by Kylie Scott
More muted shouting. Another thump.
"Guess I shouldn't have gone out for breakfast." Coffee, French toast, and far more maple syrup than one woman needed, churned inside my stomach. Comfort eating sucked. "Thought I'd beat him back from the gym."
"You can't watch him all the time."
"I'm paid to try." I shrugged. "God help me."
"And if you did, he'd fire you for getting in his face. Just like he did all the others. Giving him some breathing room is a good thing." Ev flinched, another almighty crash coming from within the room of doom. "Usually."
"Hmm."
Jimmy didn't fire all five of my predecessors, some he gently coaxed into quitting. Or at least, that's how he described it. But I didn't bother to correct her.
"David will calm him down," Ev said, her voice absolute.
It was sweet, the way she hero-worshipped her husband. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had such faith in a lover. David and Ev had gotten married one drunken night in Vegas six months back. It'd been splashed all over the media. Apparently, it was one hell of a story, though I hadn't managed to hear it all yet. Ev had asked me to go out with her and her friends a couple of times, but I always made excuses. Not that I didn't appreciate the gesture, it just didn't feel right with me working for her brother-in-law.
At any rate, dealing with Jimmy was my job. I gave Ev a small smile of apology and slid the room key through the lock. Time to don the hat of hard-assery which according to my ex, bless him, definitely fit.
Slowly, calmly, I pushed open the door. Four feet from my face a glass smashed against the wall, shocking the absolute shit out of me. I in turn hit the floor, my heart going manic inside my chest.
"Lena," Jimmy bellowed. "Get the fuck out of here!"
God damn mother-fucking rock stars.
Seriously.
Lucky I'd worn pants after all. Carpet burned knees would not have been nice. Also, the minute we got back to Portland, I was either finally quitting, demanding hazard pay, or both. No way was I making enough for this.
"Throw one more thing, Jimmy, and I'll shove my three-inch heel so far up your ass you'll need a surgical team to extract it." I glared up at him from behind my dark bangs. "Is that understood?"
He scowled.
I sneered.
Same old, same old.
"Are you alright?" David Ferris strode across the luxury suite, circumventing a broken side table and smashed lamp. He offered me his hand, helping me back up. Both Ferris brothers had looks, money, fame, and talent. Only one of them had any manners, however. Regardless of etiquette, my gaze stayed glued to the furious man on the other side of the room.
"Fine. Thanks." I straightened my skewed glasses.
"I don't think he's on anything," David said quietly. "Just having a bad day, you know?"
God, I hoped Jimmy hadn't taken anything. For both our sakes.
"It's a tough time for everyone, Lena."
"Yeah. I know."
Across from us, Jimmy paced back and forth, hands balled into fists. Normally, the man was a princess, a show pony, put together with perfection. Hair slicked back and designer everything. As eye candy went, his superior rock god status made him ideal. I was safe to fantasize and indulge my libido while remaining well beneath his notice.
(Sadly, my sex drive hadn't died when I'd taken my vow of no men. How much simpler life would be if it had.) Today, however, Jimmy seemed all too human, only half dressed with his dark hair falling over the sharp angles of his face and matching stubble lining his jaw. His usual airtight control was nowhere in evidence. The state of him and the room was shocking. Nothing seemed to have been left unharmed. I must have looked like one of those clowns at the fairs, the ones you where you lob a ball in their mouth to win a prize. My head kept turning this way and that, trying to take it all in.
"What a mess." I muttered.
"Want me to get Sam?" David asked, referring to the band's Head of Security.
"No, I got this. Thanks."
He narrowed his eyes. "I can't imagine him doing anything, but ... he's pretty wound up. You sure?"
"Absolutely. We'll meet you downstairs." Confidence was everything. I held the door open and he slipped through, giving me worried looks all the while. My fake smile apparently failing to appease.
"Maybe I'll hang around," he said. "Just in case."
"You hired me to deal with him. Don't worry. We'll be fine," I said, shutting the door on David and Ev's frowning faces.
Jimmy paced on, ignoring my presence.
I took one deep breath, and then another. Nice and slow. Cool and calm. All of the usual pep talks whirled around and around inside my head. You didn't need to be perfect to get a job done, you just needed to be motivated. And think what I might of the man, his well-being was my job, my priority. I would do my best by him. Glass crunched beneath my heels as I carefully made my way across the room. Around the toppled sofa and over the broken lamp. I didn't want to guess what the bill for all this destruction would be. Security should have been up here already. Other guests must have heard the racket and complained by now, surely. Perhaps five-grand a night bought some exceptional soundproofing.
Jimmy flashed me a dark look as I drew closer. His pupils seemed okay, normal size. He slammed his ass down on a dining room chair, displaying irritability and aggressiveness but excellent coordination. Maybe he hadn't taken anything.
"What's going on?" I asked, stopping in front of him.
No sign of blood though his knuckles were scratched and pink, tender looking. Legs apart, he braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head. "Get out, Lena. I want to be alone."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
He grunted.
"Isn't this a little cliched, trashing your hotel room?"
"Fuck off."
I sighed.
Alright, so aggravating him probably wasn't a good idea. I pushed my glasses further up the bridge of my nose, giving myself a chance to think. Time to try something new. The man only had on black suit pants, no shirt, no shoes. And as nice as his inked chest and shoulders were, he couldn't go like that to a funeral. Especially not in this weather.
"Jimmy, we're leaving soon. You need to finish getting ready. You don't want to be late, do you? That would be disrespectful."
No response.
"Jimmy?"
"I hate when you use that voice," he said, still staring at the floor.
"What voice?"
"When you try and sound like my therapist. You're not, so cut the shit."
With there being no right answer, I kept my mouth shut.
Veins stood out in stark relief on the side of his neck and a sheen of sweat outlined the musculature of his back. Despite the anger, however, his pose was one of defeat. The man could be more than an occasional arrogant dick, but Jimmy Ferris was strong and proud. In the couple of months since I'd become his babysitter I'd seen him in all sorts of moods, the bulk of them bad. Never, though, had I seen him beaten. It hurt. And the pain was as unwelcome as it was surprising.
"I need something," he said, voice guttural.
"No!"
"Lena ... shit. I can't---"
"You can."
"Just get me something," he snapped.
"I won't do that, Jimmy."
He surged to his feet, face tight with fury. Every survival instinct in me screamed to step back, to run and hide. Dad had always said I was too stubborn for my own good. Even in my heels Jimmy towered over me, and the man's favorite new pastimes were jogging and bench-pressing weights. The adrenaline surging through my system made sense, but Jimmy wouldn't hurt me.
At least, I was pretty sure he wouldn't.
"One fucking drink," he roared.
"Hey--"
"You have no god damn idea with this is like. I just need one fucking drink to get me through. Then I'll stop again. I promise."
"No."
"Pick up the phone and order it."
"You smashed t
he phone."
"Then get your ass downstairs and get me a drink."
I shook my head.
"You work for me! I pay your salary. You answer to me." He jabbed himself in the chest with a finger to emphasize the point. "Remember?"
"Yes. But I will not get you a drink. Make all the threats you like." My voice wavered but I didn't back down. "That is never going to happen. Never."
He growled.
"Jimmy, you need to calm down now."
His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared.
"I don't want to bring anyone else into this. But I'm reaching that point. So please calm down."
"Fuck!" The war he waged to control himself played out over his perfect face. With hands on hips, he stared down at me. For a long moment he said nothing, his harsh breathing the only sound in the room. "Please, Lena."
"No." Shit, I did not sound convincing. I balled my hands up against my stomach, summoning up some strength. "NO."
"Please," he pleaded again, eyes rimmed red. "No one needs to find out. It'll just be between you and me. I need something to take the edge off. Lori was ... she was important to me."
"I know and I'm sorry you lost her. But drinking isn't going to help," I said, scrambling to remember all the wise words I'd read on the Internet. But my blood pounded making it impossible to think straight. I might not be scared of him, but I was terrified for him. He couldn't fail. I wouldn't let him. "Drinking is a temporary fix that'll only make things harder in the long run. You know that. You can get through today. You can."
"We're going to put her in the ground." His voice cracked and he slumped back onto the chair. "She fed us, Lena. When there was nothing at home, she sat Davie and me down at her table and she fed us. Treated us like we were her own."
"Oh, Jimmy ..."
"I-I can't do this."
Apparently, neither could I. And to prove it, I stood there utterly useless, my heart breaking for him. I'd wondered what had happened to make him so hard. Of course I had. But I'd never imagined anything like this. "I'm so sorry," I said, the words not even beginning to be enough.
Truth was, Jimmy needed a therapist or a counselor or someone. Anyone but me, because I didn't have a fucking clue how to handle this. The man was cracking before my eyes and watching him come apart felt like torture. I'd been so careful the last few years, sticking to the fringes and keeping to myself. Now suddenly, his pain felt like my own, tearing up my insides, leaving me raw. The room swam blurrily in front of me.
What the hell was I still doing here?
When I took the job, my instructions had been scarily simple. Glue myself to his side and never, on pain of death, dismissal, and whatever else his lawyers could think to throw at me, let him consume a drop of alcohol or an ounce of drugs. Not a single pill could be popped. Given he'd been clean of his own volition for almost half a year, it hadn't seemed such a hard task.
Until now.
"I'm going to go find your shirt," I said, blinking like crazy, doing my best to pull my shit together. Qualified or not, I was all he had. "We need to finish getting you ready and then we're going to go."
He said nothing.
"We'll get through this, Jimmy. We'll get through today, then things will be better." The words tasted sour. I just hoped they weren't lies.
Still nothing.
"Okay?"
"Why did I say I'd talk at the funeral? What the fuck was I thinking?" He scowled. "The guys should have known this wouldn't work out, not to put me in this position. I'm in no god damn condition to do anything. But Dave is all like 'you say a few words, I'll read some poetry. It'll be fine'. What bullshit."
"You can do this."
"I can't." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "If I'm not going to fuck up the funeral of the best person I ever knew, then I need a drink. One drink, then I'll stop again."
"No." I faced him down. "They asked you to speak because as much as they'd probably hate to admit it, they knew you'd do it best. You're the front man. You don't need a drink. Shining in the spotlight is what you do. It's who you are."
He gave me a long look. So long, it got harder and harder to meet his eyes.
"You can do this, Jimmy. I know you can. There isn't a single doubt inside of me."
Nothing. He didn't even blink, just kept staring at me. The look wasn't unkind, I'm not sure what it was, apart from too much. I rubbed my clammy hands against the sides of my pants.
"All right," I said, needing to escape. "I'll get your clothes."
Strong arms suddenly wrapped around me, pulling me in. I stumbled forward, only to be stopped by the hot face pressing into my stomach. His grip was brutally tight as if he expected me to fight him, to reject him. But I just stood stunned. His whole body shook, the tremors passing through into me, rattling my bones. He didn't make a sound, however. Something dampened the front of my shirt, making it cling.
It could have been sweat. I had the worst feeling it wasn't.
"Hey." None of the last two months had prepared me for this. He never needed me for shit. If anything, I inconvenienced him. We clashed. He tried to cut me down. I cracked a joke. The modus operandi had been long since been established.
The man clinging to me was a stranger.
My hands hovered over his bare shoulders, panic bubbling up inside. I was most definitely not allowed to touch him. Not even a little. The one-hundred-and-twelve-page employment contract had been quite specific on the subject. Prior to this, he'd gone out of his way to avoid any and all contact, but now his arms tightened, fingers digging in. I'm pretty sure I heard my rib cage creak. Damn, he was strong. Just as well I came from sturdy stock, otherwise, he might have squeezed the life out of me.
"Jimmy, I can't breathe," I wheezed.
The grip eased a little and I stood there panting, my lungs working overtime. Thick arms remained around me. Clearly, I wasn't going anywhere.
"Maybe I should get Sam," I said in a stroke of genius once I'd caught my breath. Their Head of Security most closely resembled a thug in a suit. But I bet he gave great hugs.
"No."
Crap. "Or David. Do you want your brother to come back in?"
His face shifted against me, moving first left and then right. Another no. "You can't tell them."
"I won't. I promise."
Silence rung in my ears.
"I just need a minute," he said.
I stood rigid in his embrace, useless, a mannequin would have been as effective. Shit, I had to do something. Slowly, ever so slowly, my hands descended. The overwhelming need to comfort him far outweighed any threat of litigation. Heat kissed the palms of my hands. He felt feverish, perspiration slickening the hard contours of his shoulders and the thick column of his neck. My hands glided over him, doing their best to soothe.
It was disturbingly nice, being needed by him, being this close to him.
"It's okay." My fingers threaded into his thick dark hair. So soft. No wonder they hadn't wanted me touching him, now that I'd started, I couldn't seem to stop. I should have been ashamed of myself, feeling the poor man up at such a time. But he'd been the one to initiate contact. He'd grabbed hold of me seeking comfort and apparently, when it came to him, I had a scary amount to give.
"What am I gonna say?" he asked, voice muffled against me. "How can I make a fucking speech?"
"You say what she meant to you. They'll understand."
He snorted.
"No, really. Just talk from your heart."
He took a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against me. "To top it off, she called."
"She?" I gave the top of his head a sharp look. Damn it, he had seemed okay. Certainly not delusional. "Who called you?"
"Mom."
"Oh." This couldn't be good news. Better than him imagining phone calls from the recently deceased, but still. "What'd she want?"
"Same fucking thing she always wants. Money." His voice was harsh and low. So low that I had to strain to hear him. "Warned her to stay away."
"She's in town?"
A nod. "Threatened to crash the funeral. Told her I'd have her fucking arrested if she did."
Hell, the woman sounded like a nightmare.
"Davie doesn't know," he said. "That's the way it stays."
"All right." I don't know how wise that was, but it wasn't my choice to make. "I won't tell him."
His shoulders hitched beneath my hands, his misery surrounding us like an impenetrable shell. Nothing else existed.
"You're going to be okay." I bowed my head and hunched over, sheltering him with my body. My heart ached and emotional detachment was a dream. The compulsion to give to him was too strong. He was usually such a maddening man, so thoughtless and rude. Anger, however, made my job easier. When he behaved like an ass I could remain indifferent for the most part. These dangerous new feelings running through me, however, were soft and sappy, warm and weepy. No way could I afford to care this much.
Crap.
What the hell was happening to me?
He gripped my rounded hips and turned his face up to me, unguarded for once. All of his usual sharp edges were dulled by pain and if anything it just made his beauty more obvious. I licked my suddenly dry lips. Fingers tensed and tightened against me and his forehead bunched as he scowled at the damp patch on the front of my blouse. "Sorry 'bout that."
"Not a problem."
He let go and my legs wobbled, weak at the loss.
Intimacy fled and awkwardness rushed right in like a tidal wave. I could almost feel his walls slamming back into place. Mine were slower, weaker, damn them. Someone, somewhere along the line, had swapped my titanium for tinfoil leaving me wide open and exposed. It was all his fault. For a moment he'd actually stepped down from his self-imposed pedestal. He'd been real with me, shown me his fears, and I'd just sort of mumbled some vaguely comforting shit. Honestly, I couldn't even remember what anymore. Little wonder he'd closed up on me again.
Also, we were unnaturally close, positioned as we were. There were mere inches between us. Jimmy gave me a brief embarrassed look to enforce the fact, just in case I hadn't noticed. Obviously he regretted this. I mean, he'd cried on the hired help, for Christ's sake.
"I'll get your clothes," I said, grasping at the first useful idea to enter my head.
Blindly, I stumbled across the room. Thoughts and feelings were running rife through me, all of it a blur. I needed to talk to mom. Far as I knew, there was no history of heart ailments in the family. Leukemia took Uncle John. Grandma died due to smoking a pack a day. I think Great Aunt Valerie caught some strange fungal infection in her lungs, but don't quote me on that. Mom would know for sure. Whatever my heart was doing, it couldn't be good. I was only twenty-five, much too young to die. Probably about the right age to become a complete hypochondriac, however.