I’m not sure what it says about me, but that’s not even a factor.
I’m not scared.
I’m the opposite.
Dancing on that rooftop every night is the only time I feel free of the crippling emotions strangling me. I make sure I’m there for twelve oh three every night. The exact time Dad’s phone call came in.
And I dance.
For me.
For Layla.
For my shattered family and my lost dreams.
And I’m not frightened of the dark or unknown terrors. It’s almost symbolic. Like the dark night represents my heavy soul and dancing is the only glimmer of light, a fragile spark igniting the flame. A flame that once burned so bright it almost blinded.
“There are plenty of dance classes around. Why don’t you enroll in one of them instead?” she suggests, and I know her heart is in the right place.
I shake my head. “You don’t understand …” My breath heaves out in choked spurts, that pressure on my chest tightening further. “I need to do it alone. And it’s as much about the timing as it is the dancing and I … I need it to breathe.” Averting my eyes for fear of what they’ll betray, I stare at the worn beige carpet.
“Oh, Dakota.” Her voice is doused in sadness, and I tip my chin up. Compassion fills her gaze, and she scoots out from under the covers, over to my side. She takes my hand in hers. “Just promise me you’ll take extra precautions. And maybe you could text me when you get there and when you’re leaving so I know you’re safe?”
“If I wasn’t so sweaty, I’d hug the shit out of you right now,” I admit as tears prick my eyes. “You don’t know how much it means that you care. And I pinch myself every day, so grateful I landed you as my roomie. I was terrified I was going to be paired with some nutjob.”
“Me too.” She smiles timidly. “I was really hoping I’d have a ready-made friend, and I couldn’t be happier.”
I quirk a brow. “Even if I am a reclusive weirdo who leaves you to go dancing on the roof of an abandoned building at midnight?”
“We all have our flaws,” she teases, and I laugh quietly.
“Thank you. For being a good friend.” Although we’ve only known each other three weeks, I can already tell that Daisy and I will be friends for life.
The next morning, I drag my weary body across town to the Tippie College of Business, joining the throngs of students headed toward the impressive main building. Composed of cream stone and glass, the structure has some funky architectural features that speak to the dormant creative streak in me.
But it’s about the only appealing thing.
As I take a seat in one of the smaller auditoriums, I can’t help wondering what I’d be doing if I was at Juilliard like I was meant to be. If I hadn’t postponed my place for a year and then relinquished it.
My life would be vastly different.
A sharp ache pierces my chest cavity, but I brush it aside. It hurts to go there, and it’s selfish to wish I had a different life. At least I still have a life. Accounting doesn’t set my world on fire, and it’s unlikely it ever will. I know that already, even though I’ve only been here a few weeks. It’s about as far removed from where I thought I’d be as you can get.
Accounting was always Layla’s path, not mine. She was the one destined to follow in Dad’s footsteps. The one groomed to eventually take over his successful business. My dream was to dance on a world stage, but I’ve had to forego those notions now.
I can’t disappoint my parents.
They’re counting on me.
They’ve already lost one daughter, and they’re relying on me to fill Layla’s shoes. In every regard.
The only problem is, her shoes are far too big to fill.
And I already feel like I’m letting them down.
CHAPTER TWO
Shawn
“It’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Mr. Lucas,” Devin Morgan says, firmly shaking my hand. “Although I wish the circumstances were different.” His warm smile fades, and a more serious expression washes over his features.
“You and me both,” I say, flopping down, uninvited, on one of the chairs in front of his mahogany desk. “And call me Shawn. Mr. Lucas makes me sound like an old fart.”
“Duly noted,” he replies, fighting a smirk. “And call me Devin.”
I scan the functional but plush surroundings of his office, and it’s obvious this guy is doing well for himself. Morgan Security has gained a strong reputation in a short space of time, especially within celebrity circles.
In the months following the most recent home invasion, several serious death threats have been received. All messages contain similar quotes from favorite movies along with the vengeance line, and experts have confirmed it’s originating from the same source. What a pity the cops showed up too late to my house again to apprehend the dudes. If they had, we might have the name of the person pulling the strings. While I’ve had my fair share of crazies and stalkers in the six years I’ve been in the spotlight, this feels different.
Personal.
When my dressing room was vandalized while I was performing at Summerfest, and then someone took a shot at me at the VMAs, it became deadly serious. That’s when the label stepped in, demanding extra security measures be put in place. Luke found Morgan Security, and I’ve had a couple of chats via phone with the owner, but this is the first time I’m meeting him in person.
When I’d sat down with Luke and reps from the label to discuss the situation a couple of weeks ago, I’d been pleasantly surprised at their proposal. Not that they’d know that from my reaction. Can’t give the jerks in suits any indication I’m actually loving this plan, because that would only give them more power, more control, over me. Let them think I’m pissed and frustrated when the truth is I’m excited about something for the first time in years. They think they’re forcing me into hiding, for my protection, and to give me time to work on my new album, but it’s in no way a hardship or inconvenience.
It didn’t take anything for Luke to sell the idea to me, and I know he must’ve gone out on a limb to get the label to agree to it in the first place.
I’ll add it to the list of stuff I owe him for.
As showbiz managers go, Luke is the shit. He refuses to take any of my crap, and I admire him for it. Not only that, he’s a decent guy, and he genuinely cares about me and my career. He’s not just doing this for what he can get out of it, and that’s rare in this business.
I guess I should be thankful Mom found him.
But I’m still too pissed at her for bailing on me.
“Nice disguise by the way,” Devin says, quickly giving me the once-over. “I doubt anyone will recognize you like that.”
“I hope not. That would defeat the whole purpose.” I claw my fingers through my shorter, newly dark hair. I hated having to cut my longer blond locks. I had only grown it out in recent months, in part as my latest fuck you to the label. My grungier look didn’t suit the brand they’ve so carefully cultivated over the years, but I’m done with letting those money-grabbing power-hungry dicks dictate how I dress and how I look. It’s bad enough they dictate the type of music I perform, but my hands are relatively tied there. Until my contract expires, and then they can kiss my million-dollar ass goodbye.
“And the university is large enough to remain hidden, but it still has a smaller campus feel with a great sense of community,” Luke proudly adds, sounding like he’s personally on the University of Iowa’s marketing payroll. I know the dude graduated from there, and he’s got nothing but positive reports, but still. Enough is enough.
“Dude. Shut up already. I’m enrolled so you can quit with the sales pitch.” I cross my legs at the ankles, leaning back in my chair. “I don’t give a flying fuck about Greek life, or the Hawkeyes, or the wonderful teaching staff, or the fact it’s been voted in the top fi
ve party schools in America.”
“Fuck me,” Luke says, startling me. He’s not one to throw profanities around. “Did I just hear Shawn Lucas, bad ass popstar with a propensity for outrageous behavior and piss-poor decision-making state he doesn’t care about partying?” He scrubs a hand over his smooth jaw. “I must be imagining things.”
“Hardy-fucking-har. And you need to watch your language. That shit is catching.” I toss him a wicked smirk, and he grins back at me.
Devin clears his throat. “I have some personal business to attend to shortly, so we’d best get started.” That’s a pretty blunt nod to my tardiness. We were supposed to be here over an hour ago, but punctuality has always been an issue for me.
He hands me a paper folder. “Everything is set up with the college, thanks to your manager here.” He nods at Luke. “His contact smoothed things over with your last-minute application and got you enrolled in the accounting major.” Devin sits down behind his desk, staring at me with a slightly puzzled expression. “I’ve got to admit I’m curious. Why accounting? I thought you’d go for music.”
“I’m trying to blend into the background, and choosing music is too risky. Someone might recognize my voice and put two and two together. The media will be speculating when I don’t show up to the premiere next week, and it won’t take them long to realize I’ve skipped town. They’ll make it their mission to find out where I am, and I’d rather not help them out by making it too easy.”
“Fair point,” Devin agrees.
“Besides, there’s nothing these idiots can teach me. I already play three instruments, write and produce my own songs, and I was a multi-millionaire by the time I was fifteen. I’m not going to listen to some wannabe who never made it try to tell me how to succeed in the music business.”
“Okay then.” Devin looks amused, while Luke has a resigned look on his face.
“I’ve always been good at math,” I continue, “and I take a keen interest in my finances. Not gonna let some shady prick steal from me. I figure, for the limited time I’m here, I might as well learn something useful.”
“Smart thinking,” Devin says, sliding an envelope across the desk to me. “That’s your ID and bank cards in your new name, plus the keys to your penthouse and SUV. My guys have installed the necessary security measures. We’ll have eyes on you at all times.”
I sit up a little straighter. “How does this work?”
Devin clasps his hands in front of him as he speaks. “You’ll have a bodyguard on you at all times. My guys are discreet, so you won’t notice them, but rest assured they’ll be there. They work on rotation, so the guys will change out every eight hours. We have secret cameras monitoring your apartment twenty-four-seven and tracking devices installed in your car and on your cell. There’s an alarm button in every room of the apartment, and we built a small panic room in your closet per your instructions. It’s basic but functional.”
“Wow. Zero privacy. I’m so loving that.” My chest tightens. I know it’s for my own good, but I’m so sick of this shit. “What if I want to bring a girl home to fuck?”
Luke’s face turns to stone. “Goddamn it, Shawn! Hooking up should be the last thing on your mind.”
“It is. I’m only fucking with you.” I smirk, and he rolls his eyes. “My sole focus is my new album. I’m done with nailing random chicks.”
Truth. When I was younger, when I’d just burst onto the scene, all the pussy on tap was like manna from heaven. I overindulged like girls were going extinct. It’s a wonder my dick didn’t fall off from overuse. But I haven’t had much action the last couple years. Initially, it was because blow and alcohol replaced the high from sex, but since I got cleaned up, I’ve lost interest in the girls who throw themselves at me, desperate to spend the night with a celebrity purely for the bragging rights and the opportunity to make a quick buck by sharing the deets with some sleazy scumbag journo.
Every girl I meet, I’m wary of. They all want something from me, and I can’t trust anyone. And most of the female celebrities I meet are way too into themselves to offer me anything worthwhile.
I’ve given up any idea of a relationship, and I’m cool with that.
This opportunity gives me the chance to be a regular guy. To walk the campus like a normal student, without the glare of the world looking at my every move, just waiting for me to fuck up again. You can’t put a price on that.
When I was a kid, playing with Nick and Matt in the basement of Matt’s house, we used to dream of stardom. Of cameras flashing in our faces. Of girls throwing themselves at us naked.
Now I have all that, and I wish I could go back to that basement.
Where it was solely about my two best buds and the music.
I didn’t realize it back then, but those were the good times.
“The only camera inside your place is in the hallway,” Devin says, dragging me back into the present. “The rest are outside in the corridor, and we have one on the balcony, so you still have privacy,” he confirms just as the phone rings on his desk. As he lifts the receiver to his ear, the door swings open, and a little guy bursts eagerly into the room. “Daddy!” he shrieks, running at Devin and jumping onto his lap.
A gorgeous brunette rushes into the room after him, cradling a tiny baby in her arms. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Dev. He ran off before I could catch him.”
“Don’t fret on our behalf,” Luke pipes up, always the gentleman. He extends his hand to the bombshell. “I’m Luke Manning, and I’m guessing you are Mrs. Morgan?”
She nods. “I’m Angelina.” Awkwardly reaching out, she shakes his hand. “But most everyone calls me Ange.”
Devin stands up, his son wrapped around him like a spider monkey as he rounds the desk. Leaning down, he plants a kiss on top of the sleeping baby’s head before pecking his wife on the lips. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll be finished here in a few if you want to wait outside.”
The baby wriggles within the confines of the blanket, emitting a little whimper.
Luke looks on the verge of melting into a puddle on the floor. His wife only gave birth to their firstborn a few weeks ago, and I know it’s killing him being away from them right now. “How old is she?” he asks, smiling down at the baby.
“She’s one month today,” Ange confirms, beaming radiantly. “We’re heading to her check-up shortly.”
“Shut. Up.” I exclaim, standing up, my eyes roaming over her lush curves in appreciation. “There’s no way you just had a baby a month ago.” Her tummy is flat as a board, her body slim with curves in all the right places. I’ve never had a thing for older women, but Ange is definitely one MILF I’d love to get my hands on.
“Are you fucking shitting me right now?” Devin glares at me, while Ange hastily covers her little boy’s ears.
I smirk, taking one last lingering glance at his hot wife, purely to mess with him.
Devin steps protectively in front of her. “If you don’t stop eye-fucking my wife, you and me are gonna have a big problem, buddy.”
Ange gasps, tugging him back and shaking her head. “Devin, my God. Stop overreacting. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
Devin pins her with an incredulous look, and I pierce her with a loaded smile. One that normally melts the panties off girls and has them swooning at my feet. “Devin’s right, sweetheart. I was mentally undressing you.” I shrug, not in the least bit apologetic. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, but it’s not often I meet such a smoking hot momma.”
Luke looks like he wants to strangle me, but Devin would definitely beat him to it.
I hold out my hand to her, brazen as you like. “Seen as no one took the time to introduce us, I’ll do the honors. I’m Shawn Lucas.” She stares at me as if in a daze, and I lift her hand to my lips, planting a soft kiss on her skin.
If I wasn’t a client, I’d say Devin would’ve punched my lights
out by now.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I wink, and her mouth hangs open.
“Control your client,” Devin demands, on a growl, turning the full extent of his glare on Luke.
Luke places a restraining hand on my arm. “Shawn, knock it off. Seriously, this crap is starting to get old.”
Ange gasps, finding her voice. “Shawn Lucas?” She squints, looking intently into my eyes. “You’re the Shawn Lucas? You look really different. I’d never have recognized you.”
Well, that’s good to know. I mock bow, sweeping my hand out in an overly dramatic fashion—I always did have a flair for the dramatic. “The very one. In the flesh.” I waggle my brows, slanting her a wide grin, and Devin gets all up in my face.
“Unless you want me to terminate our agreement right this fu—” He halts mid-word, noticing his innocent kid and the warning look on his wife’s face. “Right this second, I suggest you back the hell away from my wife.”
I laugh, slapping him on the shoulder. “Relax, man. I’m only messing with ya. Your wife is gorgeous, but she’s yours. I get that. No need to go all caveman on me.”
Devin rubs a spot between his brows, looking all tense and shit. “Ange, would you mind taking the kids and waiting outside? I won’t be much longer.”
Touching his arm lightly, she nods, and they share some unspoken communication as they peer into one another’s eyes. It’s only a subtle gesture, and there’s nothing inappropriate about it, but it’s wholly intimate, and a sudden pang of envy jumps up and slaps me, out of nowhere.
My Adam’s apple bobs in my throat, and I sit back down in my seat, all playfulness gone.
“Vroom, vroom.” A tiny hand appears at my side, and their little boy runs a toy car up and down the arm of my chair. “You like cars?” he asks, looking up at me with these big wide innocent blue eyes.
“Love ’em.”
“Whaz your favrit?”
I pretend to think about it, rubbing my chin. “Hmm. Let me think. I’ve got a few cars,” I tell him, and his eyes pop wide. “But you want to know a secret?”
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