by L. V. Lewis
The conversation lulls again, so I ask, “Did you really leave home at fifteen?”
He yawns. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. My parents died in a car accident when I was eight years old. My grandparents hated rock-and-roll for religious reasons, but it was my passion. Honestly, I couldn’t fathom a life without it at the time.”
I stare at his beauty. “Have you reconciled with them now that you’ve given it up?”
He shakes his head. “No, my grandmother died shortly after I left, and my grandfather remained angry with me until he died of Alzheimer’s. He passed away last summer. I tried to visit him as much as possible at the nursing home, but he was so ravaged by the disease that he didn’t know who I was.” His perfect features become shadowed with regret.
Another heavy subject. Way to go, Sky.
At this rate, we’ll never be able to segue into sex. I’m not sure if this makes me bitter. Yes, Brody scores a fifteen on the attractiveness scale—there’s a raw masculinity about him that shines through despite the rough-edged, former rock star image he projects. But…more important than that, he is fascinating. I want to know everything about him.
“At least you attempted to reconcile with your grandfather before he died. Your heart was in the right place. As for me, I would disown my mother in a heartbeat if she tried to separate me from my music.”
He smiles. “Do you write most of your own songs?”
I smile back. “Yep, mainly because I feel like I’m the only one who really knows how to make my fans believe what I’m singing.”
“How do you manage to get such creative control from your behemoth of a record company?”
“I threaten to walk away. Well, actually, my mother threatens to pull us out. In the beginning, I was so young that I didn’t understand how gargantuan my brand is. My mother is a barracuda businesswoman who is great at identifying new trends. She can be irritating, but really, there’s no one else whose opinion means more to me in this industry. She learned everything she knows from my father.”
He perks up. “Where is he, your father, by the way?”
I pause for a second, then reply, “He lives in Japan. My parents divorced when I was ten. My father wanted my mother and me to return to his home when my television show ended, but by then my singing career had taken off. He gave her an ultimatum, which my mother laughed at. I was making all of the money she’d ever need, so after he left, we took my mother’s maiden name.”
Brody's eyes widen in surprise. “Wow! How did that make you feel?”
“Like a yo-yo,” I say with a laugh. “Are, you trying to psychoanalyze me, Mr. Kent?”
“Nope, not if I can help it.” His face displays that panty-wetting grin again, and I’m seconds away from hopping astride his narrow hips, devouring his delicious lips, and dry-humping him like a shameless rock star groupie.
The doorbell rings.
I frown, annoyed at the interruption. “Wonder who that could be? I’m not expecting anyone, and the gate guard should have contacted Malik before sending anyone through.”
Brody stands alongside me. “I’ll go with you to the door, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” I like that he’s so unexpectedly chivalrous. “Hope you don’t have to use any of your MMA skills to protect my honor and property.” I laugh lightly.
He playfully scrunches his face and walks with me to the door. “You have a knack for always defaulting to the worst-case scenario.”
“You know… you are so right. I’ve been in this business for such a long time and have heard of so many stars that have been stalked, maimed, or killed that I like to err on the side of caution. And Malik doesn’t make it any better. He believes every fan is a possible psycho nut-job.”
Laughing, I swing the door open and find a grim-faced Malik standing there.
Worried, I stop laughing. “Is everything okay?”
He has the hard expression on his face he reserves for when he’s got a serious subject to discuss. “Can I speak to you for a minute, please?”
Taken aback, I let him in. Brody follows suit as I lead him back into the living room.
“Alone,” Malik says with a hard edge. I’ve only seen that look once before—when an overly zealous fan cornered me in the ladies room after a nightclub appearance.
Brody nods and backs away. “Ooookay, I’ll just go into the office and go over the details for your sound check tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, worried. I am anxious about what Malik has to say.
Brody disappears down the hallway, and Malik and I enter the living room. I offer him a drink.
“No thanks.” He closes the double doors.
I scratch my eyebrow and put my hand on my hip. “Okay, Malik, what’s all this cloak and dagger stuff about?”
He stares into my eyes. He’s not playing around. It must be serious. “Your mother is on her way over here.”
I am shocked. “Wait—What?—Why?!” My voice goes up an octave with each “W” word I sputter , which usually only happens when I’m singing. A feeling of dread sucker punches me in the gut.
Malik continues, “Sky, even though Rickards assured us he does Level 2 background checks on all his employees, your Moms asked me to do an additional background check on your boy here.”
“My boy… you mean, Brody?”
He nods. “Yeah, and I have to tell you… something isn’t right about him.”
I sit absentmindedly on the sofa. My heart has dropped somewhere in the vicinity of my shaky knees. I don’t want to believe Brody has a hidden agenda, but he has been making it pretty hard… I mean he has been pretty secrective about his rocker past and all. If Malik’s unsolicited background check unearthed some dirt on him; then I may have a chance to dodge one hell of a bullet. I take a deep breath and pray that what Malik tells me isn’t so bad. “So, what have you uncovered about Brody?”
He pauses and then says, “Well, his timeline is off, for one. Birth records reveal that he was born in Downers Grove, Illinois. There are elementary and middle school records, but his high school records end around the tenth grade. So, other than a GED and a few odd jobs at restaurants during his late teens, there is nothing until he started working for I.Y.M. last April. Oh, and your boy has a pretty hefty bank account for someone with little-to-no real work history.”
Is that it? I breathe a sigh of relief. The info actually mirrors what Brody has told me, thank God. And, really, since when did regular background checks include looking into someone’s personal finances? Curious, I fold my arms. “Why does my mother need to know how much money Brody has in the bank?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess the amount of money he has could indicate if he is capable of resorting to blackmail. My guys are thorough, though.”
I get that—they’d have to be to be any good in this business, I assume. I start to pace. “It all makes perfect sense, given what he’s told me… sort of.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh really, how’s that?”
I stop pacing and look at Malik. “He told me that he ran away from home when he was just fifteen because he wanted to start a rock band—which his grandparents did not approve of. His grandma and grandpa were religious fanatics. But his band ended up having some level of success so it stands to reason that he would have financial means.”
Malik huffs. “But, the thing is, I haven’t been able to find any info on any band he was a part of. There is no Brody Kent in any of the bands we’ve looked up in our database. Particularly those that might’ve made the kind of money he has.” Malik gives me a look that screams, “Ask me how much he’s worth?” But I refuse to go there.
I nervously shrug ,but inwardly I’m pretty annoyed with myself for not asking Brody more questions. I try to concoct an excuse for him. I really don’t want to think badly of him. I like him. “Well, maybe he used a stage name.”
Malik’s not buying what I’m selling. “Mmhmm... I get it, Sky. You want it to all be a misunderstan
ding because you like him.”
I raise my chin. “Whatever… what makes you think that?”
He laughs. “Girl, please. You’ve been giving him puppy dog eyes all week.”
I groan. “Really? Was I that obvious?”
He responds sarcastically, “Umm…do birds fly?”
I feel my face flushing. “I haven’t been the teeniest-bit subtle?”
He shakes his head with disbelief. “I guess it depends on your definition of subtle. Listen, Sky, I suggest you hold off on messing around with this guy until we know more about him.”
I shake my head, perplexed by my new dilemma. I need to find out more about the man I’m falling for, but I don’t want to alienate him without just cause.
“I just fixed all the holes you’ve drilled into his story. What more is there to know?”
The doorbell rings.
“You know, Sky, there may not be any more to know…” he says, “but your mother is gonna want some answers right fucking now.”
I look toward the door, worried. “Do you think that’s her at the door right now?”
He nods. “Pretty sure.”
I grit my teeth. “Damn it! Did you call her?”
“Umm... yeah.”
Annoyed, I ask him, “Why did you do that?”
He winces. “Sky, she’s my boss, and her standing directive is for me to let her know if anything goes amiss with you. Sorry.”
I can’t believe this shit. “So she’s just pretending to give me space.” Honestly, I’m hurt that she didn’t really give me the reins to my career like she had promised. I’m also ticked that she’s making Malik run everything by her first.
Angry, I ask him, “So who do you work for again?”
“Well, you but remember—Mrs. Samuelson actually hired me…” he answers with an apologetic frown.
I sigh. Not only am I being denied the space I asked for, I can’t do anything without my meddlesome mother and overprotective bodyguard butting in.
THREE
BRODY
DAY FIVE
“Yo Kent,” Malik calls.
I suppose I should be flattered that he’s calling me by my last name like we’re on the same goddamn football team or something. But he’s not grinning when I look up like he was the other day when we were discussing the finer points of mixed martial arts. In fact, he’s acting strange and actually looks… pissed.
I take a few seconds to analyze him like an MMA opponent. He’s got me by an inch or so and by more pounds than I care to assess. However, I think I’m fast enough to elude his punches and kicks if it comes down to it.
“Yeah?” I ignore his hard glare, and answer as if he isn’t attempting to kill me with his beady black eyes.
Malik stiffens up. “Mrs. Samuelson and Sky want to see you in the living room ASAP.”
I put my iPad to sleep. “Okay, any idea what this is about?”
He sneers. “I guess you’ll have to come with me to find out.”
What’s his problem?
I purse my lips with annoyance. “Okay.”
He’s acting like I’ve done something wrong, which I haven’t. But if he’s found out anything about my past, the jig just might be up.
I join him at the door, but I signal for him to go in first. I’m not about to give him an opportunity to do a sneak attack on me. Pound-for-pound, I’m pretty strong for my weight class, but if he gets me in a wrestling move, he could knock me out cold. It’s best to keep my wits about me while I see what the fuck is up.
Malik enters the hallway and I follow him to the living room.
Surreptitiously, I wipe the sweat from my upper lip and forehead. Malik looks at me disappointedly before he turns the doorknobs.
We walk through the French doors and the conversation stops immediately. Two almost identical sets of green eyes fixate on me after Malik steps aside.
Mama Samuelson forces a fake smile—one that she’s so good at conjuring up, and then addresses me. “Please come in, Mr. Kent.”
Sky looks as if she might hurl at any moment. “Brody, you don’t have to tell them anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing.” Her words sound suspiciously like an apology.
Why do I all of a sudden feel like I’ve walked into the Spanish Fucking Inquisition or the damn Salem witch trials?
I stride over to the sofa and sit down next to Sky.
Mama Samuelson is sitting on an armchair near the fireplace.
Always wanting to be ready for whatever might pop-off, Malik remains standing.
“What’s this about?” I ask suspiciously. I’m not trying to be deceptive, but I don’t believe in showing my hand when the deck is possibly stacked against me.
“Well, Mr. Kent, it seems your background check has raised some serious questions. And considering how Mr. Rickards sang your praises when we met you on Monday, we’d like some clarification.”
“On?” I adopt a literal pretense of incomprehension. I refuse to volunteer any other goddamn information.
“Mr. Rickards led us to believe you had a graduate degree in music, yet your educational background indicates you barely have a GED.”
I shrug. “That was David’s play on words, not mine.”
I breathe a slight sigh of relief knowing that they’re working on limited information, which was gleaned from my real name and not my stage moniker.
Mama Samuelson is unimpressed. “Why would Mr. Rickards say such a thing, if it wasn’t true?”
Irritated, I respond, “I can’t read David’s mind. Maybe he was thinking the eight years I have under my belt as a musician is equivalent to a graduate degree. Many colleges and universities award credits for certain kinds of work and life experiences, am I right?”
Mama Samuelson nods cautiously.
“That’s another thing…” Malik interjects. “We can’t find any information on the band you supposedly played for five years ago. Hell, we don’t even know if you can play, sing, or whatever the fuck it is you claim you can do.”
Wow! “The name I sang under and my real name are not one and the same, but you can rest assured that Brody Kent is my given name.”
Mama Samuelson laughs sarcastically. “So, we’re just supposed to believe you?”
“Mother!” Sky snaps. She focuses on me and responds with conviction, “I believe you, Brody.”
I am slain by her. It’s not until this moment that I realize just how much I want Sky to believe me. We definitely have chemistry—a chemistry I’ve been denying. Up until now I’ve only shown her the reformed bad boy version of me—the Brody before rock music ruined him.
I am attracted to Skylar. This attraction is stifled out of necessity but still exhilarating and scary-as-hell. And, if I am truthful with myself, a small part of me believes that she could be the one. I am humbled that she has enough faith in me to stand up for me even though she doesn’t know my full history. Her mother, on the other hand, is another story.
I speak with measured caution, “I’m not a liar, Mrs. Samuelson.” At the same time I’m cursing her seven ways from hell—in my mind. She should be glad she never met Savage Saban in his heyday. The old bird would’ve been reduced to tears by now.
Mama Samuelson cocks her head to the side. “Okay then, so what assurances can you offer me that you’re not some two-bit hustler who is trying to get dirt on Skylar so you can sell it to the highest bidder?”
I stare at her incredulously. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Look, I despise the paparazzi and the press in all of its forms. I know what it is to be hounded because you have a rare gift, and because of it, everyone wants a piece of you. I wouldn’t do that to Sky.”
Mama Samuelson shakes her head as if she still doesn’t believe me. “Those are pretty words, but trust has to be earned.”
Sky interrupts through gritted teeth, “Well, Mother, as far as I’m concerned he’s earned mine.”
She scoffs at Sky’s brazen declaration. “My darling daughter, you’re talk
ing with your libido not your brain. Let me sort things out with Mr. Kent. The last thing I need is to have to hire a bunch of overpriced lawyers to fix what this charming young man screws up.” This woman is patronizing the hell out of her grown daughter and, if I’m not mistaken, she’s offending me too.
Sky springs up off the couch like a jack-in-the-box. Her fists are tight and her eyes are filling with angry tears. She’s so enraged that she’s trembling and, although we’ve only known each other a week, I’m mad as hell on her behalf as well. Her teeth chatter as she speaks, “You didn’t have to go there, Mother!”
Mama Samuelson shifts on the armchair. “Why not? We’re among friends? And, amazingly, you’ve grown to trust this friend in just one measly week. Did you even tell him about Connor?”
Sky loses her fierce battle with her tears and runs out of the room.
“Sky doesn’t owe me any explanations,” I say with an equanimity that belies just how pissed off I am with this nosy bitch right now. “I’m her employee and we’ve only had one dinner that could even be construed as a date, which you’ve just interrupted with your unfounded accusations. Correct me if I’m wrong, but most people don’t talk about exes on first dates.” This is crazy. Since when do mothers crash their grown daughter’s dates demanding she tell a guy she just met about her fucking ex?
Mama Samuelson huffs. “For all I know you could be a dangerous imposter who is out to hurt my daughter. But guess what Mr. Kent? It’ll be over my dead body before I allow you to come in here with your sketchy background and ruin Sky’s thriving career.”
I’ve had enough. I don’t hold back anymore. No one, and I mean no one, questions my hard won integrity. I stand up abruptly and walk over to Mama Samuelson. Malik begins to walk toward me, but I get to her before he can reach me. “The only reason you care so much is because if I do what you think I am planning to do, your gravy train will be gone.”
She is shocked at my aggression. “My gravy train?” she shrieks. “I’ve poured my whole life into my daughter’s career. I’m not just her mother, I’m also her manager. You say you’re a musician, but can you even play a musical instrument! Can you even sing a note?”