“I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like you.”
Fishing through the cabinet, I grabbed the ibuprofen, shook two out in my palm. “You can preach all you want, you’re still Tate Watkins, lead singer of Hautboy. I sing at a bar for spare change. There’s a vast difference in our lifestyles.”
“You’re wasting your talent, living below your full potential, Coop. You want the lifestyle; it’s there for your taking. All you need to do is reach up and pluck that apple from the tree.”
“God, that’s like the perfect analogy.” Reaching for the wine, I uncorked the bottle and poured the last of it into my glass.
“Why do you say that?”
I popped the ibuprofen into my mouth and swallowed them with a healthy gulp of wine. “Because it’s like saying all of this,” I gestured all around me, and to him, “is the forbidden fruit. And we both know how that ended.”
Which was par for the course when it came to my life.
Chapter 7
“Maybe you’re right; I should’ve called out,” I said, staring at the cars lining the parking lot, the street, and every nook and cranny imaginable. There wasn’t room to chain a bicycle.
“It’s no big deal. There’s no reason to get nervous.”
“They’re not here to see me, idiot. They’re here to see you.”
“Idiot? I think you pronounced that incorrectly. It’s in-cre-di-ble. You left a syllable off the end as well. Maybe you should practice it.” Tate turned in his seat, purring at me in falsetto. “OOohhh Tate, you’re sooo incredible. I love it when you do that thing with your—ouch! I was going to say voice!”
“Sure you were.”
“It’s true. I have an incredible voice.”
“I know,” I said emphatically. “My neighbor knows too.” If he was right about the REM stage, it only held true for his cohorts on the road, and I was sure the long nights partying had much to do with their level of sleep. Emily wasn’t in the same boat as them.
“The nosey chick next door?” Leaning forward in his seat, his eyes filled with the unwarranted hope of discovering a parking space. When I pulled slowly up the row of cars, we found an Impreza nestled in the space between two large SUVs. Disappointed, he slumped down into the seat. “She probably had a glass to the wall. She was peeking through the blinds this afternoon.”
“She didn’t have a glass to the wall. The walls are thin. And she isn’t nosey, she’s concerned.”
“You say so. Pull right up to the back door. Someone will park the car.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I wasn’t sure if I was more entertained with the fact that he thought The Loft had valet service, or if he thought I might leave some busboy drive my car.
“Don’t worry your precious little heart out, I wouldn’t dream of letting some kid touch your car. My crew will be there. I called them earlier.”
“Your crew?”
“Bodyguards.”
“Plural?”
“One for me. Two for you.”
“You hired bodyguards to protect me?” How was I supposed to wait tables with two massive thugs following me around? Grant was dangerous, but I didn’t think he was insane enough to attack me in a public establishment.
“Chicks take it personally when I’m dating, and they tend to take their jealousy out on my date instead of me. It’s like they think some kind of witchery is involved, that I don’t have a mind of my own, and I must be so mesmerized by my date’s magic muff that I’m blinded to everyone else.”
“Wonderful.” Add psychotic bimbos to my list of admirers.
“There they are now,” Tate said, nodding toward three men standing beside the rear exit of the bar. It was a private entrance used for deliveries, but there was a small crowd of bystanders gathering, undoubtedly there to catch a peek of Hautboy. “Pull right up to the door.”
“Them?” I asked. “They’re the bodyguards?”
“You sound disappointed.”
“They aren’t what I expected.” I expected a pack of green-tinted Lou Ferrigno type jocks with ripped muscles and thick necks. But these guys were average sized and nondescript. Pulling up closer, I could see that they all wore the same navy tees marked with distinguishable yellow letters that spelled out ‘security’ across their upper back, and the emblem of a shield on their chest.
The first guy was gray-haired, but in a distinguished way, like George Clooney, but without the swarthy looks. The other two were blond. All three had crew cuts. While they weren’t huge, they were lean and hard-packed. They were ex-military if I had to guess.
“These guys have skill. Don’t let their appearances fool you.”
“I’m not complaining. They’re better than a bouquet of flowers any day.” I only wished I could take them home with me and sit them on my kitchen table when we were done.
Pulling to a stop, I engaged the parking brake and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Hold up,” Tate said, digging into his front pocket. He withdrew what looked like a raunchy set of dentures.
“What the hell is that?”
“Your disguise.”
“My disguise?” I said doubtfully. “Because no one will recognize me with unsightly teeth?”
“Ok, so it’s not so much a disguise as a deterrent. Open.”
“I’m not putting those in my mouth. I have no idea where they’ve been.”
“They’re clean. Swear. Just play along. Trust me. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun,” I said doubtingly, opening my mouth. Tate placed the fake teeth in, sliding them over my top, front teeth.
“Bite down.” I did, felt the taffy-like substance mold to my real teeth. “There. Now smile for me.” I obliged. “Damn. That’s bad, but not enough.”
Reaching into his pocket again, he withdrew a thin film of plastic and removed a rather suspicious brown circle from it. Without word or warning, he stuck it to my cheek, smack center. Turning my face in his hand, he took a long look and grinned widely.
“Jesus, it’s like a homing signal. You can’t help looking at it.”
Indeed, I stole a peek in the rearview mirror and instantly gasped. “My God, I think I’m vain.” I had a mole the size of South Carolina, and almost the same shape too. It was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen, with tiny black hairs protruding from it. Smiling didn’t improve my appearance. My teeth were discolored, unevenly shaped, and grossly misaligned. “I hadn’t realized it until now, but I am. I’m vain. Ew, I can’t even bear to look at myself.”
Beside me, Tate grinned and snickered.
“Where did you get this stuff?”
“I was Austin Powers last Halloween.”
“And you want me to wear this, why?” We were over two months away from Halloween.
“So all those fucks in there’ll keep their paws off you. And I’m not being possessive; I’m just indignant for you. Plus, it’ll give you a good laugh.”
“Gosh, Tate, I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever bought me a hairy mole and low budget dentures before.”
“What can I say? I’m incredible.”
Behind me, someone rapped on the window. I turned to find the gray-haired security guard bent at the waist and staring into my car. Pressing the button on my armrest, I rolled the window down.
“Ma’am,” he said in greeting, trying futilely to keep his eyes from the train wreck on my face. “Tate.”
“Evan.”
“Time to go.” With a jerk of his head, he gestured to the group of women who had gathered at the back door. Another of the security guards held them back with his arm, blocking their path. “You know how they get.”
“Yessir.”
“I’ll take…” Evan looked to me. His eyes zeroed in on my mole.
“Cooper,” I said with a smile, and Evan’s breath caught in his throat. Not in a good way, either. He smiled awkwardly, his eyes rebounding from my mole to my teeth, to my eyes and away again, unable to meet my gaze for any extended length of time.
“I’m sor
ry,” I said, playing along. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Don’t mind him, babe. It’s your resounding beauty. He just doesn’t want to stare.”
“It’s my mole, isn’t it?” I let a little whine slip into my tone. “He’s staring at my mole. Everyone always does.”
“Why do you always think the worst?” Tate scolded, laying it on thick. “It’s not the mole. It’s barely noticeable. Is it, Evan?”
“No,” Evan said without hesitation. “Not at all.”
Tate patted my knee, fighting a smile. “See?”
“We should go,” Evan said, grasping the opportunity. “Miss Cooper, if you’ll come with me. I’ll be escorting you inside.
“It’s Miss Hale,” I corrected him. “Cooper Hale.”
“Hyphenated?”
“Nope. First name’s Cooper.” Now I wasn’t feeling bad about the whole mole thing. What a dufus.
“Then, Miss Hale, if you’ll come with me. Derek will park your car once you’re safely inside.”
Suppressing a frown, I looked to Tate then slid from the car. Tate, escorted by the second bodyguard, came around the car and followed Evan and me inside. Derek, much to my discontentment, took my keys as I passed through the back door and into The Loft.
Upon my immediate entrance, I heard Marshall’s voice. “Coop! Cooper!” Threading his way through the bustle of Loft employees and members of the band setting up backstage, he lifted his arm to flag me down, as if he didn’t stand a head taller than everyone else did. Pausing midstride, he frowned at the punk lugging the large keyboard, who’d just cut him off.
“That’s Marshall,” I told Evan. “He’s one of our bouncers.”
“We’re acquainted, Miss Hale. We arrived early to evaluate the building and the staff as we do with all venues.”
“Oh.” I guess they did have skills. Lord, I wanted to bring them home with me and keep them all. Em would be slavering over Tate’s personal armada of bodyguards if she were here.
“Damn kids,” Marshall complained, reaching us. “This place is mad tonig—what the hell is that?” Stopping dead in front of me, he ducked his head to get a closer look. Breaking into a wide smile, I stunned him even further. “Cooper? Jesus Christ. What the fuck did you do—fall in a puddle of ugly on the way in?”
Laughing, I balked as he reached with his index finger and poked my mole. Evan and the others looked away, finding interest in our surroundings. Tate was biting his bottom lip, trying not to smile, and failing miserably.
When the mole fell from my cheek and tumbled to the ground, I gasped and spread my arms in a wide, protective circle. “Oh my God! Nobody move! You might step on it!”
“What is it, your contact?” the second bodyguard asked. Since he was focusing elsewhere, he had missed the revelation. He bent, scanning the floor.
“No, it was my mole.”
Evan snorted in disgust. “Tate, you asshole! Damn it, I should’ve known!” He threw a couple light punches at his client and then kicked the fold of his leg, sending him to the ground.
Tate took the castigation with a smile, quickly picking himself up and brushing himself off. “Oh man, I’ve never seen you so tongue-tied! That was absolutely priceless!”
“Hardy, fucking, har har har.”
The second bodyguard chuckled, muffling it with the back of his hand.
“Shut up, Taylor,” Evan scoffed. “You thought it was real too.” Taylor apparently wasn’t one for words. He simply raised his hands in submission, biting back a smile. Evan scowled and turned his attention to me. “I should kick your ass, too.”
Tate’s smile fell, as did Marshall’s grin. Evan took them in and quickly put himself in check, though I wasn’t sure how much Tate told him. In seconds, his demeanor was back to business. I pulled the fake teeth from my mouth, the fun and games coming to a quick end.
“Billy wants to see you before you hit the floor,” Marshall advised. “I’ll walk you back to his office.”
I looked to Tate, unsure if I was supposed to lead the way. Was there some kind of bodyguard etiquette to follow? I felt like I needed to ask permission.
“I’ll be right behind you, Miss Hale,” Evan assured. Taylor stepped around us and began leading the way. I was sure Marshall could’ve handled anyone that got out of line.
“So you and…?” Marshall jerked his head toward Tate, who fell behind us and was having a conversation with Evan. I lifted my shoulders in an ambivalent shrug.
“I don’t know what we’re doing. Well, I don’t know what I’m doing,” I amended. “He says he’s serious. He wants to stick around.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I do. That’s what scares me.” Marshall chuckled and clapped me hard on the back. I arched away from his hand, still sore from my earlier trip down the stairs. The only thing keeping the knots from forming was the fact that I was moving around. I knew that once I woke up in the morning, I would be sore as hell.
“Hey, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I fell down the damn stairs today, and my back is killing me.”
“You fell down the stairs,” Marshall repeated. Encompassing my arm with his large hand, he yanked me to a stop. Before I realized what he was doing, he was tugging my shirt to the side and looking at my back. I quickly jerked my arm from his grasp, or tried to. His grasp tightened. “Who the fuck did this to you?”
“Come on Marshall, let go of me. I told you I fell down the stairs.”
“Let her go,” Tate said, resting his hand on my shoulder. The two eyed each other up, each staking proprietary rights over me, as if I were a something and not a someone.
Things were going downhill fast.
“That’s a line of bull if I ever heard one, Coop.” Being the only thing standing between an all-out pissing match, I refused to move when Marshall tried to push me aside, which, unfortunately, pissed Tate off even more.
“I said. Let. Her. Go.”
“Gentlemen,” Evan intervened, placing a hand on either man’s chest in attempt to hold them back. “Let’s all take a step back, shall we?”
“That’s shit a girl says when she’s trying to cover up for someone,” Marshall pressed, ignoring him. “Are you gonna tell me you slipped, or that it was an accident, or that you were being clumsy?” He was speaking to me, but he held Tate’s gaze. Comprehension dawned on me. I had misjudged his concern. He wasn’t worried about Grant having found me; he was worried about Tate.
“You think…shit…you think Tate did this?” Finally, I drew his attention from the wrongfully accused. His gaze flickered to me, surprised with my tone. “Jesus, Marshall, I thought you had a brain beneath that thick skull of yours, but I guess I was wrong.”
This time, he let me go when I pulled away.
“I fell down the fucking stairs. For real. You’ve seen them before. They’re hard and wooden. I was carrying…” Pausing, I took a deep breath. “You know what? I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
Whirling, I strode away, picking through the crowd. Mia and several others hurried away, hoping to escape my notice. Fucking gawkers.
“Coop…Coop…Cooper!”
“Fuck off, Marshall,” I said over my shoulder.
“Hey, I’m sorry!”
The day couldn’t possibly get any worse. I was beginning to feel like I’d been sacked by a freight train. My head rang with a surreal numbness that I wished would envelop me entirely.
“Miss Hale,” said Taylor, behind me. “You’re impairing my service, ma’am. I can’t perform to the best of my abilities if you continue to walk away from me.”
“I’m going right there.” Stopping, I pointed to Billy’s office. “It’s not four yards away.”
Taylor disregarded my objection, passing around the few people separating us. “Thank you, ma’am. Just doing my job.”
Evan, I observed, was mediating between Tate and Marshall, who were having a heated exchange of words.
“They’re fi
ne, ma’am. Evan can handle them.”
I disagreed. Marshall looked like he could eat Tate for breakfast and use Evan to sop up his remains, but I turned and left to see Billy. Once I hit the floor, I could lose myself in my work, and right about now, I needed the distraction.
Taylor entered the office before me, took a cursory glance over the interior and stepped aside, giving me a nod of approval. Billy looked slightly addled when I walked through the door.
“Marshall said you wanted to see me.”
“I do. Close the door. I can’t hear jack shit with the racket out there.”
I pushed the door closed, sealing out the din of musicians, cooks and waiters. “What’s up?”
“Cooper, I’m afraid your employment here has come to an end.”
I could feel my jaw drop. I felt like Billy had just slapped me across the face. I must’ve misheard him. “Are you firing me?”
“Firing is a harsh term. I’d rather think of it as cutting you loose.”
“You can’t do this!”
“It’s for your own good. The place is a madhouse, Cooper. I can’t have you out on the floor. It would be a hazard to your safety.”
“They’re not here for me! They’re here for Tate!”
“Whom you’re dating.”
Walking to the edge of his desk, I placed my hands flat on the surface and leaned in, steam billowing from my ears. “My personal life is none of your damn business! Whom I’m dating included! I’ve worked my ass off, Billy! I’ve never called out, or even been late for that matter! You’ve no grounds to let me go! Goddamn it, I need this job!”
“Nonetheless, I can’t have you on the floor. You’re welcome to stay on and perform, of course. You’ve—”
Perform? He was firing me, taking away my means of survival, and he thought I would still perform for a meager fifty bucks a night? God, the guy was a grade A asshole. Standing, I folded my arms across my chest. “What about the tip jar?”
“You know about the tip jar?” he asked, caught off guard. I could see the surprise in his expression, clear as day. “How did you find out?”
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 10