by Kacey Shea
I study my cigarette, wishing for a moment I had a joint instead. Best that I didn’t, what with being up next in the recording studio. That, and I don’t want Jayla to quit when she shows up this afternoon. Actually, that’s probably why Lipshitz’s out here pretending the smoke I blow into the air doesn’t bug him.
I wonder if smoking is a turn off to Jayla. Not that I’m trying to impress her. Okay, maybe a little. I inhale a long drag and turn my chin to stare at Casey. “Sure you don’t want one?”
“I don’t smoke.” He taps his hand against his leg.
“Out here for the ambiance then?” I glance at the line of commercial buildings. It’s not much to look at, and the buzz of passing cars from the freeway a couple hundred yards over doesn’t help.
“Nope.” He tips his head to the black sedan turning the corner. “She’s here.”
She. He doesn’t need to clarify; I know exactly to whom he’s referring, and my body lights up with the promise of seeing her again. Of seeing her every day for the next six weeks. Traveling together. Sharing conversation. Wearing her down until she ties me to a bed and uses me like her own personal sex toy. Okay, that last one is a pipe dream, but hey, shoot for the stars and maybe it’ll happen.
As Casey rushes past a row of parked cars and to the end of the building where a sedan pulls to a stop, I hang back out of view. Maybe it’s curiosity, probably infatuation, but I want to observe everything about this woman. Including how she reacts to our overly zealous assistant.
“Hello, Miss Miller. I’m Casey. We spoke on the phone.” He shoves his hand out before she’s two steps out of the car. “How were your meetings? Traffic okay?”
“Fine.” She gives him a curt shake and glances around. Her hair is tied back at the nape of her neck. Simple gold hoop earrings dangle at her neck. A neck that would garner my entire attention, if I wasn’t so captivated by her full lips and big eyes, their gaze sharp and on guard. Even dressed in a simple white blouse and boring black slacks, she’s gorgeous. “Thank you.”
“If you’ll follow me this way, the touring management is ready to meet with you. We brought in lunch.”
The driver pulls her luggage from the back. One lonely roller bag. Damn. She packs light. I hope she understands she’ll be on this job for almost two months.
“Can I carry that for you?” Casey offers with too much enthusiasm. Bastard better stop looking at her like she’s his fucking queen. I get it. I do. But he’s no match for someone like her. She needs a man who’s the leader of his own pack. Masculine. Accomplished. One who would honor her strength and not be intimidated by it. Someone like me.
“I’ve got it.” She meets his gaze and her face gives no inclination of how she feels right now. Damn, she’s beautiful.
“Right. Well, this way,” he steps forward.
That’s when she turns her gaze and it lands right on mine. She sees me, it’d be impossible not to, but I swear to God she completely ignores me.
I lift my hand to wave, and my lips break into a smile as I pull the cigarette from my lips.
She averts her stare to Casey and nods at whatever he’s saying as they walk together.
What the—?
Fuck that. I drop my cig to the ground, stub out the light, and reach them before they get to the door. “Jayla,” I say and block their path so she can’t ignore me. I don’t know what her deal is right now, but I don’t like it.
She pauses, and meets my stare with one of professional coldness. “Mr. Jones.”
Mr. Jones. Fuck if that doesn’t make me hard. “It’s good to see you again,” I say, meaning every word and open my arms for a hug.
She steps back and tilts her chin, eyes narrow and hand still clenched on that fucking travel bag. She’s not gonna hug me. What the hell?
“Jay? What’s with you?” I laugh and glance at Casey, who diligently studies the ground.
She raises her brows and clenches her jaw. “I’m here to work. Surely, you know that.” Her voice is unfriendly, cold, and even my balls shrink back from her tone.
I shove my hands into my back pockets and rock back on my feet. “We really appreciate you taking the job.”
She scoffs. “Don’t worry. I’ll do my job.” She turns to Casey, and when he doesn’t move she walks around us both. Her fucking roller bag nearly takes off my toe.
I glance up and meet Casey’s stare. He looks as if he’s embarrassed for me. Whatever. I don’t give a crap what he thinks. I do, however, need to find out what Jayla’s deal is today. I step in front of her and turn to walk backward. “Why do I get the feeling you’re pissed at me?” Becoming a human barricade, she has to slow her steps.
“Because I am.” She blows out a breath and props one hand on her hip. Her glare is enough to make most men run.
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.
118
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 staff. 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 s
tar.” 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.