Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“A little,” she mumbles.
“I’ve got to go to work. Want to just hang out here at the hotel?”
Her head pops out from under the covers. “The crowd management thing?”
She sounds skeptical. I rub the back of my neck. “I might have not been as specific as I could have been when I told you what I did for a living.”
Fully awake, Irish sits up with the sheets held against her chest. “You think? James suspects you have a wife.”
“A wife?”
“Yeah, you were vague about your life, which means you’re hiding something, and the number one thing men hide is that they’re already attached to another woman.”
“I am attached to one woman only, and that’s you.”
“I buy that, but I don’t believe that someone in ‘crowd management’”—she makes quote marks with her fingers—“has the money for private planes and stuff.”
“I’m surprised you came with me even though you had so many suspicions.”
She shrugs, and the sheet slips down to bare the tops of her boobs. I tell myself to focus and jerk my eyes upward.
“Because I trust you.” Her face is open and welcoming, and it makes me hesitate.
If I tell her what I do, that expression is going to change, but we can’t go on like this. I reach for her hand. “I would’ve told you the first night.” I pause. “Actually, that’s not true. I enjoyed my anonymity. I liked that you didn’t know who I was, but it was only possible because you hate music.”
As I expected, the softness of her features starts to harden. “Music?” She says the M-word like it’s a curse.
“I sing. And play the guitar. I can play other instruments but just for fun. I’m not proficient in anything but the guitar, really. If a gun’s held to my head, I could bang some melodies out on the piano. I do use it to compose, but the guitar is my first weapon of choice.”
She’s not impressed. Her mouth has thinned out, and her eyes are narrowed. The fingers in my hand have gone limp and cold. “I see.”
“I know you’ve had a bad experience before, but—”
“I need a minute,” she interrupts.
‘I’m not your mom.”
“You lie like her.” She struggles to get out of the bed, sheet still wrapped around her, but the more she moves, the more tangled up she gets. “Shit. Can you just—” She waves a hand toward the door.
I don’t want to leave. Alone, she’ll be able to make up scenarios in her head about how the only musician she knew abandoned her. Worse, I have to leave for the stadium soon too, which means I’m either going to have to imprison her in the hotel room or kidnap her. Either choice sucks and is going to piss her off. This is my own damned fault for not coming clean sooner.
“Come to the stadium with me. You can see the concert, meet my team. Anything you want to know about me, I’ll answer, or someone on my staff will answer.”
Her face grows green. “Stadium?” She chokes out. “You’re that popular?”
“It’s not what it seems.”
“Not what it seems? You’re singing in a place where they play football, and it’s not what it seems? Do I even know your real name?”
“Yes. I’ve never lied to you about my name. I just left out my stage name, Dylan Sign.” I see the recognition in her eyes. Singing in a stadium is no different than a bar other than it’s bigger. That’s all. It’s scale, but really all that is happening is the same. I’m singing with a band, and people are vibing to the music.”
“Crowd management,” she says suddenly. “As in when you say stand up, everyone stands up. When you tell them to shout, they shout. My mom loved that. She loved it so much that she couldn’t stay at home with us. We dragged her down. We kept her from realizing her dream.”
“My dream is already happening. You being here adds to it. You’re the final piece in my dream.”
She doesn’t look convinced. My phone rings, and I know without answering it’s Chris. It’s time to go. I move quickly, pulling her up out of the bed, sweeping the sheet over her exposed parts and flinging her over my shoulder.
“What the hell?” she yells. “Put me down.” Her fists pound against my back.
“No can do. If I leave you here, you’ll run back to Loveland, and since the whole town has your back, they probably won’t let me in. I’m taking you to the stadium, and we’ll hash it out there.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She wriggles like a worm on a hook, but since I’m at least a hundred pounds heavier and a helluva lot stronger, she’s not getting away.
I carry her onto the elevator and down to the private parking garage. Outside, the SUV is waiting. My bodyguard raises his eyebrows but doesn’t hesitate to open the door.