by Susan Ward
I look right and then left.
They’re all dressed. They all look like they’ve been up for hours. None of them look like they spent the night drinking or anything.
I fix my eyes on my dad. “Can you explain what’s going on here?”
“Nothing. We just had breakfast. Lourdes made a delicious egg, cheese, and jalapeno casserole. I’m sure there’s plenty out in kitchen if you’re hungry.”
I sit on the arm of my dad’s chair. “Whatever you guys are doing, this isn’t nice. What have you done with Jacob?”
My dad’s brows slowly crinkle as if he’s confused. “You were sound asleep and your mum thought we shouldn’t wake you when we got in. But there isn’t a vacant room in the apartment. We put him on a lounger on the terrace. Madison told your mother Jacob enjoys sleeping outside sometimes.”
Heat spreads from my cheeks, down my neck, and shoots across my body. Oh, Maddy, how could you? I should never have trusted her to keep her mouth closed about Malibu and it’s a darn good thing she’s not here.
“Very funny,” is all I manage to say before leaving for the terrace.
I step out into my dad’s little English garden encased in concrete à la Manhattan, and there’s Jacob. Curled on his side. No pillow. No blanket. Adorable and sound asleep.
Well, at least they brought him home and covered him with an umbrella to protect him from the sun.
I ease down on the lounger and my eyes fix on an object lying on his hip. Cell phone. Very cute, Kaley. I’m positive that’s my sister’s contribution to whatever this is.
No, not looking at it.
My fingers flutter in his hair as I kiss his forehead. He doesn’t stir. I lightly caress his back and paint kisses along his cheek. “Baby, are you OK? Come inside. Come to bed.”
He groans. “I’m…never…drinking with your dad again,” he says through choppy breaths without opening his eyes.
I smooth back the hair on his brow. “What happened last night?”
He doesn’t open his eyes. “We started at The Blue Light. Jared fired me. Don’t be a fuckup. After that, I don’t remember.”
His features tighten. He looks like he’s about to get sick. Jeez, how much did he drink last night?
“When’d you get home?”
He turns onto his back. “I don’t know. Babe, please can we talk about this later?”
“No, I want to know if everything is all right with my dad.”
His eyes open and his hand moves clumsily to touch my cheek. “It’s good. At least I think it is. They stopped dragging me to clubs, making me take shots, and brought me home. I think that’s good.”
Shots?
“Did you drink shots from a woman’s breasts last night?”
“What?” He sounds confused.
He falls back to sleep.
I stare at him. I tell myself not to do it, then do it anyway. I grab his phone, enter the passcode, and go to the photo library.
I thumb through them quickly and then go back to the first photo. OK, what is this?
I spring up from the chaise and race into the apartment. Graham looks at me, sees the cell phone in my hand, and says quickly, “I can explain, Princess.”
I cross my arms. “No, I don’t think you can.”
“It’s not how it seems,” Bobby states, grimacing.
My dad is clutching his stomach, fighting not to laugh. After a few deep inhales, he turns in his chair to face me. “Sunshine, all Jacob wanted to do was come home last night. He kept asking for his phone so he could call you. It was reassuring how worried he was that you’d get angry over him being out too late with us.”
“We’d all had a bit to drink by then, Krystal,” Dillon says, fighting not to grin.
“Jacob had a lot to drink,” Brayden remarks thoughtfully. “He was willing to do almost anything to end the party. Graham said he wasn’t calling it a night or giving back Jacob’s phone until someone danced with him.”
“None of us were willing to do it,” Bobby explains.
“I wasn’t even ready to call it a night,” my dad murmurs, then laughs.
“He’s a very good dancer, Princess,” Graham says. “Well, he was once he decided to let me lead. But you can’t have everything. One dance. I kept my word. We brought him home and put him to bed.”
I stare at them in disbelief.
Oh, this is wrong.
Crap, why am I laughing?
I go to the sofa and sink down next to Graham. “You danced with my husband last night and I didn’t even get to talk to him after the biggest performance of my life.”
“Last night was a good thing for all of us, Krystal,” Alan says, humor gone. “We spent time getting to know your husband and he got to know us better. We’ve reached an understanding. Jared rehired him. Gave him a job working the back end of the business instead of with a gun. Jacob can do that here in Manhattan. And now it feels like we’re family. I think he feels that way, too. The most important thing in life is the people who love you. Everything else is secondary. It was important that Jacob understands that. Whatever you do, whatever happens, we’re the people who love you, baby girl.” My dad’s potent black stare locks on me. “I hope the two of you never forget that again.”
Part Three
Chapter Forty-One
“Krystal”
I lie in bed peeking around the screen of the laptop, trying to figure out what Jacob’s doing. His eyes are fixed on a giant global map with little dots when he isn’t flipping back and forth through screens, rapidly reading, rapidly typing, and going back to the map.
Interesting job Jared gave him after firing him as a bodyguard. From the books in his apartment in Redondo, I knew he was a bit of a tech nerd, but who would have thought he’d like his behind-the-scenes digital surveillance career move?
I didn’t. He seemed more an in the field, in your face, strapped with a gun kind of man.
But he seems to enjoy it. And he seems less on edge, more peaceful. Maybe it’s having our lives not one hundred percent connected. Maybe it isn’t good for two people in love to be together 24/7, tied together in marriage and work.
Mom and Dad do it, but they have their own things, too. It works for them. I don’t think it was working for us anymore—the not having our own things. Well, not since I joined NBBC. But things are definitely back to perfect since we told my family about our marriage and Jacob changed jobs. Yes, Jacob not seeing Milo every day is a good thing.
I do miss seeing him at the theater and our quiet drives in Manhattan. But he seems to have better perspective and less volatility about Milo Bassard.
We both seem happier.
We’re in a good place.
Even with Brayden living in the loft with us for the past two months—I could do without that—things are good.
Jacob starts to frown and I glance at the screen again.
“This is really what you do all day while I’m at the theater? You’re like a high-priced air traffic controller for bodyguards who gets to lie in bed with his laptop all day. What is that?”
I point.
He laughs and shrugs. “A grid like an air traffic controller. See these dots? Those are Black Star employees out on contract. I have their movement itinerary. I hop back and forth between the different government and law enforcement databases for threats and areas they should avoid. I update them as they move with their assets—”
“Yuck, I hate that term. Asset. Did you think of me that way?”
“No,” he says in a long, chiding, affectionate way. “I was too busy thinking of your ass.”
Swatting him, I ignore his grin, frown and study the screen. “I didn’t realize Black Star had so many employees.”
“Largest personal security company in the world. See this cluster here?” He taps with his stylus on the large grouping of dots in California. “That’s your parents’ house. And this dot here—” He wags his eyebrows bef
ore kissing me. “That’s us in bed. But they don’t know that part. You being here with me, naked and making me think things. Jared can only see dots like me. He can’t see what we’re doing…” Growling, he slaps closed the laptop before he seizes my hips and slides me down beneath him on the bed.
I make a face. “Good thing they don’t, or I would have to make you quit…” My words are swallowed by a moan as he enters me abruptly.
He starts to move, the heat in his body making mine surge upward from quiet to demanding. “I wasn’t kidding.” He eases out and does a shimmy with his hips, teasing me with just the tip of him. “About the you being naked, making me think things part. From now on, you wear clothes after 8:00 a.m. in the bedroom.”
He plunges in and I arch up, and his thrusts become more heated as he devours my body with his.
Too soon, I’m lying on his chest, breathing heavily. Yes, that was a morning quickie. We’ve gotten good at it, because both our schedules are filled with demands other than each other, but I think an encore is needed tonight.
He kisses my hair. “You better go hop in the shower, Krystal. I need to make you some breakfast and get back to work, and you’re going to be late.”
Lifting my chin, I pout at him. “I don’t like how that sounds. Like you can’t wait to get rid of me.”
He rakes back his hair, but his eyes are shimmering. “No. Never. That was an unscheduled interruption.” He bites my shoulder. “I can’t afford two in one day. I don’t think you can either, and that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t get out of this bed.”
I sigh and pretend to be annoyed, but I’m not. Jacob keeping me on track like always. After a fast kiss on his chest, I pull from his arms, climb over top of him, and go into the bathroom.
Turning on the shower, I ask, “What were you talking to my dad about this morning?”
“Just stuff. Your dad likes to talk. I mostly listen.”
I roll my eyes. Jeez, I don’t know if I like Alan and Jacob being buddies. They get along surprisingly well. No, it’s a good thing. Stop being nitpicky, Krystal. “Well, what kind of stuff?”
Over the running water, I can hear him tapping on the keys again. Back to work already, are you, Jacob? That’s not flattering. “He wants us to come out to California for Thanksgiving. I told him we would. He just has a way of not really asking for things when he’s asking for them, and it didn’t feel right to say we wouldn’t be there. I should have probably asked you first, right?”
“Ah—yeah, you should have.”
“You have five days off. It’s doable.”
I scrunch up my face. No, don’t want to tell him about Milo’s unscheduled change. Not this morning when we have no time. Freaking fundraisers. Meet and greets with board members and patrons. Interviews with the press. I’m sick of them and I haven’t even been famous half a year.
Why can’t being a ballerina just be dancing? I wonder if this is how my parents feel about the music industry and why they’re both mostly retired.
A lot of bullshit for the rare moments of soaring highs in front of an audience. Soaring highs…that’s what being on stage is for me. Like sex with Jacob, only a different kind of transcending.
Shoot, why did I think of that?
No time. I need to shower. I need to leave.
Inside the kitchen, I find my breakfast on the center island, Jacob standing with his eyes still locked on his laptop, and Brayden sitting sipping coffee and waiting for me.
Grabbing the fork, I start shoveling my meal into my mouth. Searching, searching, I spot my little brown paper bag with my snacks in it.
How does Jacob get so much done in so little time? My hair’s wet in a bun, no makeup, and he’s already dressed, cooked breakfast, packed my snacks, and is back at work again.
Not fair.
How does he do it?
He looks up from the computer. “Do you want me to call Alan and tell him we can’t be there?”
My insides tighten. “No. I want to go. I just need to fix a few things.”
He reaches for his coffee. “I thought you had a clear calendar.”
Crap. “I did but I don’t now.” I drop my plate in the sink, kiss him on the cheek, and grab my gear. “There’s a promotion thing over the break, but I’ll tell NBBC I can’t do it. I’d rather have alone time with you at the beach.”
Laughing, he pauses his cup at his lips. “Alone time. With your family? Not happening.”
I make a face at him as I tap Brayden on the shoulder. He’s pretty good at sitting there pretending to be invisible during our marital moments.
“Car waiting downstairs?” Jacob asks, locking his eyes on Brayden.
Brayden holds up his suit jacket. “Gun on hip. Car in garage. Ticket logged in so you can watch us all day bouncing on your map. Stop riding my ass. I got you your job. I trained you. You’ve really got to fucking stop this.”
Jacob refills his cup. “In this circumstance she’s not a job. She’s my wife. I’m the employer, and you need to learn to suck it up.”
Brayden glares and I bite back a smile.
“Stop it,” I say to Jacob, brows lifted. “He does a good job. I’d tell you if he didn’t.”
Looking around the room, I find Brayden at the front door waiting for me. “I’ll text you when I get to the theater,” I say over my shoulder.
“Call me if you want to.”
“Love you.” The door closes behind me and I glare at Brayden. “Don’t ever do that again. You can’t close the door until he says I love you back.”
He shakes his head, moving toward the elevator. “If I don’t close the door you two will say goodbye for half an hour.”
I choke down a laugh.
I bounce against the far wall as we go the garage level.
“Why are you grumpy every morning, Brayden?”
He gives me an annoyed, exasperated look. “Because I’m living in a high-ceilinged loft that makes everything echo, with two people who never sleep. How the hell can you never sleep?”
Oh my—my cheeks heat.
“We’re not together during the day anymore,” I say. “Wear your earbuds at night. That’s what Kaley had me do when we were kids.”
He spits up his coffee, missing his travel mug. “I didn’t need to know that.”
“I’m trying to be helpful.”
“Don’t. That doesn’t help any more than Jake’s repeated checklist every morning as if I don’t know my job.”
I shrug. “Sorry. Only trying to be a good employer here.”
The elevator doors open. “You want to be a good employer? Tell your husband to give me a night off. I haven’t had much of a social life since I got here.”
My eyes widen since it takes me a moment to figure out that one, because Brayden didn’t say that in his usual crass, blunt way, and subtlety is the last thing I expect to have to process from him in the morning.
“Oh,” I answer dramatically, “I’ll talk to Jacob tonight. But it’s tech week. That should give you some free time to do whatever you’re interested in doing.”
He shakes his head, holding open the car door for me. “No, can’t do it. If I leave you during the day, Jake will kick my ass. He’s already up in my shit about everything.”
I plop down on my seat and stare up at him. “No, he won’t. The theater’s locked. Nothing’s going to happen. I don’t need you there. Jacob used to sometimes leave me alone during tech week. It’s OK.”
He settles beside me, closes the door, and taps the glass telling the driver to go.
He studies me, unsure. “No, can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. I’m telling you, you can. It’s no problem, Brayden. Go get a life.”
He lays his head back against the seat and breathes out slowly. “Thank you. You may be saving my life.”
“That bad, huh? Slip out today. Sounds like you need it. I’ll text you when I’m done with rehearsal.”
“It’s nice to know one of you is a reasonable employer.”
At the theater he escorts me in, takes his customary spot in the last row, but an hour later I look and he’s gone.
At the end of the day, I pull on my outerwear, text Brayden that I’m ready to leave, and start heading toward the door.
Oh damn.
I forgot to talk to Milo about Thanksgiving.
I hurry back to the stage, and find him arguing near the electricity panel with one of the union workers. He agitatedly runs his fingers through his hair. “Fuck your union rules. I don’t care if you’re not allowed to work. I need this fixed. Now.”
The repairman continues to put away his tools. “I’ll be back in the morning. You have a nice night, Mr. Bassard.”
Milo makes a snarl at the man’s departing back, kicks something, and then notices me.
“That bad, huh?”
He exhales and I can see his muscles still twitching with fury. “We’re going bankrupt and the trade unions want to bleed me dry. Nothing works. Everything costs. No one has jobs or money, but the union doesn’t let anyone work until anything is fixed. If they let them work maybe they’d have money. Did they ever stop to think of this?”
By the last word he’s bellowing.
Smiling, I wait for him to calm, because this is nothing new. Another Milo Bassard high drama moment. Theatrics over money. Theatrics over delays. Theatrics, theatrics, seven days a week. Not good for Jacob’s temperament, but it hardly fazes me because my dad is Alan Manzone.
“Did you need something?” he asks, impatiently snarky.
“I do.” I lift my chin. “I know you wanted me at that dinner the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, but I can’t do it. I’m going home to California.”
“Is everyone in this fucking world determined to undermine my ability to keep this fucking company open?” he growls on a voice that shakes the rafters. “That is not acceptable. You know how this works, Krystal. Large donations get special consideration. If the donor wants a dinner, a smile-smile-picture-picture, you go and smile and be photographed.”
I wait until he’s calm again.
“Sorry, I can’t. Schedule it before the break and I’ll be there. Otherwise, take Cass.”