I remember how young and innocent—and overwhelmed—she looked in those early days under constant media scrutiny. Now she’s poised and polished on screen, but right now as we talk about the pressures of living out of a suitcase and managing a business from the road—because she has a successful fitness and health website, too—I see glimpses of that innocent girl, thrust into a life she wasn’t fully prepared for.
I know all about that.
Hang on for the ride, honey.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, leaning in.
“Of course.”
“I used to sing Fly to my son when he was a baby. I know it’s dark, but…there’s something about it that makes it a lullaby. Is that weird?”
Hot, unexpected tears burst behind my eyelids and it takes everything in my power to not let them fall. “No,” I whisper. “That’s sort of how I wrote it. Nobody’s ever picked up on that before.”
“Really?” She looks down at her hands and flutters them. “Then they aren’t listening closely enough. It’s beautiful. Anyway, I should let you finish getting ready, and we need to take our seats…”
I stand, and when she leans in for a hug, I let her. We’re both wearing heels, but she’s got a solid six inches on me, and my cheek presses into her shoulder.
For a society lady, she gives really good Mom hugs.
I realize with a weird, painful start that I don’t actually remember when I had an embrace like this. Shit, I’m totally going to cry on her thousand-dollar silk blend t-shirt.
And I’m still hugging her.
I drop my arms and step back, and we both laugh.
“This is going to sound weird,” she starts to say at the same time as I open my mouth.
“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” I ask, thinking I could invite her and her step-daughters to do something age appropriate, since after the show is not a good idea.
She shakes her head. “We’re actually flying to Vegas. Victor’s going to meet us there for the weekend, but we have two days of girl stuff planned.” She bites her lip. “I know we just met, but…do you want to come with us? When is your next show?”
“Monday in Salt Lake City.” I give her an incredulous look, because this is kind of serendipitous. “And most of my band and crew are already going to Vegas. I wasn’t planning on it, but…plans can change.”
We exchange contact information, and she reassures me there’s lots of room on their private plane for me to come with them.
Even for a rock star, this is kind of surreal, but okay.
I think I’ve found my first friend who doesn’t want to fuck me, fuck me over, or use me for my music connections. Not at all how tonight was going to go down, but even better.
During the show, I dedicate Fly to her, and point into the darkness. Ginnifer Best, the universe is conspiring in the weirdest of ways, but I think I like it.
—thirty—
Wilson
Washington
She isn’t picking up her phone.
This is my own fucking fault for not paying closer attention to the tapes. For being so distracted by my plans that I forget the most important task of keeping her fucking safe.
And now she’s on a plane to Las Vegas.
I glare up at the departures board at Dulles. In another forty-five minutes, so will I, but how the hell do I tell her she needs to leave after that look on her face when Best’s wife invited her to have a girls’ trip?
Another reason I shouldn’t have kept this from my partners. Cole could have introduced Tabitha to Hailey.
Women need that kind of thing.
I was so obsessed with having her all to myself that I missed that basic point. And now she’s going to be right in the eye of the storm.
“What is it?” Jason asks as he comes to a stop next to me.
“Are you done buying souvenirs?” I snap.
He laughs. “Sure. On edge, much?”
“Tabitha’s going to Vegas.”
“When?”
“Right now. She’s on Best’s private plane with his wife. They’re new-found best friends.”
“I like his wife. She’s hot.”
“Not the point.”
“I’m a red-blooded man. It’s always the point to a certain extent.” He makes a dismissive grunt and shrugs his shoulders. “Anyway. So what are you going to do about Tabitha?”
An excellent question.
—thirty-one—
Tabitha
Las Vegas
The second I let myself into my suite, I know I’m not alone.
I take a deep breath and curl my fingers in, forming a loose fist as I stride into the living room space. “What are you doing here?”
Grant gives me a loose, sneering shrug as he lifts a glass to his mouth. “Catching up. It’s been a few days.”
“We left Portland this morning.”
“But we flew on a regular ol’ jet plane, and you came with Victor Best’s wife.” He pins his cold gaze on me. “What’s that all about?”
“You said be nice to the man. The man didn’t show up, but his wife did, so I was nice to her. Just where exactly did I go wrong this time?”
“You’re playing at something.”
“You’re paranoid.” I stop in front of him and kick at his foot. “Get out of my suite. Don’t you have something better to do?”
He holds up a piece heavy white card stock. “Maybe. Did you have anything to do with this?”
I reach out my hand to take it, and he holds it just out of reach.
Fine. Whatever. I stalk to the minibar and grab a mineral water.
“It’s an invitation from Best to join him for a fight on Saturday night.”
I glance back over my shoulder at him. “Ginnifer said he’d be in town by the weekend.”
“Are you going?”
“I didn’t get the invite.”
“She didn’t say anything about it?”
I shrug. “No. Maybe it’s not a socialite kind of event. Where is it?”
“No address. Just a time, and an instruction to meet a driver out front.”
“Fun.” I don’t bother to hide my sarcasm. A fight sounds awful.
“Work on your enthusiasm. You’re coming with me.”
“I am not.”
“You still need to impress Best.”
A tension headache starts to pull at the back of my neck. “The invitation wasn’t for me, was it?”
He stands, getting right in my face. “Are you being difficult?”
It would be so easy. Grab his arm behind the elbow, jack my hip up into his. Use my lower center of gravity to my advantage like Wilson taught me.
Knock him onto his back and then step on his nuts.
Instead, I shake my head. “No more than usual. But I’ve got plans on Saturday night.”
“Cancel them.”
We have a silent stand-off, glaring at each other, then he pushes past me and storms out.
Swearing under my breath, I stalk after him and slam the security bolt shut, then turn around and scream.
Wilson’s standing in front of me, and he’s pissed.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I gasp, rubbing my chest for a second before taking halting steps towards him.
He closes the gap and touches his fingertips to my cheek. “I could say the same thing to you.”
“Why?” I turn my face into his hand and let my eyelids flutter shut as he brushes his lips over my jaw and onto my neck.
“It’s a long story. Shhh.” His mouth covers mine, soft and insistent, and oh my God, how I’ve missed him.
Breathing hard, I press closer, letting his kiss fill the emptiness inside me. I curl my tongue against his when he pushes into my mouth, welcoming his too-long-absent exploration.
How did I push him away? I never want to let him go, ever again. I cling to his broad shoulders as he walks me back into the door, pressing me against the cool wood as he draws his flat palm down the heavy curve
of my breast and onto my waist.
“How long have you been in my suite?” I ask as he kisses his way down my neck again.
“Since before he let himself in.” He pulls away and gives me a hard look. “Why does he have a key to your room?”
I glare right back. “We’ve stayed here before, and he usually takes care of all the room bookings. He didn’t this time, but I’m assuming he just asked the front desk for a card.”
He scrubs a hand quickly over his face. “Are you okay?”
“No. Men keep letting themselves into my hotel suite and scaring the everliving shit out of me.”
“Sorry.” He doesn’t look it, though. He still looks mad. I wish we were still making out.
I reach for him again, lacing my fingers through his. “What is going on? Why are you in Vegas?”
“I told you.”
“Long story?” I snort. “I’ve got time. And this time maybe we can get through it all without kissing.”
“Doubtful.” He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. “I’ve missed you.”
“I was mean to you.”
“Yeah, you were. But I’m a big boy, and I can handle it.”
“Is that what this is about? Handling it?”
“Maybe.”
“Wilson…”
“Tabitha…” He nips at my lower lip. “I’ll tell you everything, but you need to promise not to freak out.”
“That’s not a good sign.” I close my eyes and exhale. “Fine. I promise.”
“Grant’s been making some bad bets on dangerous, underground fighting, with money that isn’t his and that’s tied to hate speech. He’s going to get nabbed by the FBI for it, and his very well-paid attorney is going to make a deal that will preclude him talking about any of his crimes, including document forging and possible child endangerment. The last two off the record, of course.”
My eyes fly open as I try to process that. “He’s what?”
Wilson waits for me to catch up.
“I… I can’t believe it. He’s never been a gambler, he’s way too…” I shove my hand against Wilson’s chest. “Wait a second.”
“What?”
“You did that.”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell are you thinking?” I shove him harder, and he doesn’t move. “Is that what that invitation is all about?”
“Maybe.”
“You are… insane. This is… insane. I can’t even… Why?”
“Because you need him out of your life.”
My jaw drops open. “Isn’t that my call?”
“Would you ever have made it?”
I stop. Just…dead. No, I would never.
He doesn’t blink, and he doesn’t move. “You can make it now. You can tell me to back off, and I’ll do my best to unravel what I’ve done. But this is what I do, Tabitha. I make bad people pay for shit.”
“Shit they haven’t done.”
He shrugs. “Minor detail. Would you rather he pay for horrifying domestic violence? Because I would. I want him hung in the public square for what he did to you, but I don’t want you to suffer through that. I don’t want you to have to talk about Keegan, or the life you left behind, or living on the streets. I want to make him disappear in a way that doesn’t touch you. And if that means inventing a financial crime, I’m good with that.”
I start to shake as he’s talking, and he leans in and wraps his arms around me.
“I’d do anything for you.”
“You know when people say that, they don’t usually mean it without any limits,” I whisper.
“Then they’re doing love the wrong way,” he whispers back.
A lump catches in my throat.
“Don’t go with him to the fight,” he grinds out as I lean into him.
I close my eyes. “Will you be there?”
“Don’t, Tabitha. It could get really dangerous.”
“Is Victor Best really going to be there?”
He hesitates. “No.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.”
That’s not going to fly with me. I try again, this time starting with a reassurance. “I’ll stay far away on Saturday night. But in the next two days…what can I do?”
He hesitates, then presses his lips against my temple. “It would help if he was unhinged. Reckless.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Unhinged and reckless are my specialities.”
—thirty-two—
Tabitha
We’re at the spa in the hotel, getting pedicures, but it’s not exactly relaxing because Ginnifer’s phone keeps going off.
Since Victor owns the hotel, the staff don’t say anything, but her stepdaughter does.
“You’re not supposed to be using that,” Clara says, complete with a bored sixteen-year-old eye roll.
“It’s your father.” Ginnifer chews on her lower lip. “We have to go to Washington tonight.”
A weird ribbon of relief curls through my stomach. I know that there was really no chance of her being affected by whatever’s going to go down tomorrow night—on the other side of the city, in a warehouse completely removed from this world of luxury—but I don’t want her involved.
There’s something fragile and innocent about her.
Clara makes a grumpy face, and Ginnifer just waves her off. “Oh, shush. You knew this was coming.”
“It’s going to be such a drag having Secret Service protection.”
Ginnifer points at the hulking man standing at the far end of the hall. “We have bodyguards now.”
“That’s different.”
“I’m sure it’s not.” She sighs as yet another message comes in, and then puts her phone away and glances at me. “Although who knows, right? Whole new world. Sorry to leave you on your own for the weekend.”
I lift my toes out of the bubbling water. “I’m going to be just fine.”
Clara’s phone rings, and she answers it with an exaggerated, “Hello?”
Ginnifer snaps her fingers and points to the door.
Clara gives her a look of disbelief. “You were using yours.”
“For texting your father. Out you go. Conversations in the privacy room only. You know the rule.”
She waits until Clara’s gone to thump her head back against the chair. “Teenagers. It was like, ten minutes ago I was one myself. I’m not cut out for this.”
I give her a sympathetic look. “You guys have an interesting relationship.”
Her younger step-daughter and her son are in their hotel suite watching a movie with a nanny right now, but Clara wanted to come along with us—and has complained non-stop since.
“She knows I’m on her side, but I’m not her friend, and I’m not her Mom, either. It’s weird. But we’re figuring it out. Victor…” She trails off and I don’t push. None of my business. “Anyway, she’s the least happy out of all of us about his campaign. I think that’s probably the way it is for most teenagers. Nobody wants to give up their freedom.”
“I bet not.”
She laughs. “I think about what I was like at fifteen, and I just…yeah. I try to have patience for her. It’s a hard age. Right?”
“Right,” I murmur. But I don’t know, really. I didn’t get a chance to be that petulant brat. Or maybe I did, and it’s what killed my son. Either way, I can’t relate without wanting to throw up, so I pick up the nail polish color beside me and pretend I’m not sure about it after all.
“That’s a nice color. I miss bold choices like that.”
I hold it out to her. “You want it?”
She shakes her head. “Only variations on nude for me. Victor has particular tastes.”
I lift my eyebrow and wiggle it suggestively. “Maybe he’d like a surprise.”
She blushes. “Oh, no. Definitely not. And I didn’t mean it like that. He doesn’t have a nail polish fetish or something.”
“Trust me, it would be the most normal fet
ish I’ve discussed this week if he did.”
Now her face turns bright red, and I realize I’ve gone too far.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to laugh it off. “Just ignore me.”
“Let’s just say that your songs are the closest I’ve gotten to sex in a while,” she mutters, and before I can react to that bombshell, her step-daughter returns.
~
After pedicures, we head back to her suite to have lunch with her kids, and I put Operation Mess-With-Grant’s-Head into motion.
Tabitha: I’ve been thinking about the next leg of the tour. Can we meet?
Grant: The one that starts in four days? No thinking allowed.
I roll my eyes. Like I don’t know how to push his buttons. I’ve been watching and waiting for this for ten years.
Tabitha: So that’s a no to meeting? Fine. It’ll be a surprise, then.
Grant: Where and when?
Tabitha: Coffee in the lobby cafe in an hour?
Grant: Fine. But don’t get excited about anything crazy. No changes are happening.
~
I’m drinking a green tea when he arrives.
“You’re late,” I say, not quite looking at him.
He takes the seat across from me. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and force myself to meet his gaze. I never hold eye contact with him. It hurts too much. For all the success he’s helped me achieve, he’s also the source of my greatest pain. “I want to make some changes.”
“Like what?”
“The fans aren’t excited about the concerts. They’re the same old thing. I want do something different.” I swallow hard. “I want to be something different.”
That triggers something inside him.
Good. Be afraid.
I’ve never cared that much about my image. I’ve let them craft me into what they want to be, but fuck it. Two more days, and I’ll be free to be whoever I want to be.
Dirty Love (Forbidden Bodyguards #3) Page 13