by RC Boldt
He steps toward me before I can react and tugs me in for a quick hug. “Be safe, kiddo.” When he backs away, affection alight in his eyes, the question rushes past my lips.
“Kane…you’re sure he’s someone who can really be trusted?”
David studies me for a beat before answering. “I’d trust the man with my life. He’s the epitome of professional.”
He says one last goodbye before leaving the suite, and Kane returns with a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Blue eyes lock on me. “I’ll set my stuff down and study the notes David sent me a bit more if that’s all right.”
After my obliging response, he hesitates, glancing around the large penthouse suite, before settling his piercing gaze on me. I get the feeling he doesn’t miss much. Those eyes might hold a bleakness, but there’s so much awareness, as if the man is constantly on guard.
“This is all new to me, but I can assure you, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
“I appreciate it.” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “I have rehearsal in an hour, so feel free to get situated until then.” I twist off the cap just as two quick knocks sound on the door.
Kane’s brow furrows in response, his shoulders broadening further than I thought possible as he drops the duffel bag to the floor in the doorway of his room.
“That’s probably Rachel, my manager.”
He checks the peephole, then pulls out his cell phone, swiping faster than manwhores on Tinder until he finds what he’s looking for. When he flashes me what’s on the screen of his phone, I see a photo of Rachel staring back at me.
“David sent me photos with names and work descriptions.” Kane opens the door to the pint-sized brunette whose eyes are barely visible above the two large boxes of merchandise I need to autograph.
I rush toward her, arms outstretched. “Here, let me help with that.”
“I’ve got these, ma’am.” In a manner that can only be described as fast and with flawless ease, he maneuvers the boxes from Rachel’s hold, hefting them like they weigh next to nothing.
“Hey, Simone.” When her eyes latch on to Kane, she falters for an instant before recovering quickly. “Thanks. You must be Kane. Sorry I wasn’t available when David brought you around for introductions earlier. Nice to meet you.”
Kane dips his chin with a polite, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
At the “ma’am,” I swear my manager’s eyes form cartoon hearts. Oh boy.
I ask Kane to set the boxes on the large table off to the side near the kitchen area. Rachel withdraws a Sharpie and sets it on the table. “As many as you can sign before rehearsal will be great.” She opens the flaps of the first box and sets out a pile of T-shirts that will be used for radio station giveaways.
Rachel organizes the rest into stacks farther down on the table before turning to face Kane. “Need any help acclimating, Mr. Windham?”
“No, ma’am. I reckon I’ve got a handle on things.”
I dart a glance at my manager, noticing the interest in her expression before turning back to signing shirts. Hmm. That’s fascinating. I’ve never witnessed Rachel pay the least bit of attention to any particular guy before.
Then again, she’s always bustling around, keeping me up to date on things. She assists with press releases, offering no comment responses faster than a Pez dispenser can pop out candy. She’s so busy, a true jack-of-all-trades, and I’m grateful she stepped in when shit hit the fan a few years ago.
At the memory of what went down, my fingers clench the Sharpie in such a punishing grip I fear the marker will snap in two. Tsunami-like waves of anger pummel me, and it takes all my willpower to shove aside my emotions and concentrate on my task at hand.
“Simone? Did you hear what I said?”
My head snaps up at Rachel’s question. “Sorry, I guess I zoned out.”
My manager withdraws an iPad from her crossbody bag she’s never without and swipes her finger across the screen. “You have a few interviews coming up for the movie, so I’ve got those plugged into the schedule.” She wrinkles her nose with a wince. “It might be a little tight, but it was the only way we could fit them in without irritating Jason.”
I nod. “No problem.” The last thing I want or need to do is piss off the renowned director. He’d given me the chance of a lifetime when I was cast in his movie. I sure as hell don’t plan on burning that bridge.
“I’m going to make sure everything with the meet and greets is finalized.”
“Thank you.” Flashing Rachel a quick smile as she heads out the door, I continue signing the merchandise.
When the door falls closed behind her, I realize Kane’s still standing a few feet away. I meet his eyes. “You can leave me alone for a bit. Promise I won’t throw a rager in the meantime.”
It’s supposed to be humorous because when was the last time I threw a party that got even remotely out of hand? Shit. It’s been so long that I don’t even remember.
Kane simply stares back at me, those blue eyes peering at me—through me, even—and it’s unnerving. His mouth remains in a flat, thin line, much like the display on an EKG machine in movies when people die. Like poof! It’s one of those no-fly zones strictly pertaining to anything humorous or any semblance of emotion.
I turn back to the shirts, quickly scrawling my signature, and avoid looking anywhere remotely in his direction. Awkward.
Well, he’s the epitome of a professional, just as David said. What he failed to mention was that Kane Windham is apparently part cyborg, similar to the character from the Terminator movies. Emotionless with a blank expression to the max, aside from the hard edge of danger radiating from him.
And just like in those movies, it’s difficult to say if this guy is friend or foe.
Lucky for me, these days I tend to view everyone as foe. It’s safer and makes me far less vulnerable in the end.
“I’ll be in my room if you need me, Miss King.”
I nod and wait until I hear the soft click of his adjoining door closing, safely enclosing Mr. Emotionless in his own room. It’s only then that I allow my shoulders to slump and let out a muttered whisper.
“What the hell did you get me into, David?”
Little did I know, my question would be answered two nights later. Not only that, it would also turn into a complete and utter shitshow.
Vance, Jed, and Kane escort me to the doors of the arena for the final show here. Of course, it’s no surprise that paparazzi are waiting on the other side of the barricades.
“Simone! Over here!”
“Simone! Where’s Matthias?”
It’s hard to explain, but I swear I can feel Kane’s body stiffen beside me each time someone shouts at me.
“Did you push Jackson away? People are saying you slept with Matthias?”
“Will Matthias perform with you tomorrow night?”
“Hey, Ice Princess! Guess you’re really the Black Widow, huh? You ran Jackson off into another woman’s arms, after all.”
We’re only a few steps away from the doors, Kane’s hand hovering protectively at the base of my spine, when his head whips around to face the person who just rattled off the Black Widow remark.
His words are spoken in a controlled manner yet hold so much venom, I find my own body rearing back in response. “Show some goddamn manners.”
Fuck me. He just opened up a goddamn can of worms.
And right on cue, the asshole who made the Black Widow comment pipes up.
“Did you finally run off David? He no longer good enough for you, so you got yourself a new man, huh?”
My entire body goes ramrod straight, and I clench my teeth, forcing myself to continue walking up to the doors where the venue’s security team is anxiously waiting to usher me inside. My anger rises higher and higher, and I can barely bank it by the time I make it to my dressing room.
Once the room’s safety is ensured, I address Vance and Jed. “I’ll need a moment alone with Kane.”
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“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison. The men glance at Kane with barely veiled pity before quickly exiting the room. Their quiet retreat contrasts with the sound of rapid footsteps approaching, and I already know who it is.
I walk over and set my bag down on a chair and wait for the footsteps to draw to a stop at the open door before I say with forcible calmness, “Do whatever you can, please. But right now, I need to speak with Kane.”
Rachel’s response is succinct. “Got it.” She spins around and closes the door behind her, leaving Kane and me ensconced in silence.
Of course, he has that same blank stare. He has no fucking idea what he’s just done.
I press my lips together firmly, trying to rein in the raging bitch who’s dying to break free.
“Look, I understand this is foreign to you. The tour. The comments. The press. But it’s the way things work.” I fist my hands at my sides, attempting to keep an even tone. “They can say whatever the hell they want, but the instant they get a reaction, it’s a domino effect and turns into a goddamn shitstorm.”
I can’t suppress my sharp glare. “And guess what you did? You served them a big ole juicy sound bite that they’ve already turned into a nasty story. And who do you think has to endure that, Mr. Windham?”
My voice drips with bitterness, but I honestly can’t bring myself to give a shit right now. This is my life, yes, but when someone throws me to the wolves, it’s not okay. Not by a long shot.
It’s a small mercy that he at least appears remorseful. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s just in my nature to—”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “I. Don’t. Care.”
I pause to allow my words to sink in. “I’m not saying this to be a royal bitch, but instead of me going about my business and ignoring the stupid little digs here and there, you’ve unleashed their fury.
“Now they’ll be involving not only David, who’s on his long-overdue honeymoon, in whatever sordid fantasy they dream up, but you as well. And I don’t know if you’ve got someone at home or not, but regardless, I doubt this is the type of shit you want to deal with.”
I close my eyes and draw in a long, deep breath before releasing it slowly and opening my eyes. “Look, Mr. Windham. I know David, and I know he prepped you well. I also know, in that prepping, he informed you of what not to do. And one of those is to never interact with those assholes out there. So, if you can’t stick to that simple rule, then we need to call it a day, and I’ll see to it that you get paid for your time.”
His gaze holds mine captive for a beat before he nods. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.” His jaw tightens. “I give you my word.”
It takes a combined effort to restrain a derisive snort at that. He gives me his word? I don’t even know the guy.
“I don’t want your word, Mr. Windham.” I spin around and grab a hair tie from my bag. Quickly securing my hair into a ponytail, I meet his eyes in the mirror.
“I need you to reread the instructions David gave you and follow them to a T so I don’t have to deal with another shitty fiasco anytime soon.”
4
Kane
Well, hell. That was just fucking awesome.
I resist the urge to scrub a hand down my face and cuss myself out for what happened back there.
I deserved that ass ripping she dished out. She actually went easy on me, all things considered. What she doesn’t know is, I’ve endured far worse during my time in the military.
Now, I stand back and watch while two guys secure her into some sort of harness.
“She can have a nasty bite when she’s pissed off, but underneath it all, she’s a big ole marshmallow.”
I turn to find one of Simone’s personal bodyguards, the younger one named Jed who looks like he could easily be in a boy band, standing nearby. He’s a few inches shorter than me with blond hair that’s almost white. His eyes flit all over the place before returning to Simone. I follow his gaze. She’s been successfully fitted with a headset microphone.
“I deserved it.” I shrug, my tone gruff. Not because I’m trying to be a dick, but I’m still pissed at myself for that fuckup. “And more.”
“We all screw up, but it’s different here. With her.” I feel the weight of his gaze on me. “It’s her life, and she’s got to be ferocious, or she’ll get eaten alive.”
I nod. That’s all I can do. I sense someone moving up to my other side. Vance. Somewhere in his late twenties with dark hair and eyes, he’s on the quieter side compared to Jed. When he does speak, it’s always with a purpose and never to just shoot the shit.
Jed nudges me with his elbow. When I turn to him, he lifts his chin, gesturing to where Simone is suspended what must be over forty feet in the air above the stage. “Watch and get your mind blown.”
I continue to survey our surroundings, perusing the layout of the arena. Next time, I’d like to head to the location beforehand and get a better feel for the place. I’d feel much safer and confident if I could place the rest of the security team accordingly.
My mind blanks as soon as I hear Simone start singing a cappella. Ho-ly. Shit.
You say I’m weak
That I won’t make it without you
You say I’ll never rise to the top
That you’re the glue
The only thing holding me together
It took some time before I realized
The truth
That I’m strong enough
On my own
Strong enough
I’m fine all alone
I’m strong enough
Without you
Sit back and watch me prove
It’s true
Baby, I’m strong enough
“Told ya she’d blow your mind.”
Jed’s smug tone doesn’t even faze me. Sure, I’ve heard a song or two of Simone’s on the radio, but with auto tune these days, you never can tell if it’s real talent or not.
But this woman? She’s got a gift.
I watch in awe as she spins, doing some midair version of moves you’d see in an ice-skating routine. She moves elegantly in the air all while singing, descending gracefully from the forty-foot height. Her body portrays the song’s lyrics, the almost haunting quality coming through even without any instruments accompanying her voice.
Her voice—her singing—is flawless. How she does this without sounding out of breath is a mystery to me.
And it hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’ve greatly underestimated Simone King.
5
Simone
Mid-May
Once I’m showered, I throw on a pair of my comfiest capri sweatpants and a tank top with a thin zip-up hoodie to ward off the slight chill from the A/C in the tour bus. We’ve finished the California leg of the tour, which demanded two shows for each of the five locations, and are on our way to the next venue in Vegas.
I grab a clip and twist my hair up before I decide to check my phone. God knows I’ve avoided checking it after the fiasco with Kane, knowing it would put me in a pissy mood.
I can’t put it off any longer, though. Heaving out a long sigh, I look through my text messages. Of course, the majority are from my best friend, Matthias, or Matty, as I call him. The others, however, are from those people. The ones who thrive on gossip and love to stir shit up as much as possible.
Honey! I must know all about this new man of yours. Lucky lady. Meow!
Gag.
Simone, darling. I’m sorry to hear that David left you to go back to his wife. Call me ASAP. I’m always here to listen. xo
Riiiiight. Such genuine concern.
I mark the dozens upon dozens of these types of messages, practically carbon copies of each other, and delete them all at once.
It’s funny how much better I feel with those gone from my message inbox. Too bad I can’t do that to the people in my life. Like, Oh hey. You suck and you’re two-faced, so I’m deleting you. Buh-bye.
&n
bsp; If only it were that easy.
Finally, I get to Matty’s texts. Known for his uniquely pitched voice and prowess on his beloved guitar, he’s shut himself in the studio for the past few weeks, working his ass off on some collaborations for his next album, which is why he’s decidedly late to the game compared to the others.
Of course, my best friend zeroes in on the heart of the matter with sarcasm, per the usual.
This is what I get for turning everything off and avoiding social media while I’m working! DAMMIT, UNIVERSE!
You brazen hussy, you! You’ve been holding out on me!
He attached a GIF of a woman scowling with the caption “You insolent hussy.”
Hello? Is this thing working? Sorry, I’ve been offline. But I NEED TO KNOW ALL THE THINGS! Paging my hussy BFF!!!
You’ve unlocked MASTER LEVEL OF HUSSINESS! Congrats! You broke up a marriage even WHILE THE COUPLE ARE ON THEIR HONEYMOON!
This is miraculous. Seriously.
PLEASE TELL ME HOW YOU DO IT!!
I can’t help but snicker. Only Matty can infuse humor into something shitty like this.
He attached a GIF of Frodo Baggins from The Lord of the Rings, captioned “All right, then. Keep your secrets.”
Bet you read that with his accent, didn’t you?
Then a GIF of a guy pumping his fist in triumph.
Okay, but really. Tell me all about this new guy. He looks dangerous. Like he could death stare someone to their grave.
Now that I think about it, I need to meet him. He can tutor me in that. Then for my next contract negotiations, if they try to lowball me, I won’t say a word. I’ll just:
Attached is a GIF of Samuel L. Jackson with a crazy-eyed expression.
Okay, maybe not exactly like that. But you know what I mean.
I’m out of funniness. Call me, Sim. Let me know you’re okay.