by RB Hilliard
“Fuck Kirkland. We should put our money together and buy out the label,” Nash suggested. “Think about it, between the four of us we could take Happenstance all the way to the top. The other bands already defer to us. We’ve said it ourselves a million times, there’s nothing more trustworthy than a musical label run by musicians.”
“I was going to suggest shopping for another label but I think you might be on to something.” I turned to Luke and Chaz and asked, “What do you guys think?”
“I think we better get our asses to work and prove Kirkland was the one to set you up,” Luke said with a big smile on his face. Chaz didn’t look as convinced as the others but eventually we’d get him on board.
“I might be able to help you,” Mallory said. I knew several ways she could help me, preferably by using her lips and tongue.
“Oh yeah? How’s that?” I asked.
“First we need proof that you have an allergy to Oxycodone. I tried unsuccessfully to get your records from the rehab facility. Something isn’t right there. They’re stonewalling me every step of the way, which makes me think you are definitely onto something. Other than a few notes from a therapist, there was virtually no evidence suggesting an addiction of any kind.”
“Did you call them?” Please say no.
“I put in a call asking for the missing pieces of your file, which would hopefully include your medical records and proof that you were telling the truth about your allergy to Oxy. Yolanda, who seems to love you by the way, couldn’t find your file. Later that day I received a call back from your therapist, Nancy. She was less than forthcoming.”
This was bad, as in really bad. The last person I wanted Mallory talking to was Nancy. Fuck, why couldn’t I keep my dick in my pants for once? “Uh, what did Nancy say?”
“She said she had to talk to Dr. Whitfield and would call me back, which we all know won’t happen.”
Letting out a sigh of relief I told her I’d call my mom and get her on the records today.
“That would be great.” She turned to the guys and asked, “Do any of you happen to know where that bottle of Oxy is?” They all three shook their heads.
“I bet Blane knows,” Luke interjected.
Before anyone else could get their hands on it, Hank confiscated the evidence the night of the incident. As far as I knew Hank and I were the only two that knew this. Mallory looked disappointed and I asked her why she wanted it.
“I’m pretty sure I can trace the pills back to the doctor who wrote the script.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Luke told her.
“I’m pretty sure it is,” she responded.
Not wanting to get Hank in trouble, I said, “I’ll check into it for you.”
“That would be perfect,” she smiled. No, you’re perfect, I thought, and she was. Mallory Scott was absolutely perfect. Once we settled on a plan of action, Mallory turned to the guys and asked, “Now, who wants to have another sing off?” Everyone laughed and, like that, the tension was diffused.
For the next hour or so we talked shop. Then we took a break and had lunch. I tried to focus on the task at hand and not the woman sitting next to me or how badly my cock ached when she was near, but she smelled like honey and every time she spoke, all I could think about were how soft her lips tasted and how perfect her hand felt in mine. The more I was around her the more I genuinely liked her as a person. She was funny and sweet but she had spunk and backbone. Mallory Scott was quickly becoming a distraction I didn’t need but wanted. God, how I wanted her.
By the time we hit Charlotte I was in a world of hurt. Hank and Marcel came to pick us up and I waited until Mallory was safely inside Marcel’s truck before walking over and climbing in behind Hank. Nash climbed in beside me and away we went. I know it was a dick thing to do but it was either I drop trou and lay waste to my desperately hard cock right then and there or get away from the cause of my dilemma. Given the situation, I felt the latter was the best choice. The entire way to the hotel Hank blathered on about his friends and our after show plans. To be honest, I only listened to about a fourth of what he said.
As we pulled in front of the hotel, Hank held up his hand for us to wait. “Incoming,” he announced into his mic. After a few seconds, he turned to us and said, “Sean’s ready and waiting inside the door with your room keys. The lobby is clear for the moment.” Nash and I jumped out of the car and rushed through the doors. “Sorry boys, no suites available but the entire sixteenth floor is at your disposal,” Sean announced. I held out my hand. “Room 1607,” he said, as he slapped the key in my hand. I thanked him and bolted toward a waiting Sampson and the elevator. On my way up to my room, I texted Sean and told him to make sure to put Mallory in the adjoining room next to mine.
“Everything okay, boss?” Sampson asked.
“Yep, just looking forward to a second alone,” I answered.
Sampson escorted me to my door and made sure I was safely inside before heading back downstairs to retrieve the rest of the gang. I collapsed on the sofa and thought about everything that had transpired today. Before I knew it I was sound asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
I’ve Got Your Number
Mallory
Trying to keep perspective when Grant was around was proving to be more and more difficult to do. When he chose to ride in Hank’s car and not with me I was both disappointed and relieved – disappointed because I had no choice in the matter and relieved because it gave me a second to catch my breath and regroup. I didn’t know what to do with him. I’d never met a man who affected me the way he did and I was truly at a loss. I wanted him, yet, I didn’t want to want him. Marcel and Luke were kind enough to talk football the entire drive to the hotel and leave me to my thoughts. If only Chaz hadn’t insisted on riding along with us.
Chaz Jones.
I watched him with his wild hair and pasty skin as he stared out the window and wondered what he was thinking. I could guarantee it wasn’t about the kiss he’d received this morning or how it felt to be swept up and carried off like a princess. I was no princess and Grant was certainly no prince but he was something…and that something was extremely hard to resist. Chaz let out a loud sigh and I quickly looked away before he caught me analyzing him. Judging by what happened last night Chaz had issues with Grant. His warning this morning only solidified my suspicions and piqued my curiosity.
“Are you looking forward to tonight’s show?” he asked.
Not in the least interested in making small talk, but wanting to clear things up from this morning, I replied, “I am. Look, Chaz, Grant is my client not my boyfriend. His relationships are his business, not mine. There was no need for you to warn me this morning.”
Mud colored eyes narrowed in on me as he arched his brow in question. “Are you sure about that?”
His challenging tone irked me to no end, but I knew he was only trying to get a rise out of me. Little did he know he was dealing with the queen of stubborn. I would rather eat crow ten times over than give him the satisfaction of knowing his words bothered me. Chaz was a pot stirrer. He would lay in wait until he saw an opportunity to sow discord and then he would strike. Take last night for example. I ran into him in the hotel lobby while on my way up to my room. On the elevator he asked if I liked the show. When the elevator opened on my floor we were still talking, so he followed me out in order to finish our conversation. The second he saw Grant standing at my door his whole attitude changed. The next thing I knew his arm was around me and he was acting as if we were together. My offer to hang out was meant for Grant. When Chaz jumped to accept it and Grant walked away I knew I’d made a huge mistake. Once Grant was gone, the show was over and it became glaringly obvious that Chaz no more wanted to hang out with me than I him. He only wanted to irritate Grant. He proved my point again this morning when he warned me about Grant and Chelle. Chaz Jones was a first class troublemaker and someone I needed to steer clear of. If only he would leave me alone.
“Guys like Grant nev
er settle down,” he continued. “Take Chelle for instance, he may claim he cut her loose this morning but just you wait, she’ll show up and wave her perfect snatch at him and he’ll go running back. If not her, then it will be some other poor, stupid girl he’s led on.” He sounded both jealous and petty. I knew he was trying to get to me and, as much as I’d like to claim his words had no effect, they did. Grant and Chelle had history. Anyone with eyes could see that. Did I question his feelings for her? You bet I did. “As long as you remember it’s a game and not real you should be fine,” he advised. Not bothering to reply I turned my head and stared out the window. Between Blane and Chaz I’d had about all the advice I could take.
The moment we pulled under the hotel awning and the car stopped, I was out the door. Marcel handed me my bag and asked if I was okay. With a sharp nod of my head I stepped through the doors and began searching for the elevator. Halfway across the lobby someone shouted my name. I turned to see who it was and found Sean walking toward me.
“I wanted to let you know your luggage arrived today and is waiting for you in your room.” He handed me a key and I quickly thanked him. I looked around for Chaz and, when I didn’t see him, I slipped into the elevator and let out a rush of pent up air. Finally, a moment alone.
Once I reached my hotel room I stepped around my three suitcases piled in the entry and searched for the bathroom. When I discovered the deep soaking tub I almost cried. A good soak was just what the doctor ordered. How I wished I could call CiCilia and talk to her. Times like these I regretted working for my best friend. My best friend, CiCi, would listen to my problems and offer up solutions without judgment. My boss, CiCilia, however, was a different story. She would listen alright, but then she would tell me I was out of my mind and yank my ass home so fast it would make my head swim. Since I wasn’t ready to go home yet, I couldn’t talk to either of them, which really, really sucked.
An hour later I was clean but no less confused. So much was happening and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it all. One thing I was sure of was that Grant was telling the truth. Just the idea that someone tried to kill him was mind blowing, but the fact that the label sent him to rehab instead of standing behind him was completely unconscionable. Grant wasn’t the only one being set up, though. Whoever took those pictures with my phone wanted to discredit me. Why? I needed to readdress the issue with Grant or maybe I should talk to Hank about it? I thought about speaking to Kirkland, but what would I say? I wasn’t sure what my role here was anymore, but I knew one thing. Once Kirkland realized I wasn’t actually rehabbing Grant, he would fire me. If I was fired from a job in the first year I would instantly be put on probation, which meant I would be on desk duty or worse until I could prove myself again. If this would have happened a week ago I would have walked away, no questions asked. Now I couldn’t. Grant was not an addict, of this I had no doubt, and if I could help him prove it I would. I just hoped it didn’t cost me my career.
As I put on makeup I thought about tonight’s show. Hank’s friends were supposed to be there and I needed to consider how best to play this thing with Grant. After weighing my limited options, I decided to trust him and follow his lead. Once my makeup was applied I blew out my hair. Thrilled to have variety in my clothing again, I chose a pair of white jeans and a racer back tank that flattered my arms. I slid into a sexy pair of silver heeled sandals before grabbing my purse and my phone. On the way to the elevator I called Sean to tell him I was on my way down to the lobby.
When Sean informed me in the car that I couldn’t see the guys before the show I was disappointed. I’d hoped to get the chance to wish them luck. Apparently the venue had strict rules about people being on stage with the band while they’re playing. Once we arrived I was escorted with thirty or so strangers to the front of the stage in the standing room only section. As I waited for Meltdown to take the stage I scanned the crowd for a familiar face.
“Mallory!” a voice called out. I spotted Hank and a group of people on the other side of the stage and waved at them. It took a few minutes for me to wind my way through the crowd of people. When I finally reached them, Hank said, “These are the friends I was telling you about the other day.” I tried not to gawk, but my Lord it was hard not to. In front of me stood six obscenely good looking men. “This is Mallory Scott,” Hank introduced. He pointed to the guy standing next to him. “This is my friend Dillon Whitaker.”
Dillon had white blonde hair which he’d pulled back into a low ponytail. He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mallory,” he rasped. As I shook his hand I tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to. He had eyes so blue they verged on silver. Truly, the man was so handsome he was pretty.
Peeling my eyes away from Dillon, which wasn’t an easy thing to do, I focused on the guy standing next to him. Like Dillon he had blonde hair, only his was more yellow than white in color. With his piercing blue eyes and five o’clock shadow he appeared more rugged than pretty. “Hi, I’m Kurt,” he said, and gave me a manly chin nod.
“Dillon and Kurt own Dragonfly,” Hank explained. “This is Max,” he introduced next. Whereas Dillon and Kurt were extremely good looking men, Max was simply breathtaking. His messy dark hair and olive skin made his blue green eyes pop. High cheekbones led to full lips and a perfectly chiseled jaw. I could see the tip of a brightly colored tattoo peering out from the neck of his t-shirt. His ensemble consisted of a pair of wrinkled khaki shorts and brown leather flip flops. Clearly he wasn’t the least concerned about fashion, but with a face like that, he didn’t have to be.
“Nice to meet you,” Max said. From his tousled hair and informal clothing down to his deep voice and leather flip flops he was mouthwateringly masculine. During my perusal of his manliness I noticed a wide silver wedding band perched on the third finger of his beer holding hand. Whoever held this man’s heart was one lucky woman.
Hank continued down the line. “Next to Max is Cas, then Dillon’s brother, Adam, and last is Bobby.” Cas was dark like Max and extremely good looking but not quite as breathtaking. I could see similarities between Adam and Dillon, but Adam’s hair and eyes were a different color and he had a bigger build. Bobby was a huge brute of a guy with a barrel chest and a full beard. I glanced around to see if I was the only one affected and was relieved to see more than one female eye turned in our direction.
I didn’t think so.
“How do you know Hank?” Cas asked. Caught off guard, I turned to Hank with a panicked look on my face.
“Mallory belongs to Grant,” Hank told them.
I threw Hank a look of thanks and said, “Nice to meet you all.” Meeting these guys was reminiscent of the first time I met Grant and the boys. One at a time was plenty, but the entire group at once was a bit overwhelming. Shortly after our introductions Grant stepped onto the stage and I lost focus of everyone but him. As always, the show was absolutely amazing and it was a great change up to see it from the view point of the audience. Hank hung out with us for most of the show. Toward the end he excused himself in order to see to his duties and asked if I wanted to go with him, but by then I was more than comfortable left hanging with the guys. Bobby and Adam were big flirts but were otherwise harmless. Dillon didn’t take his eyes off the stage the whole night and Max was a man of very few words. I learned from Bobby that Max, Kurt and Dillon were all three married, their friend Gage couldn’t make it for some unknown reason and I would meet everyone else once we hit Dragonfly.
After the show Hank personally escorted us to the dressing room. The guys were toweling off and laughing about something that happened on stage as we entered, and I held back so Hank could introduce his friends to the band. I watched Grant search the room and wondered what he was looking for when his eyes landed on me. My stomach dipped when he smiled and held out his hand. Not knowing what else to do, I stepped around Bobby and took Grant’s hand. I sucked in a surprised breath when he pulled me to his side, wrapped his arm around me and pressed his lips lovingly to the side of
my head. Tilting my head back, I gave him a stern look. He responded with a wink and a smile. The flash of a camera startled me. As I jerked my head around to see who was taking pictures of us I noticed several cameras pointed in our direction. Disappointment seared through me. Of course there were cameras. This was when the tabloids and reporters were allowed to take photos and ask questions. Silly Mallory. Grant laughed at something a reporter said and I noticed Chaz watching my every move. His words from earlier left a bitter taste in my mouth, even if they might be true. This was all for show and I would be a fool to forget it. The second Grant stepped away to show Dillon his guitar collection I bolted for the bathroom. I was in trouble. I really liked this guy, as in really liked him. I tried to think about the exact moment my feelings changed and couldn’t. Banging my head against the bathroom door in frustration, I thought, Mallory, you are a stupid, stupid girl.
When I surfaced from the bathroom, the reporters were filing out and everyone was getting ready to leave for the bar. Grant and Luke were in front of me as we made our way down the hallway and out to the waiting cars. Once Grant was safely seated in Hank’s car I snuck by and slipped into the back seat of Sampson’s vehicle. When the front passenger door opened and Chaz slid in, I fought back a growl of irritation. I was beginning to question his motives in a big way. As we pulled away from the curb I let out a sigh of relief. Suddenly the car braked. I was wondering if we had a flat when my door flew open and amber colored eyes pierced through me.
“Scoot over,” Grant commanded.
“What? No!” He let out an exasperated sounding sigh as he leaned across me and unbuckled my seatbelt. “What are you doing?” I hissed in his ear. In a very smooth move he lifted me up, slid in beneath me and planted me right smack on his lap. “Grant!” I shouted in half anger and half humor.
He tapped the roof of the Suburban and said, “Drive safely Sampson. We’re not wearing seatbelts back here.”