Managed:a VIP novel(12)

God, he doesn't flinch, doesn't blink. Just sits there, facing me head on with those eyes the color of glacial ice.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Darling."

"Yeah," I say. "I bet you are."

If I hadn't been glaring right back at him, I'd have missed the tremor  that flickers along the corner of his mouth. With languid grace, he  rises and buttons his suit jacket. Giving me a short nod, he leaves the  room without a backward glance.

"Shit," Brenna says when he's gone. "That went well."

I stare at the door. "I'm sorry for wasting your-"

"You're hired, Sophie."

My head whips around, and I'm pretty sure my mouth falls open.

Brenna gives me a long, hard look. "This is the chance of a lifetime.  You know it. I know it. Don't you dare puss out because of a little  adversity. Trust me, I speak from experience when I say you'll regret  it."

I could answer a dozen different ways, from angry to self-pitying.  Outside this jewel box of a room, the famous and powerful are having  coffee and plotting their lives. I'm in London, being offered the chance  to tour Europe with one of my favorite bands. It will be awkward, and  facing Gabriel again will definitely be its own brand of torture.         

     



 

Life in New York would be easier. Familiar.

Not personal, my ass.

"Fuck it," I say. "I'm in."





Chapter Five





Gabriel







It takes me two minutes and thirty-six seconds to exit the conference  room, leave the hotel, and walk to the end of the block. I know because I  count each second. I walk steadily and with purpose.

And if my hand trembles a little, no one fucking sees it because I've tucked it into my pocket. Problem solved.

Lesson one in business: to every problem there is a solution.

Lesson two: never get emotional.

Never get emotional.

The instant I turn the corner, my control starts to crumble. I bobble a  step. A red haze falls over my vision. Another step and I'm panting. I  spy a newspaper stand and suddenly I'm kicking it.

"Fucking shit!" I give the metal stand a rough slap as well before I begin pacing.

"I had the same reaction, dude."

The sound of Killian's voice stops me cold. He's lounging against a  cheese monger's shop and drinking a carryout coffee. "I kicked the shit  out the garbage bin there."

Next to the newsstand there's a dented bin. I snort, though I can't  truly find the humor in anything. "Of all the garbage bins and  newsstands … "

"You're the one who walked to my spot," Killian points out.

I look down the street. "Where's Libby?"

"Giving me time to cool off." Killian laughs without amusement. "I'm not  allowed to return to the hotel until I'm ready to apologize to the  pap."

"Her name is Sophie." Don't think of her. Don't fucking do it. But it's  impossible to blot out what I've said to her. Rage flows through me  again. I grind my teeth and count to ten. Slowly.

Lesson three: Act on behalf of your client, not yourself. I handled the  situation like I've always done-decided what was best for the band.  Protected them first and foremost, putting aside personal needs.

Bullshit. Everything is personal.

Oh, how I know it now, chatty girl.

It should have been a simple thing, dealing with this issue. I barely  know the woman. The lines of risk are clear. She could easily upset the  balance we've struggled to restore.

That didn't explain why each word out of my mouth to her felt like  fucking acid on my tongue. Or the way the hurt in her eyes had nearly  made me physically ill. I'd barely managed to get through that interview  from hell without punching a wall.

And then I'd simply left her. Walked away without a backward glance,  leaving her feeling like scum, as though she were unworthy of any of us.

"Cockless git," I mutter, fighting the urge to kick something again.

"You have to find a way to forgive Jax." Killian takes a sip of coffee.  "That's what Libby told me. I thought I had. But he keeps finding ways  to piss me off."

Hands low on my hips, I study the scuff on my shoe. I don't bother  correcting Killian's assumption. I'm not angry at Jax for arranging that  Sophie arrive on the scene. I understand him. He wanted a testament to  what he'd done. Or perhaps he didn't really want to die at all, but for  someone to find him before it was too late.

I can't be sure, but I'm not going to rail at him for being human. A  sigh escapes me, and I run a hand over my face. I haven't had a proper  sleep in weeks, and exhaustion is catching up on me. Around us,  Londoners make their way down the street toward the nearby Tube station.  It's already overcast and chilly.

A mother pushes her child along in a gray pram, and stops at a bookstore  window. There used to be a picture of my mother kneeling beside me in  my pram. I was probably two, and even then I had a surly expression. But  my mother beamed at me as though I were her world.

I rub a hand across my aching chest.

Jax, Killian, Whip, and Rye gave me friendship when I had none, a family  when mine had gone. They gave my life purpose-a job I love and  experiences few people on Earth ever have. In return, I vowed that I'd  always protect their interests. I've done a shit job the last few years.  I can do better. I must do better.

I don't want to think about Sophie Darling. But she's infected my brain.  The sound of her teasing laugh haunts me. The pained shimmer in her  brown eyes as I called her "a mistake" guts me.

She'd been responsible for exposing Jax's most private moment and the  lowest point in his life. Countless times I've cursed the bottom-feeding  scum who took those photos. To realize it had been Sophie, the woman I  let hold me and ease my fears in a way I hadn't allowed since my mum  died, is more than disappointing. She'd knocked me on my arse in that  interview.         

     



 

I start to pace, unable to stand still.

Killian watches me, his head swiveling back and forth as he tracks my  movements. "You're not going to need us to set up a fight, are you?"

I cut him a glare. "I'm not as bad off as all that."

He holds up a hand. "I was only asking."

When Kill John first started, I paid for my suits by winning underground  fights. A bit of an oxymoron, granted, being a brawler in order to  dress like a gentleman. As the years went on, I fought when I was so  tense only the sweet release found in sex or pummeling the shit out of  another person would do. In truth, sex has never cut it for me the way  raw pain does.

"I'm fine," I say, waving him off.

"Brenna gonna hire her?" Killian asks me.

"Of course. She put Ms. Darling in first class. Brenna wouldn't have bothered if she wasn't planning to hire the her."

At this, Killian grins. "Bet that pissed you off, having to sit beside someone."

I grunt, unable to tell him the truth. Best fucking flight of my life.

He starts to laugh. "Damn, Brenna is evil."

I think of all the shit Sophie gave me. A smile tugs at my mouth but  promptly dies when my brain reminds me that I just broke any hope of her  wanting to be near me again.

"Fucking hell." I pin Killian with a glare. "She's hired. We both know  this. Regardless of her past, I've seen her portfolio and her social  media work. She's good. And the rest of the boys want her along as  well."

"Shit." Killian looks off.

"You'll be working closely with her." Something stirs in my chest at the  thought of seeing Sophie day in and day out. I push it down deep.  "Which means you will treat her with the bloody respect a trained  professional deserves."

"Yes, sir." Killian gives me a salute.

I'm already turning back toward the hotel. "We have a FaceTime meeting with a new sponsor at four."

"What sponsor?" he calls back.

"Some guitar pick company," I say over my shoulder.

"Damn it, Scottie, ten years and you still can't remember which picks I prefer? Details, man."

I know which one, but it's just too easy to aggravate Killian. "A sponsor is a sponsor. Don't be late."

Halfway back to the hotel, I text Brenna.

GS: I assume Ms. Darling is staying on?

She answers quick enough: Yes. No thanks to you. Next time, discuss your concerns about my staff in private.

I bypass a man with two poodles who sniff at my ankles.

GS: Understood. Where is she now?

Brenna: Why?

My jaw muscles pulse.

GS: I want to welcome her aboard to show no hard feelings.

Brenna: You can text her for that.

I really loathe when Brenna is pissed at me. Life becomes that much  harder, and she is an expert at making me work for my transgressions.

GS: Did I happen to mention I'm meeting Ned later tonight?

Ned is a local promoter and a scummy little shit who has a propensity to  hit on Brenna. Unfortunately, the man is also in charge of the best  venues, and I have to deal with him whenever we tour London. Brenna  doesn't.

GS: I was thinking of inviting him out with us instead.

I almost smile, imagining Brenna fuming right now. Little dots appear and then her answer.