by Shea, Kacey
I raise my brows and give in to a smirk. “Tell me about it.”
She sidesteps me, opening the front door to the studio and walking inside without another glance back.
Okay, then. There’s probably something wrong with my brain, because her dismissal sure feels like a challenge.
“Shit.” Casey swears under his breath and runs to catch the door before it closes.
“Thanks, man.” I slap him on his back and push inside before he does. I need to find the sexy new head of security and prove to her exactly why she and I should work together. Intimately.
“Jay, wait up.” I’m surprised by how far down the hallway she is.
She stops at my words and places a hand on one hip while I close the space between us.
“Hey.” I run my hand through my hair, suddenly nervous and unsure of what exactly to say. “We’re cool, right?”
“You should have asked.”
“Huh?”
“This job. You strong-armed me into taking it.”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “Shit. I didn’t realize. I assumed it’d be a step up, a big opportunity and pay raise—”
“Exactly. You assumed. What if I don’t want to be here? What if you took me off a job that was important to me? What if I don’t want to live on a bus for the next two months?”
My hopes drop into a big puddle, along with my ego. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t even think.”
“I get it. Okay. You’re not used to considering others. Or not getting what you want. But I won’t be someone’s pawn, yours especially. This is a job, and I’m here to work. Next time ask.”
“Sorry. I will. That was an asshole move.”
“There you are.” Trent’s voice calls from a few doors down. “Come on, man. You’re up.”
I glance back and give him a nod before turning back to Jayla. “I should go.”
Her shoulders relax, but her lips pinch with an impassive twist. “I’ll be seeing you around.”
“Yeah.” Yeah, you will. An awkward, thrilling feeling I haven’t experienced since we were teens buzzes in my limbs and I’m at a loss for words. We both have places to be, but I don’t want to be the one to end this conversation.
“Miss Miller, if you’ll follow me, I can show you to the board room,” Casey Killjoy interrupts.
“Yes, of course.” She nods as he passes by us. She gives me one last look, and thankfully she no longer appears angry. If anything, there’s a hint of joy in those deep brown eyes.
I turn back to the recording studio, my steps not so heavy, and my chest feeling lighter than it has in days.
“Hey, Austin?” her voice rings out, capturing my attention.
“Yeah?” I glance over my shoulder and meet her gaze.
“I’m really glad you’re alive.” Relief. It’s there on her face. That she cares, that maybe she cares more than somebody I used to know.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I answer, and allow the truth of my words to extend past my usual mask of confidence.
She turns and walks away, but not before I catch the smile spread across her beautiful lips. I wait until she’s out of sight before I turn on my heel and head back to the studio, a definite pep in my step. I can’t believe she’s mine for the next two months.
Ours. Not mine.
Semantics. If I play this right, she could be mine in a matter of weeks. Women can’t resist the rock star. And I get it. There’s something sexually charged about being on the stage and stroking the strings of my guitar to thousands of screaming fans. Under the spotlights I’m bigger than life, made to be an idol, a rock god—and I dare her to resist my charms after witnessing show after show, night after night.
I just have to prove I’m nothing like the scrawny boy from her past. I do that, and she’ll be putty in my arms. Okay, she probably won’t go down without a fight, but for the first time since I can remember, I’m excited for the challenge.
“Fucking finally.” Trent laughs as soon as I step inside. “Is smoke break a euphemism for jacking off? Took you long enough.”
I shrug and empty my pockets on the small table near the couch. Thoughts of Jayla, and how I can convince her to join me in my bed cloud my mind. I adjust my jeans before flopping down into the couch.
“Where’s your head today, man?” Sean raises his brows and waves a hand obnoxiously close to my face.
“Huh?” I glance up to meet his gaze.
“We texted you like three times.” He bugs his eyes.
“Sorry, I wasn’t . . .” I glance over at the door. As soon as Jay stepped out of the car I lost track of everything, including the time.
“Yeah, we know.” Trent clasps my shoulder, his voice gruff. “I get this is hard. We’re all a little off. But we need you in this. Three Ugly Guys doesn’t work without our lead guitarist.” He’s mistaken my lack of focus as a result of the explosion. Had I not seen Jayla, he would have been right. Shit. I’m a shitty person.
Shame fills me for being more concerned with my sex life than what’s impacting our band. I force a smile and make a joke to lighten my conscience as well as their misplaced concern. “You mean, without its best-looking member.”
“And he’s back!” Sean shakes his head, but there’s a lift to his lips as though he wants to laugh.
Leighton steps out of the recording booth, glancing around the sound room before finding my stare. “All right, ugly fucker. You’re up.”
I push off the couch and pretend to take a swing at the kid on my way into the booth. The chorus of oohhhs and playful banter that follows before I shut the door brings a genuine smile to my lips. My dudes are giving me shit and the security issue is being handled. I can breathe without teetering on the edge of a panic attack. Right now that’s enough.
11
Jayla
For two days straight I meet with logistics coordinators, security task forces, local law enforcement, contacts from the FBI, and the top executives of WMI and their subsidiary, Off Track Records. I fly to Utah, visit the site of the explosion, and then catch another plane back to LA. My head is full, and I’m completely overwhelmed.
Doesn’t matter that I’ve had years of experience in law enforcement and private security, nothing prepares a person for this level of responsibility. As much as I don’t want to admit it, this isn’t only a job assignment. It’s personal. When I close my eyes to sleep each night, all I envision is the newsfeed from the day Kalise barged into my apartment and my initial devastation; the fear that I missed my chance to reconcile with Austin. It fuels my already workaholic ethic.
Ironically enough, I don’t run into Austin again. I’m too occupied with planning, research, and meetings. God, so many meetings. Most of them could be cut in half if everyone would stop with the BS and get to the point.
The facts are simple: we still don’t know who planted the bomb, or even if it was intended for Three Ugly Guys. Regardless, the prior security protocol was a joke, and it’s up to me to ensure another breach doesn’t occur. I have my own theories about why the band may have been targeted, and I want to get their input before I continue to follow leads with private investigators.
After spending the morning on a video conference with the staff of our next two concert stops, I leave Off Track Records in a chauffeured town car to meet with the band in their home, a property the label provides in the Hills.
It’s strange to go from being the woman who drives the important people, to the one riding in the back seat. I don’t exactly feel worthy of the position, but until I do, I fake the confidence. There’s no time to wrestle with impostor syndrome when we hit the road tomorrow.
My knee bounces with impatience as the driver fights his way through traffic, then crawls up the curvy, sloping road into the private exclusive neighborhood. I’m anxious about meeting with the band. I am. But if I’m completely honest, I’m also nervous about working with Austin. He may not be my direct boss, but I’m being paid to protect him, his band, and his entire st
aff. My desire to reignite a friendship, and yeah, maybe more, doesn’t bode well for my focus. I can’t afford distractions, and there’s something about that man that’s always been able to deter me from my goals.
The car pulls to a stop outside a mammoth home and the driver lowers his window to request entrance. Not a minute later, the gate swings open and he deposits me outside the entry. Before I take two steps from the car, the front door swings open and the band’s overeager assistant Casey rushes out. “Miss Miller! You made it.”
Of course I made it. I don’t have much patience for people who always feel the need to state the obvious. “Is the band inside?” I go with a dumb question of my own so he’ll move and stop staring expectantly.
“Of course! Right this way.” He holds the door and then steps ahead, glancing over his shoulder. “Traffic not too bad?”
“Fine.” I shut the door and let my gaze roam the room. I already studied the floorplan, all part of the research and pre-work with the security team. The place is large, but the grand entrance makes it appear massive. There’s a staircase that leads up to the bedrooms, and another at the end of the hall that leads down to the practice studio. But the house is different than I expected; warm colors paint the walls, and decorations make it feel like a home and less like a museum. As I take in the décor, my curiosity has less to do with business, and more with the man Austin’s become. How he lives, what interests him, his sense of style. I wonder if any of this reflects him, or if it’s been selected by someone else.
Either way, this place holds no resemblance to the simple apartments we grew up in. Another reminder that I know very little about the person he is now. Fame and money change a person. At least, that’s what I’ve observed. It’s a reminder I need to keep things strictly professional. We were friends once, but that can’t cloud my judgment.
Boisterous voices float through the hallway and Casey prattles on, offering me a concise tour as I follow behind. We step into the expansive kitchen and most of the chatter stills. The band is here, along with two women I only know from studying the files and background checks on them.
“Everyone,” Casey announces until all eyes land on him. “I’d like to formerly introduce you all to our new head of security, Jayla Miller.”
I step forward, poised to speak and tell them a little about myself, and what I hope to accomplish this afternoon.
Lexi Marx, Trent’s girlfriend and rock star in her own right, comes into the kitchen from another entry. “So, this is the friend you won’t stop talking about?” She pokes Austin in his ribs and passes by to slide into the empty chair at his left.
Austin grins confidently as his gaze rakes over my body. “Yeah, she used to be a cop. I told you that, right?” The presumption that he knows me and my past career sends irritation down my spine. That, along with the bold way he’s checking me out. Maybe in another situation it’d feel nice, but in this moment it comes across hollow and rude.
I huff out a breath and it takes everything inside to not roll my eyes.
“Can we get everyone’s attention please?” Casey clears his throat. “I apologize, Miss Miller.”
“I spent three years on the beat in Compton. I can handle a chatty rock star.” I narrow a stern gaze at Austin, one a mother would give a child, but it doesn’t do any good. If anything, his eyes grow more heated. I avert my gaze when he grabs his crotch and adjusts himself in his chair.
“Well, then, I’ll let you take over.” Casey walks to one end of the table.
I clear my throat and glance at everyone in the room. I’ve studied their files, know more about them than I probably should. Sean, Jess, Trent, Lexi, Leighton, Opal, and of course, Austin. I wonder if it bothers him that he’s the only one without a girlfriend. I can’t lie, I was happy to learn that bit of information when meeting with the PI firm we contracted for this job, though I have no right to be. After his greeting today, I don’t care as much.
“I’ve been briefed by the legal and security teams, and met with executives—” Uncomfortable to be the only person standing, I grab a chair from the table, cringing as the legs scrape when I pull it out. I sit, crossing one leg over the other and straighten my spine. “We resume the tour tomorrow and I’m confident in the new security measures. However, I’d like to know who the hell decided to try and blow you up so I can make sure it never happens again.”
“I like hot cop.” Trent nods to Austin. My guess is he’s trying to embarrass or tease his friend, but if it’s to undermine my authority, we’re going to have a problem.
“We need to address all possible threats. There’s a chance the explosive was placed by some random psychopath; the more likely theory is it’s someone you know.” My tone is even and my words straightforward, but my heart . . . it gallops inside my chest.
The gravity of this position, and all the responsibility that comes with it, settles on my shoulders like two sandbags I can’t shake off. Sure, I’ve been training for years for something like this, but it’s a shit ton of responsibility to ensure the safety of a famous rock band, their staff and crew, and oh yeah, the thousands upon thousands of fans who come to listen in a new city each night. I push back my shoulders in an effort to exhale the tension, but it’s in vain.
“Someone on our staff? No fucking way.” Trent shakes his head.
“Maybe. Or a disgruntled former employee. An ex-girlfriend with a point to prove.” I tilt my head and shrug. “It’s imperative we leave no stone unturned.”
“What do you need from us?” Sean asks, triggering murmurs of agreement around the table.
“To start? A list of anyone you’ve dated.”
Austin chews the inside of his cheek. “Define date,” his lips twist with humor.
“You really need me to spell that out for you?” I say snappier than I intend. If anyone notices, they don’t react.
“Kinda.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I mean, is it only women we’ve had a relationship with, or ones we fucked too?”
Involuntary, I squeeze my thighs together and hate that my body reacts to his crass words.
Trent shakes his head, but he doesn’t laugh. “Can’t you do anything like a normal person?”
“Define normal.” Austin winces and then gives in to a megawatt smile.
“Fuck, Austin, this isn’t a joke,” Sean groans. “Stop pissing off the woman who’s here to protect our lives.”
Austin has the nerve to look offended. “I just want to make sure I get the instructions right.”
“A list.” I school my features and refrain from glaring at him when I say it. “Of those you’ve been intimate with. Can you do that for me?”
“Uh . . .” He makes that same stupid goofball face and winces like he might actually be embarrassed by his next words. “First names are fine, right? I think I can remember most of those.”
I lift my brow, and try to contain my disgust. That why he’s single, he’s become a ladies’ man? “You sleep with that many women?”
“Hey”—Trent holds up his hands—“it happens on tour.” He grunts as Lexi jabs him in the side. “Used to happen. As in past tense. I meant that I can understand where he’s coming from.” His gaze goes to hers, almost pleading she understand. Though by her hard expression, I don’t think she gives him a pass.
I glance at Leighton and Sean. “Either of you have trouble remembering the women you’ve slept with?”
Leighton shakes his head in the negative.
“No, ma’am.” Sean answers and then chances a glance at his bandmates. His lips quiver with the hint of a smile. “But that’s because I’m not a whore like Aust.”
“I thought you were against slut shaming!” Austin pretends to be put out, but his smug grin never fully leaves his lips. “I get no respect.”
“We love you, Aust, but even you have to admit you take it to the extreme,” Opal says, her voice light and innocent. She doesn’t look old enough to be a mother, but her baby bump says otherwise.
&n
bsp; “I love women.” Austin chuckles, and his gaze brushes over my body again. “If that makes me wrong, I don’t want to be right.”
I swear everyone in the room holds their breath, as if they’re unsure of how I’ll react to his blatant perusal of my body, or his immature words. They don’t realize it takes a lot to scare me off. As disappointed as I am by his behavior, my personal opinion of Austin or his sexual history have no bearing on my work ethic.
“Look, I’m not here because of Austin’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. Or, at least I hope not, because I am not getting paid enough.” I lift my brow at Austin, and he has the decency to appear embarrassed. A few people let loose a chuckle, but I continue reaching into my bag to pull out a stack of blank paper and a handful of pens. “So, if you’ll please jot down anyone you can think of who might have something against you. Anyone you’ve wronged. Anyone who might have felt jilted by a sudden absence of attention.”
“This is stupid. We all know this was Coy,” Sean grates out through a clenched jaw.
“We actually don’t know that,” I say. “He has an alibi. It checks out.”
Austin shakes his head. “Then he paid someone. He had to. The guy’s ballsy enough to sue me, he’s crazy enough for this.”
“Look. Maybe it’s him, and he’s not off my list, but I want to exhaust every possibility. We don’t have the luxury of being wrong.”
“What about the show tomorrow?” Trent hands me his list. It’s short, which makes sense considering he and Lexi have already been together a year. “Are we sure the fans are safe? That we’re safe? I love this band, but I’m not about to get killed over live music. Maybe we should cancel.”
“You’d be in violation of your contract,” Casey pipes in. He’s been silent for most of this meeting and it draws suspicion since the guy can’t shut up otherwise. He’s the only person on WMI’s payroll.
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Sean points at him. “You were there in Salt Lake. You sat in that room and watched the news with us. Don’t tell me you’d be able to risk it for the fine print in some contract.”
