by Nicole Vidal
Connor shifts his weight and crosses his arms in front of his chest. His shirt stretches, accentuating his broad shoulders even more. Focus!
“Shelley was concerned that you were locked in the meet and greet room alone with him for too long today.” Yet the fact that he sleeps in the same suite as I do isn’t an issue. That doesn’t make any sense. Something isn’t adding up.
“I see. Is Shelley aware that Brad showed up at the meet and greet asking for another chance? He also threw a punch at Connor to get closer to me. He was escorted from the building by venue security. The door was locked for me to regain my composure before my performance.” I have no intention of sharing anything else with Bruce.
“Not that I know of.”
“Were you aware?” I inquire.
Bruce takes a step closer to me, and so does Connor. Interesting. Bruce won’t hurt me; I pay him. Yet Connor feels he needs to protect me from him. “No, I didn’t get the report for today yet.”
“Actually, you did. I emailed you a preliminary report immediately after the incident occurred. You don’t have the final one yet, but it isn’t due until after tomorrow’s show,” Connor informs him.
Bruce whips out his phone and simply shakes his head.
I resolve to make some of the changes I want to make. “Connor is more thorough than the last three firms you hired combined. I’m not starting over with another team. In fact, Bruce, you’re no longer handling any of my security or ground transportation going forward. Blackthorne will handle it beginning with my tour stop in Los Angeles. Please provide Blackthorne a copy of the arrangements you already have in place so changes can be made if necessary. You will continue to handle the remaining logistics, but that’s all. Additionally, I have made changes to my accommodations going forward. I’ve upgraded to a two-bedroom suite where possible. Whichever team member from Blackthorne will be here requires proper rest. A couch isn’t sufficient. Also, per Connor’s recommendation, only two keys will be issued for my hotel suite, one for me and one for Blackthorne, whether it’s Connor or another member of his firm.”
“I don’t think that’s wise. You don’t know him at all. He’s pushed his way into your suite and taken control of your life.”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong. I could have easily slipped away from the other three firms you hired without a second thought. I wasn’t adequately protected at the arenas. Once I wasn’t at the arena, they left me at my hotel alone all night. If Brad can get into a meet and greet despite my previously expressed denial of access, what makes you think he doesn’t know where I’m staying?” I don’t want to slip out, and I didn’t before. However, the reasons are different now. Before I wouldn’t leave because I didn’t trust my security. Now I would much prefer to watch my movie with Connor.
Bruce is speechless. Well, I took away most of his duties with a few choice words.
“I don’t think this is wise, Callie.”
“I appreciate your position, but my decision is final. I’m in charge of this production, not you. You have been a trusted employee since the beginning, before I knew any better. Blackthorne Security is more than capable of handling the security of my tour. Please provide a list of all contact information and arrangements you’ve made for Los Angeles, Boston, Charlotte, and Atlanta.”
“Yes, Callie. I’ll provide it by lunch tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Bruce.” He turns to exit my suite, his hand on the door handle. “Bruce, your key.”
He spins on his heels, fishes into his pocket, and produces his key to my suite.
“Thank you. Have a good night. I’ll see you at the arena tomorrow.”
“Good night, Callie. Connor.” As Bruce leaves, a server with Connor’s food arrives. Connor signs the receipt, and she leaves the room.
“Is that what you were thinking about on the way back here?” Connor sits on the couch with his food on the coffee table.
“Partially.” I sigh and sit beside him, leaning against him.
His arm curls around my back, his fingers grazing the narrow expanse of exposed skin at my waist. The heat on my skin is everything. He waits for me to continue. Imagining his hands running over every inch of me has me collecting my thoughts a bit longer than I anticipated.
“I want to share my story with you too, but it dawned on me that I never questioned Bruce, not once in the entire time he worked for me that I can recall. He works for me, that’s the kicker. I decided to use the power that I have. It’s my tour, my performances, my brand. Hell, it’s me. Well, as much as Carys is me. You can handle all of that, right?”
He laughs. “Yes, Blackthorne can handle all of that, but I need to inform Jake tonight.”
“You should eat before it’s cold,” I suggest.
He nods and uncovers the food. He takes a bite of the chicken sandwich before sharing. “I got you a side of fries and some chocolate on chocolate on chocolate dessert that was on the menu. Mara always ate chocolate when things went awry.”
A knot forms in my stomach. He wouldn’t say he felt the same draw to me if he was taken, would he? “Who’s Mara?”
Chapter Ten
Connor
Over the years, I learned that talking about Mara and remembering her doesn’t make me weak; it helps me cope. I have nothing to hide. I never share Mara with anyone other than my therapist and those who knew her.
I take a few deep breaths.
Sensing my hesitation, Calliope murmurs, “You don’t have to answer me.”
“I want to. It’s not what you think. Mara was my twin sister. She died a little over six years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
I glance toward her and realize that look I saw when she said her childhood wasn’t great was not only pain but grief. “Thank you.”
She sets her hand on my thigh and presses her lips to my cheek before drawing back to the cushion ever so slowly. I can feel the warmth of her hand through my jeans. “Did you have that weird twin telepathy?”
I smile. “We did.”
“Will you tell me about her?”
“She was my twin, so basically a pretty version of me.”
“You are pretty.” She winks at me.
I shake my head. “Mara was a tomboy and a sports nut. She ran routes with Jake and me for football and shagged fly balls for baseball. Mara watched every one of our games regardless of the weather. She would’ve liked you.”
“From what you shared, she sounds like she was a pretty cool chick.”
“She was. Eat the dessert, beautiful.”
She freezes at the term of endearment.
“Did you not believe me earlier?”
“I did. It’s… as much as we agree there’s something between us, is it smart to chase it right now?”
“I won’t risk your safety for my own personal desires. The fact that I’m drawn to you on a level I’ve never felt before exponentially increases my need to protect you. I’m not sure that makes sense to anyone outside of the personal security profession. It’s part of who I am. If I think I can’t protect you because of how I feel, I’ll make sure someone else is here too.” Similar to how Jake handled the video of the Sterlings for Norah. “Now that I have more areas to cover, I may ask for backup either way.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Never apologize for being a powerful businesswoman. You saw an issue, and you took back control. I’m crazy proud of you for that, even if it does give me more to do. It was sexy as hell too.”
A fierce blush creeps under her skin. “You’re unlike any man I’ve ever met before,” she murmurs.
“I’ve never met anyone like you either.” I take her hand in mine and lift it to my mouth.
Her gorgeous emerald eyes pin to mine as I lower our hands between us. I lean forward. Our lips are a breath away from one another when my phone vibrates on the table.
“I have to take that. It’s Jake.”
She lowers her head and exhales slowly.
Damn, we
keep getting interrupted. “Hey, Jake.”
“Is everything okay there? I got a call from Bruce Weston earlier indicating he was replacing Blackthorne effective tomorrow.”
“Everything is fine. You can disregard that. I was about to call you. Our client, Miss Sutton, has in fact increased the firm’s responsibilities going forward. I’ll send you the specifics in an email later so you can update the contract. After I get the information from Mr. Weston, I’ll let you know if I need more team members.”
“What am I missing here?”
“Nothing. After my preliminary review, Miss Sutton’s concerns increased, and she felt that moving control of her overall security to Blackthorne was the best move rather than having it separate.”
Jake knows me better than anyone. He’ll pick up on the fact that I keep calling Calliope “Miss Sutton.” Eventually, he’ll call me on it. I’ll deal with that later.
“I’ll look for the email in the morning,” Jake replies. Norah must be home tonight. Thanks to her, Jake stops working when she does, unless there’s a true emergency.
“Bye, Jake.” I may have made it through that call, but I won’t make it through very many more without coming clean. When I refocus on my food, I notice that not only are the fries gone, but so is half the chocolate dessert too. Glad I ordered it. Until her, I never wanted to make sure someone, more specifically, a woman who wasn’t related to me by blood or some other odd familial relationship, has everything she could need or want. It’s that fact that makes her different than any woman I’ve ever met. Sprinkle in that fact that she’s a Grammy-award-winning businesswoman in a sinfully sexy body makes it even better.
I take another bite of my sandwich. “Don’t you have a movie to watch?”
“I only watch before opening night in each city. I would run out of movies quickly if I watched one each night.”
“You don’t go out though after your shows either.”
“No, I don’t.” Her answer is tight and clipped.
Not touching that one until she’s ready to share. Considering the lengths she goes to in order to protect her actual appearance, I’m sure it has something to do with her childhood. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. I could read about it, but I won’t break that trust.
“What do you normally do?”
“I come back, shower, eat, and then climb into my bed. Sometimes I read or write; other times I go to sleep.”
I polish off my sandwich and water. “What do you like to read? What do you write?”
“I read almost anything, except horror. Lately, I have been on a historical fiction kick. I write….” Her pause is a little too long for my liking.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“Very few people know me well. In fact, I would say no one knows me completely. I write songs. Songs that someday I hope to record and put on an album.”
“Why can’t you do that now? I’m sure you know how to do it or at a minimum know the right people for the job.”
“The music I write doesn’t fit in the Carys persona. I mostly write ballads and songs that tell a story.”
I nod. I have no idea what to do with that admission. To the public, her career is fantastic. Knowing she’s unhappy with parts of it hits me hard. Where is the strong woman who stood up to Bruce earlier tonight? There has to be more to it.
“Thank you for sharing. If you want to talk, I’m willing to listen.”
She lowers her head slightly.
“Do you want more?”
“No. Thank you for ordering it, even though I said I didn’t want anything.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can I ask you something? You can choose not to answer.” Interesting, giving me that option. “How is it that someone like you isn’t married with a child or two by now?”
I smirk. “How old do you think I am?”
“You’re older than me, but not by too much.”
“I’m almost thirty-two. What do you mean someone like me?”
She pushes out a breath. “Fishing for compliments?”
“No, not at all. I’ll listen to any you want to share though.”
“Ha ha ha. In all seriousness, you’re crazy smart, you exude calm, and you give more than you take.”
I’ve never heard some of those things about me. I didn’t miss the fact that she left off any comment about my appearance. “Thank you. I haven’t found the right woman yet. Someday I want the white picket fence. Before I worked for Blackthorne, I was in the military. In my experience, it takes a special woman to be with a military man who may come home in a flag-draped coffin.” I gather the rest of the dishes and set the tray outside the suite door. Then I grab my laptop and set it up on the coffee table.
“Do you mind if I stay here while you work?”
“No, but I need to change. I’ll be back.” With fresh clothes in hand, I latch the bathroom door behind me. I haven’t even kissed her and yet choosing her is dancing around in my mind. It makes no sense at all. This job is temporary. Being her bodyguard has an expiration date. I don’t even know what she’s looking for or where she came from, but it’s still at the top of my mind. I exchange my jeans and shirt for shorts and a graphic tee.
I retake my seat on the couch with Calliope beside me scanning a magazine. I draft an email to Jake, including all the increased responsibilities that need to be added to the contract. After I receive the contacts and arrangements that are already in place, I’ll decide whether changes need to be made. At a minimum, I want a vehicle at each venue so I can change up her departure or arrival routine and route as I choose.
I send the email to Jake, close my laptop, and settle against the back of the couch. It takes everything in me not to haul Calliope into my lap and surround her with my arms.
“Are you done working?” She sets the magazine down beside my laptop.
“Yes, why?”
“I want to share my story.”
I turn toward her and take her hand in mine. The fact that it’s trembling pushes my concern through the roof. Even though my life has been marked with the death of my sister, significant injury while deployed, and the deaths of more than a few brothers-in-arms, I would say my life is pretty good compared to other people. Other people’s hands have been much worse. “Take all the time you need.”
Chapter Eleven
Calliope
I turn on the sofa and face Connor, who hasn’t let go of my hand. I steel myself and open the tidy box of memories I keep stored in the recesses of my brain of much happier times.
“I was born in New York. My parents, Julian and Evelyn Myers Sutton, met at PS 158. They were fast friends. Teachers paired them up because their aptitudes were strikingly similar. Both were gifted in math and science. It wasn’t until later in high school than she learned to sing like an angel.”
I have only told this story in its entirety twice before now. The first time to my assigned therapist right after they passed—well, as best I could at seven years old. I never even shared the entire story with any therapist that followed. My issues aren’t with my parents; they came afterward.
“Each day one of my parents would go to work and the other would take me to school. It was one of the conditions when they took a job at the same firm. They would be present in my life and work at the same time, both of them. On occasion, I would go to school with our neighbor when they had a firm-wide meeting, but otherwise one parent was present each morning.”
My hands start to shake even more.
“You can stop whenever you need to,” Connor whispers and presses a kiss to my forehead.
Sweet mother of everything I ever wanted. This man. “When I was seven, my parents both went to work together. They never came home.” A single tear runs down each cheek, one for each of them.
Connor slides his hand up my arm and wipes my tears with the pad of his thumb. I see the moment he does the math in his head and realizes why my story is heartbreaking.
“Where did
they work?” His question is barely audible.
“Cantor Fitzgerald.”
His hands bracket my waist, and he pulls me into his arms. The heat of his breath at the curve of my neck floods my body with too many needy sensations for this conversation.
I divulged that my parents were killed during the September 11th terrorist attacks. I feel protected, as if the information I’ve shared or anything that comes next will be taken for what it is—me, how I came to be who I am today.
“I’m so sorry.”
All I can do is nod against his shoulder. I inhale, take control of my emotions, and slowly lift my gaze to his.
“Thank you.”
We sit in silence, our eyes pinned to each other.
“Have you ever shared that before?”
I push out a shallow breath. “Once or twice. That isn’t the difficult part of my story.”
The shift in his eyes makes my heart ache, some for him, but mostly for me. As if in his mind, the pain I shared is more than enough for one person to endure for a lifetime. The understanding reflecting back at me tells me he has been through more than losing his twin sister.
“I spent the first few months being shuttled from one temporary foster home to the next. At the beginning of the next year, I was placed with the Millers. They had a son, Tristan, who was a few years older than me. His pregnancy was complicated, and Nancy couldn’t have more children after that. They became a foster family shortly after Tristan was born. Over the years before me, they fostered about thirty kids.”
One of Connor’s hands rests on my hip while the other draws intoxicating circles on my lower back.
I continue, “As you would imagine, I needed time to grieve, heal, and adjust. Nancy and her husband, Jim, went overboard doting on me. At the time, it felt stifling. Now I realize they didn’t know what to do with a girl like me, someone who had to deal with unfathomable grief. They brought me to therapists, worked with the school, etc. They were amazing… until they weren’t.”