in snow to meet him! I don’t care how cold it is. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Yeah, I get it. Trust me, I’d jump him in a second if I had the chance. But what makes you think we’re going to get anywhere near him, let alone meet him?” Elle folded her bare arms across her chest. “This place is crowded with women who are going to be trying to get his attention. We’ll just be two of many.”

  “Because we’re hotter than those other bitches. And we’re willing to do whatever it takes to get his attention. We’ll do anything.” Emily took Elle by the shoulders, “Anything. Right, Elle?”

  I rolled my eyes as I began another text to Matt, thankful to be an outsider to their conversation. Just as I was about to hit send, a warm arm found its place on my shoulder and smoothly pulled me toward an equally heated, solid body.

  Goosebumps erupted all over me as his heat contrasted with my icy skin and a deep voice whispered in my ear, “Hey, Pink. Did you miss me?”

  When I turned to face the man who took me in his arms, I couldn’t speak. Because when Matt’s eyes met mine, the world stopped for a moment, my thoughts becoming an incoherent mess. One thing was clear, though. He looked damn good in his black security t-shirt.

  “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” His hands brushed up and down my arms. “You’re not really dressed for the weather, are you?”

  “Ha! That’s what she said to me!” Emily chimed in.

 
Matt turned his attention to Emily. “These must be your friends.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Elle, Em, meet Matt.”

  “Hi,” Emily offered her hand.

  Matt turned to me as he shook it, “Are all your friends named after letters?”

  Before I could respond, Emily’s eyes lit up like she just had the best idea ever.

  “Any chance you might be able to get us close to Marc Davis?” she asked.

  “Emily,” I scolded, embarrassed by her urgent transparency, “he’s already getting us into the club. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s no problem,” Matt affirmed. “Marc is actually about to go on stage with his dad, but you guys are welcome in the VIP loft for the after-party.”

  Emily and Elle squealed in delight as I mouthed a thank you to Matt. He walked us to the front of the line, while several people taunted us for skipping ahead. I bit my tongue and followed Matt’s lead in ignoring their rude comments.

  Upon entering the building, we weaved through the sweltering crowd toward the bar area, my internal chill instantly subsiding from the radiating body heat in the club. I momentarily considered taking my shirt off altogether but decided I didn’t want or need to appear that desperate.

  I eyed the bar as Matt continued to walk past it.

  “Matt!” I shouted, but he couldn’t hear me over the pounding music and shrill voices around us. When I tried again, and he still kept walking, I grabbed him by the arm. “Wait!”

  He turned around and brought his ear to my face to hear me.

  “I’m going to get a drink,” I said.