by Jessica Ashe
All in all, I have nine people whose sole job in life is to look after various parts of my own. A security team, a manager, a chef, a housekeeper, and a business advisor. I even have people working for me who I’ve never met. Katrina hired the new housekeeper for my place back in Los Angeles, and yet we’ve never been introduced. How crazy is that? I pay someone $45,000 a year and she cleans my dirty underwear, yet I’ve never met her.
“Tough night?”
I look up towards the door of the executive suite and see a man who looks like he’s been three rounds with a boxer.
It’s him. Damon.
Holy shit, he took a beating.
I should ask him about his injuries, but I know how that conversation will go. He’ll probably say I owe him one and suggest a method of repayment. No, perhaps that’s not fair. The only thing he’s asked from me is an autograph…which he then used to try and trick a woman into bed.
But he also saved me.
“I just wanted to relax after the show,” I reply. “How’s your… you know, your face? It looks even worse than usual.”
Damon laughs and steps inside. “I was hoping you’d like the beaten and bruised look.”
“As you continually point out, I prefer the clean-cut and charming type.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. So come on then, what’s led to you drinking whiskey alone up here?”
“You’re awfully nosy for hired help. I thought yesterday was your last day.”
“It was, but they couldn’t get enough of me. I’m going to be working here for the entire residency.”
“Today really is my lucky day.”
“You never answered my question.”
“Can’t a girl enjoy a glass of whiskey in peace?”
“Yes, but you’re not enjoying it. I saw you wincing as you took a sip. You’re drinking to forget; trust me, I know the signs. Seems odd, considering you have everything anyone could ever want.”
Damon doesn’t look like the type to worry about things. I suppose money could be an issue, but other than that he gives off a carefree vibe. He can look after himself, he doesn’t get attached to women, and he doesn’t have to worry about his every move being reported in the media. I’d love to be like that, even if it’s just for a day. One day of going wild in a pub or club, and then doing nasty things all night with someone like Damon. Just twenty-four hours, that’s all I ask for.
“I broke up with my boyfriend recently,” I say calmly. “I think that’s reason enough to need a drink, don’t you?”
“You were dating Kenneth Carney? The actor, right?” I nod. “I think I’d need a strong drink if I was with him. No offense, but that guy is boring as hell.”
“You know him?” I ask.
“No, but I’ve seen him in interviews.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you see in interviews. People put on personas; the person you see in an interview is rarely the real one. Trust me on that.”
“So he’s not boring?”
“Well yes, he is boring, but the point is you didn’t know that for sure.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re up here looking like you just performed in front of an empty stadium, instead of tens of thousands of people. Shouldn’t you be back in some luxury hotel suite by now?”
“Just because he’s boring, doesn’t mean I can’t be a bit heartbroken.”
This conversation is the most I’ve thought about Kenneth since we broke up, but I’m determined not to let Damon think he’s right.
“Oh give over, love, you’re not heartbroken. I may not follow all the celebrity gossip, but I know that you tend to move on fairly quickly. There’ll be another A-list actor on your arm next week.”
“That’s not fair,” I say sternly. I stare at him until the smile has disappeared from his face.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Guess I crossed the line a bit there. I’m not saying you’re a slut. I don’t care if you sleep around or whatever. Christ, I’m hardly one to judge. I’m just saying that with your status there are plenty of opportunities to move on from heartbreak.”
“Believe it or not, not all problems can be solved by hooking up with someone.”
“Works for me,” he says softly. I see sadness across his face, but before I can question him on it, he quickly changes the subject. “You shouldn’t drink alone. If word gets out people will think you have a problem.”
“I suppose you can have a drink with me. But only as a thank you for stepping in and helping me with those men. Not because I actually want your company.”
“There any decent beer here? I can’t stand whiskey.”
“There are bottles of Beck’s in the fridge.”
“That’s a no then. Come on, let’s go for a real drink.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re going to a pub. I know a great little one not too far from here where I can get a decent pint of ale. I’m sure they do whiskey if that’s what you want.”
I laugh. He’s joking. He must be. I can’t just go to a pub. Damon looks back at me slightly confused by my reaction. Oh, he’s not joking.
“You’re being serious?”
“Completely.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I’ve finished my shift. I’m only up here because I got lost.”
“You get lost a lot.”
“I can find my way to the pub. Come on.”
Damon takes my hand and pulls me up to my feet. The second he lets go, I sit back down again.
“I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but someone like me can’t just go to a pub. I’ll get recognized and mocked.”
“You do sound arrogant, but given what happened the other night I guess I can understand. However, as I’m sure you remember, I’ll be there to protect you. Besides, trust me, no one at this pub will care who you are.”
“I don’t know….”
“I do. You need this. You’ve already refused my generous offer of a good fuck. It would be very rude to reject me again. Do you want me to go on the twitters and tell people you’re rude?”
The twitters? He’s more out of touch than my mom. “I guess I can go for a quick drink.” I stand up and finish off the rest of the whiskey. I immediately wish I hadn’t bothered. This stuff tastes nasty, and I don’t feel the need to punish myself with it anymore. “I’m going to tell Lance where I’m going. He’ll want a few people on me.”
“That does take some of the spontaneity out of it.”
“I’m only coming if my security team can tag along. You won’t even know they’re there.”
Damon sighs, but holds up his hands in defeat. “At least this way I’ll have some backup if shit goes down again. I’ll meet you out back in ten minutes.”
“Deal.”
Damon and I walk in separate directions as he goes back to his locker, while I go back to my dressing room where I know Lance will be waiting eagerly. Lance tries to talk me out of my pub trip, but at the end of the day I’m the boss and I get to make the decisions.
I’m not completely reckless; at no point tonight will I be more than twenty feet from someone who’s paid to protect me from harm. I rarely go anywhere without my security team now. Not because of last night; it’s been that way for a while. Ever since my father died I’ve had someone looking out for me like he did.
Anyway, we’re just going to a pub. How bad can it be?
Chapter Seven
Naomi
“If you lay a finger on her, three men will be on you before you know it.” Lance does his best to square up to Damon, even though Damon has at least six inches on him and probably fifty pounds in muscle as well.
“And here I thought after last night we were friends,” Damon replies cheekily. Lance isn’t paid to appreciate humor. He’s like an overly strict father, and a guy like Damon is the last person he wants to see with his ‘daughter.’
“I want you both out of the pub by midnight,” Lance continues. “Unde
rstood?”
Damon looks at me. “You pay him to be this annoying?”
“He’s a puppy dog when you get to know him.” I kiss Lance on the cheek because I know it annoys him, and promise to be out of there by midnight.
“Do you turn into pumpkin or something?” Damon asks as we make the short walk to the pub.
“You’ve never read Cinderella, have you?”
“I’m not a big reader.”
The trip is remarkably uneventful. A few people walk past us, but they’re far too interested in their own affairs to notice me. I sometimes wonder how many people are looking at their phones reading stories about me or listening to my music when they walk right past me. Probably best to keep that thought to myself; Damon thinks I’m self-obsessed enough as it is.
I hesitate before stepping inside the pub. From the outside, it looks tiny and dingy, and I know my security team hate keeping an eye on me in places like this. It’s easy to go unnoticed when you’re packed into a crowd, but it also means that anything can happen to you.
Damon notices my hesitation and gently nudges me through the door as he holds it open. I beam with a huge smile the second I see the inside. The pub is narrow, but extends quite far back. More importantly, it’s half empty and the people here either have their attention focused on their friends or the bottom of a glass. It also helps that the average age is at least forty.
One of my security team stays outside, while another two position themselves at opposite ends of the bar. They’re both big guys with tattoos and shaved heads. They would fit in well in a bar like this if it weren’t for the lack of a drink in front of them and the radios in their ears.
“It’s beautiful,” I say quietly, as Damon leads us to a table against the wall.
“Gotta say, I’m not sure anyone has ever described this place as beautiful before. I’ll tell the owner—he’ll be chuffed to bits.”
“You British don’t appreciate what you have right on your doorstep. Look around you. The walls still have the original wooden beam structure which probably dates back to the seventeenth century. Maybe even longer. Just think of all the famous historical figures who might have had a drink in this very spot we’re sitting now. Shakespeare, Darwin, Newton….”
“Naomi Price.”
“Shh.” I look around nervously, but no one is looking in our direction. “Why don’t you go order one of these decent beers you keep talking about?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It’s impossible to know for sure whether any historical figures did drink here hundreds of years ago, but the photos on the wall reveal quite a few modern celebrities who have popped in for a drink. There are signed photos of Paul McCartney, Patrick Stewart, and quite a few others I don’t recognize. The celebrities often share the photo with another man who—unless I’m much mistaken—is a younger version of the guy working behind the bar now. So much for this place being a low-key hangout. Had other celebrities come here for quiet drink as well? Mind you, I’ll smile for a photo if it means I can have a drink in peace.
Damon comes back with three drinks. “I got you a pint of Ringwood, but I know you lot don’t tend to like this stuff so I got you a vodka and orange as well to be safe.”
“You lot? You mean women?”
“No, I mean Americans. I must admit, it takes a bit of getting used to and I hated it when I was a kid, but once you get a taste for it you can never go back to lager.”
Vodka and orange has never looked more appealing, but I grab the pint and lift it to my lips. I know from the temperature of the glass that the beer is not going to be cold, but it still comes as a bit of a shock when the tepid liquid touches my lips. My first reaction is that the beer is warm, but that’s not it. The beer isn’t warm; it’s just not chilled.
Damon’s looking at me expectantly, so I take a few longer gulps and set the glass down with a satisfied “ahh.” Maybe I can pour some of mine into his glass when he’s not looking.
I look around enviously at those going about their normal, everyday lives. There’s a pool table around the corner with what looks like a boyfriend and girlfriend playing, and a couple of guys are throwing darts.
Before I can relax, I notice one guy looking at us intently. I pull my hair down to cover the side of my face and turn away from him slightly. It’s too late. He’s on his way over.
“Damon?” the man says uncertainly. “Damon Curtis?”
Damon looks up at him. There’s half a second where he doesn’t recognize the man, but then he breaks out into a smile. “John. How the bloody hell are you? God, I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Nearly three,” John says.
“What are you doing back down south?”
“Just visiting family. Don’t suppose you fancy working up in Liverpool do you? I still haven’t been able to replace you.”
“Thanks but I’m kind of tied down here.”
“Of course. How is Emma?”
Emma? How would this old friend know about the girl he was trying to hook up with last night? I might be wrong, but that girl did not look like a longtime acquaintance.
“She’s fine,” Damon says. I can tell from his tone that he’s trying to shut down this part of the conversation. John takes the hint, and after a bit of small talk he makes some excuse about needing to get back to see his mother and then leaves.
“Former boss?” I ask.
Damon nods. “Great bloke. One of those salt of the earth types, you know? I’d still be working for him now if he hadn’t moved the business up to Liverpool.”
“Why didn’t you move with him? Is Liverpool not a great place to live?”
“Nothing wrong with Liverpool. I just have ties here.”
Emma.
I should ask about her, but what do I say? I can’t just come out and ask if he has a girlfriend because then it implies that this is some kind of date. Or that I care.
I still haven’t apologized for “cock-blocking” him last night. He had no right to use my name to try and get laid, but that didn’t give me the right to go barging in there and spoil his fun.
“The dartboard’s free,” Damon says. “Come on, let’s play a few rounds.”
“I’ve never played darts,” I protest.
“You just throw the darts at the board. It’s easy.”
“And in basketball you just throw the ball through the hoop. Doesn’t mean I can play it without embarrassing myself.”
“I’ll show you.” Damon grabs the darts and quickly throws three at the board. They don’t go anywhere near the bullseye, so I take some comfort from the fact that he’s no good either.
“Hundred,” the guy sat nearby says. “Nice darts.”
“Thanks, Doug.”
Damon hands the darts to me, but lets me stand a little closer to the board. It still looks too far away, and the darts feel unnervingly light in my hand. The wooden frame containing the board is dotted with holes from where other players have missed. When I look closely, I see a few more holes in the old wallpaper around the wooden cabinet. At least I won’t be the first player to miss.
I hold the dart between my thumb and forefinger and attempt to throw it towards the board. The dart reaches, but it’s waving around all over the place and ends up just smashing against the board and dropping to the floor.
“Hold it like this,” Damon says. He takes my hand and gently places two fingers on top of the dart and my thumb underneath. “Now, make sure you arch your hand as you throw and release at the top.”
I practice the motion a few times and then do what he says. This time the darts sticks in the board, but only barely. It’s right at the bottom and not in all the colored bits which I think is where you score the points.
“That’s better, but throw with your elbow and not with your wrist.”
“How the hell do I throw with my elbow?”
“It’s more about not flicking your wrist as you throw. You released the dart at the right time, but you flicked it down with
your wrist and that’s why you’re out of the points.” Damon lifts my elbow up into the air and uses another hand to slowly move my arm back and forth. “Make sure you have enough power in the elbow so that when you release the dart it reaches the board.”
I throw the dart and this time it lands in a tiny green box. “That any good?”
“Treble nineteen,” Damon says. “Second-highest score you can get with one dart.”
“What’s the highest? The bullseye?”
“No, the treble twenty. The bullseye is only worth fifty, so treble twenty, treble nineteen, treble eighteen, and treble seventeen all score more.”
“But the bullseye looks like the hardest hit. It’s just a small little circle.”
“Yeah, I admit, it doesn’t make much sense. Them be the rules though. Come on, let’s play a few rounds. And don’t forget to drink. It’s a well-established fact that you play your best darts after two pints.”
“That’s funny—same goes for singing.”
I reach down and grab my beer. It’s more than half empty now; I’ve been sipping at it without even realizing. Maybe this stuff isn’t all that bad.
Damon’s right. You do get better at darts after a couple of beers. By the time I finish my second pint, I’m getting every dart in the scoring zone. They’re still all over the place, but I get points with each throw so it’s not a complete waste of time. The beer stops me worrying so much about where I place my fingers and how I throw the dart. I just get on with it and gradually get better.
When we finish our game, one of my security guards starts softly coughing to suggest we should be going. I’m tempted to stay longer, but if I’m not back at the hotel soon Lance will have a go at his subordinates and it’s not their fault.
I could do with a walk, but the hotel is too far and there’s already a limo outside waiting for me. So much for being subtle.
“You can come in,” I say to Damon as I slide into the back of the limo.
“I can?” he says surprised.
“Of course. I’ll have my driver drop you off at home too.”
