Endeavor: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by S. E. Rose

  Me: Sure. Let me know when you are free.

  Will: I have a draft paper due this week, how about next Tuesday?

  Me: Works for me.

  Will: Cool. Maybe we can grab pizza?

  Me: Perfect.

  I put my phone down and stare at the wall, cursing at myself. I had promised myself that I would stay single for the rest of grad school and now I had two dates set up in the course of a few days. Ugh! I throw myself onto my bed. What am I doing?

  Grady

  I’m deep in my writing cave. I strum my guitar and sing the lyrics that I just wrote. My phone buzzes again, distracting me. I glance down and my stomach plummets. It’s the twelve missed calls and eighteen missed texts that have me on high alert immediately.

  I call Rhett.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Dude, where the fuck have you been? I’ve called you like a dozen times and so did Max.”

  “I was writing,” I explain. I pause waiting for him to answer me.

  “We got another death threat letter,” he says, and I can tell by his muffled voice that he’s running his hand over his face.

  “Shit.” I stare at the wall and curse. We’d been getting some death threat notes for a few months now. The label had beefed up security when we went out for scheduled appearances, but in the last few weeks, it’s been quiet.

  “It’s like Calvin said, it’s probably some deranged fan and they will never act on it and soon they will find a new group to obsess over,” I say, repeating what our manager had said last time this happened.

  “I don’t know, dude. The letters keep getting creepier. I think we should consider a security firm full time,” Rhett says. I know that he’s worried about Jackie’s safety. Now, I get it, he has a woman, but seriously, he sometimes acts like he’s Jackie’s dad. He can be downright overprotective.

  “OK, Alpha, calm down. Does Calvin know? Who got the letter?” I start asking.

  “Yes, ‘he’ answered my call. And I did. It was out in the mailbox. But the weird thing, it was addressed to you.”

  I sit up straighter because that is the one common thread so far. This is letter number five and all five have been addressed to me, but none have come to my house. The first one went to my mom’s house, the second to Max, the third to Calvin, the fourth to our record label, and now Rhett.

  “What did it say?”

  “Make sure to protect the things you love,” Rhett says, and a chill runs down my spine. Whoever is sending these is way fucked up and needs some serious help.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, fuck. So, I’m sort of thinking of taking Jackie away for a few weeks. I know we need to practice and work on new songs, but we aren’t due back in the studio for another eight weeks. I just…my brother has that cabin at the lake. It might be safe there.”

  “What’s the sergeant’s name? The one we’ve been sending these to,” I ask.

  “Sergeant Kramer,” Rhett says.

  “Did you send it to him?”

  “I called him. He said to place it in a plastic bag, and he’ll come to get it later today.”

  “Really, that’s it?” I ask in shock.

  “Yep.”

  “OK, well…maybe we should look at more security,” I say.

  “We may want to. I heard about this one firm. It’s owned by some special ops guy who works with like royalty and shit,” Rhett says.

  “Get Calvin the name. Let’s see what Kramer says and then we’ll go from there,” I suggest.

  “OK. I just fucking hate this shit, you know? I mean, we’ve gotten our fair share of creepy fan mail, but this, this just seems…I don’t know, next-level creepy.”

  I sigh and put my guitar back on its stand. I start pacing my music room. “I don’t like this part of it. No one ever talked about this. There are some sick people out there.”

  Rhett laughs sarcastically. “No fucking shit. I thought the paps would be the worst thing we’d have to handle.”

  I grunt. “Well, thanks for letting me know.”

  “Yeah, well, anyhow, I’m going to call my brother about staying at his place. I’ll talk to you later.”

  We hang up and I stare out my front window. I had a crazy fan once when I raced, too. I’d get these creepy sticky notes on my car windows. Since I was only eighteen, it was even more creepy. The last one I got was three weeks before Dad died. They stopped after that. I figured whoever it was must have had more interest in our family than in me.

  I decide I need to go for a run on the beach. It’s only two and I now have adrenaline firing through my veins.

  I throw on my running shoes and walk to the closest beach entrance. I start running as I let the events of this week replay in my mind. The one that replays the most is Emma. I can’t wait to see her again. I mentally plan out all the elements of the date. I really want to surprise her. I’m curious when she’ll tell me about her best friend, Kate, AKA the former first daughter and a current princess of some small principality in Europe. She has a story there and anyone who doesn’t talk about their famous friends right off the bat is the real deal. And she’s a real deal that I want to get to know better.

  By the end of my run, I figure out three things. One, Emma and I are getting out of LA for the day. Two, the band probably should talk to that security firm. And three, I need to stop fixating on Emma already, she’s killing my reputation. I grin at my thoughts as I head back home to make some calls for my date. I’m so fucked.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Emma

  I glance at my phone as I get off the treadmill in my apartment complex’s small gym.

  Grady: I am on my way.

  Me: You said 11:01 am

  Grady: I lied

  Me: (eye-rolling emoji)

  Grady: Don’t you roll your eyes at me

  Me: Or what?

  Grady: Wouldn’t you like to know

  Me: It’s only 9:30

  Grady: GET READY! (and wear comfy clothes)

  Me: So not my ballgown?

  Grady: Not unless you want me to take it off you

  Me: And there’s the Grady I know

  Grady: (angel emoji)

  Me: Did you hit the wrong emoji by accident (devil emoji)

  Grady: (zipped-lips emoji)

  Me: le sigh

  Grady: see you in thirty minutes

  I glance at traffic and smile. It’ll be at least forty-five.

  I run up to my apartment and grab a shower. I rummage through my wardrobe, tossing countless clothes on the chair in the corner of my room. I finally find a semi-cute pair of shorts and a Bohemian top and some fun but practical walking sandals. I grab a cardigan and my giant floppy hat in case it’s cold where we are going.

  I’m walking to my door when there’s a knock.

  “Just a minute,” I call out as I run to the door.

  I peek through the peephole, but I don’t see anyone. Weird.

  I open the door a crack and the hallway is empty. I look around but see no one. I glance down to see a sticky note on the ground. I pick it up to throw it away assuming it’s trash. I happen to glance at it as I make my way back to my kitchen.

  “Do all men kill the things they do not love?”

  I stare at it a moment, the quote seemingly familiar to me. Oh, William Shakespeare Merchant of Venice. I saw the play once in high school. Sighing, I toss what I assume is a note that a student in the building dropped on their way out, and I go to pick up my purse just as there is another knock at my door. I check again but this time I see a familiar face.

  I open the door with a grin. “Forty-five…” I glance at the clock on my microwave. “Forty-seven minutes.”

  “You weren’t supposed to dress up,” Grady states as his eyes leisurely peruse my body. My body heats under his intense inspection.

  “I-I’m not,” I stammer as I step back to let him inside.

  He steps through the threshold, shutting the door behind him. His presence seems so g
rand in my small apartment. I don’t know why I think that as I take him in. He’s tall, but not overly tall, maybe six feet. His body isn’t lithe nor is it bulky. He clearly works out beyond jumping around a stage and performing. His arms sport muscles that make me want to touch them. And even right now as he stands in my apartment wearing gym shorts, a gray college shirt, and a baseball cap, he still looks like sex on a stick.

  “Stop gawking at my sexiness and go put on some gym clothes,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and turn to go to my bedroom. I feel a “thwack” on my ass, and I turn in shock.

  “You just slapped my ass!” I yell. I don’t know why I yell it as he’s standing three feet from me.

  “Damn right I did, now get a move on,” he growls.

  “Alpha much,” I grumble under my breath as I walk to my room.

  “I heard that.”

  “I hope you did,” I reply in a sing-song voice.

  I hear him chuckle and sit down on my couch which makes a squeaking sound when anyone sits on it. I sort through the pile of clothes on my chair until I find a new outfit. I change and come back out. This time I have on my favorite USC t-shirt, a cute cotton pair of shorts that technically you could wear to the gym, but you could also wear them out to grab a coffee or run to the store, and I complete the ensemble with a sweatshirt I got at one of my favorite band’s concerts last year.

  “Voltage Drop,” Grady states, “they’re good. We played with them at a music festival last year.”

  “I know,” I say. “I was there.”

  Grady cocks his head to one side, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve seen us in concert?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I don’t live under a rock.”

  He grins. “I didn’t think you did. What did you think?”

  I shrug. “You were good.” I don’t want to admit that he was amazing, and I may have drooled a bit when he ripped off his t-shirt halfway through their set. I may have also been jealous of the girl in the first row who caught said shirt, although I would never admit it to him. Grady exudes cockiness. I know he knows that he’s good looking. He doesn’t need reminding from me.

  “Good?”

  I blush and curse my fair skin for its tendencies to give away my inner thoughts. His smirk tells me he sees through my bullshit answer.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation to a safer topic.

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me the truth.”

  “About what?” I feign innocence.

  “Nice try, but you know ‘what.’”

  I sigh. “Fine, you were amazing. The show was great. I still have a ticket stub on my dresser mirror. Happy?”

  “Show me,” he commands.

  I grab his hand, tugging him up and he obliges as he follows me to my room. I point at the dresser before the mortification of the mess I created earlier dawns on me.

  “OK, you saw it, let’s go,” I say quickly as I try to push him back to the door.

  He doesn’t budge. Instead, he surveys the room slowly. Thank God, aside from the clothes pile on my chair, my room is somewhat neat.

  “So, this is where the magic happens?” he remarks as his eyes finish roaming my room and land squarely on my face.

  “Yep. Now, your turn. Where are we going?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips out of frustration.

  He chuckles. “You are fucking adorable when you are irritated.”

  I sigh and yank on my ponytail. Maybe he really is a jackass. Maybe the little glimpse that I thought I got of the real him, was as deep as he gets. Maybe I’m making a huge mistake by going on date number two.

  “Stop overthinking things. I have a day planned. I want it to be a surprise. Let’s go,” he demands as he holds out a hand to me. I look at it for a long moment, weighing my options. But who am I fooling, of course, I’m going to go with him. I’ve come this far, might as well finish what I started.

  I take his hand as we walk to his car. I’m surprised to find a picnic basket in the back seat. I decide to play along and not ask questions since he clearly took the time to plan this day.

  “You ready?” he asks as he settles into the driver’s seat.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply giving him a small smile.

  “Then hold on to your seat, because we are about to embark on an epic day of fun,” he announces as he throws the car into drive and speeds out of the parking spot.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Grady

  I don’t know why the thought of Emma at one of my concerts makes me giddy, but it does. She’s seen me on stage, and from the blush, I bet I took my shirt off; I have a tendency to do that. I let Emma play DJ as I drive us to our destination. I ask her about how her semester is going and she tells me about her studies and classes. I can tell she loves learning and her anecdotes have me laughing. The conversation flows easily. I find myself just enjoying Emma’s company. She’s smart and savvy and she has what my grandmother would call chutzpah or gall. She’s brave and not afraid to be herself. I can sense she’s still timid about her expertise, but she’s a student and that’s to be expected when you are still learning your craft. Yet, she’s so open and honest. She doesn’t blow smoke up my ass like most of the groupies that I hook up with and she’s not completely wrapped up in herself like some of the models that I’ve dated. She’s down to earth and real, and that is hard to find in Hollywood. I can see why my mom was so taken by her.

  I pull up to the vineyard, and she squeals with delight. “Really?”

  I chuckle. “Yep. We can have some wine and picnic and then I thought we’d go for a leisurely hike around Topanga State Park.”

  She laughs. “Shouldn’t we hike first?”

  “Aren’t you hungry?” I ask her.

  Her grin is my answer.

  “Well, then, we have to eat.”

  “I suppose, but only one bottle of wine,” she declares as I park the car.

  I pull out the picnic basket and take her hand, leading her to the tasting room. I watch her reaction to each wine we taste. She’s one of those people who can’t hide their true emotions, and it delights me to see how true to herself she is.

  Once she’s tasted a few, we decide on a bottle and a second one for after our hike. I lead her to a spot I found a few years ago, nestled amongst the grapes on the hill and I lay out a blanket, carefully unpacking the food.

  “Wow, I didn’t peg you as the romantic type,” she admits as she settles herself on the blanket.

  I smirk. “I know how to woo a woman,” I add with a wink.

  She rolls her eyes. “I mean, wine and some food at a vineyard is nice, but there’s more to it than that.”

  “Don’t underestimate me yet. The date is just starting,” I counter as I open the wine bottle and pour us each a glass.

  “Well, then, to our second date,” she says, raising a glass to mine. We look into each other’s eyes for a long moment before drinking the wine. I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I hope she can’t see through my thoughts because all of them are dirty and none of them should be said out loud, yet.

  “Do you bring a lot of dates up here?” she asks, looking at the vines surrounding us and the scenery beyond.

  “No, you’re the first,” I admit as I pop a grape in my mouth.

  “Really?” she says with skepticism.

  “Yep. I told you, I don’t date much.”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmurs as she nibbles on a cracker.

  “What about you? Do you date a lot?” I ask.

  “Oh, no, we are still talking about you. But no, I have had one serious boyfriend and one semi-serious boyfriend. The last one was a jackass and cheated on me, so I sort of swore off men for a while. And if you don’t date, then why do I see so many photos of you with random women?”

  I chuckle. “So, you admit to cyberstalking me?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t want to get in a car with a complete stranger.”

  “You did at the party,” I point
out.

  “That was different. That was an emergency. Don’t try to weasel your way out of answering.”

  “I’m not. I do have many friends…with benefits, and I won’t lie, I’ve fooled around with my fair share of groupies.” I grimace. “Shit, I don’t normally tell women that sort of thing.”

  She giggles and rolls her eyes. “I’m glad I can be entrusted with all your scandalous truths.”

  I laugh. “Not sure it’s very scandalous as everyone knows. But…I don’t want to lie to you. You deserve the truth.”

  “Well, thank you. I’m glad you aren’t starting off…with lies,” she says, and I wonder what she was going to say but I let it go.

  We are both silent as we graze on the food and look out at the beautiful sights before us. I pour more wine into her glass.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs. Her eyes meeting mine and damn it, it’s like she found the weak spot in my armor. I look away, not allowing myself to feel anything.

  “Why a documentary?” I question her, clearing my throat as I pour myself a second glass of wine.

  She swallows her wine and I watch her throat constrict with the simple action. It shouldn’t affect me, but it does. I want to wrap my hand around that throat and bring her lips to mine. I look back at the wine, fighting my libido.

  She gives me a sweet smile. “I studied communications, journalism, in undergrad. Most of my friends went on to be anchors or investigative journalists, but I felt like unless you make it to the top, you don’t get to spend adequate time on the story. I wanted to really explore a topic, a story. My advisor suggested I consider doing documentaries, and, well, the rest is history, as they say.”

  “That’s admirable. Why the environment?”

  “Why not? We all need clean air and water to survive. It’s a topic that affects everyone, whether we want to see it or not.”

  “True. How’s your project coming along?”

  She grins. “Amazing. The contacts your mom and Andy gave me are…I just keep pinching myself. I’m going to be able to make the documentary so much better with their help than I could have ever imagined,” she says, the excitement palpable in her voice.