Managed:a VIP novel(14)

I dutifully take the pic.

"Excellent." Lowering my camera, I sit on the studio floor. "Look, none  of us can change our pasts. All we have is our present. Like it or not,  you two are the band's front men, which means you lead by example.  People are dying to see you and Jax together again and happy. They need  that reassurance."

"And you think taking a few pictures of us doing whatever is going to  make everything better?" Killian asks. His tone isn't snide, but he's  clearly dubious.

"You tell me," I counter. "You've been in this business longer than I have. Do you think public image matters?"

For a second he just stares at me. But then he huffs out a laugh and  smiles. When he does, it's fairly breathtaking. Killian James is  extremely hot. Luckily I'm immune to hot men. Well, most of them.

"All right," Killian says, breaking into my thoughts of uptight  managers. "I'm being a dick. It matters, even if I don't like it."

"There. Was that so hard?" I ask.

He leans in, cocking his head as if he's going to tell me a secret. "You  know, I'm not actually comfortable being an asshole to women."

"Really?" I say, biting the corner of my lip to keep from smiling. "But you do it so well."

Jax laughs so hard he rocks back, clutching his Telecaster to his  stomach. From the corner of my eye, I see Gabriel's head lift and turn  our way. He's in an adjoining studio, talking to Whip as he practices  his drums.         

     



 

All the studios are connected by glass walls that surround the  production booth. I've been aware of his presence the whole time, but  didn't think he was aware of mine. He certainly can't hear us, and yet  he's noticed Jax laughing. Then again, it's becoming more and more  apparent that Gabriel keeps track of everything and everyone.

Killian laughs as well before nudging my foot with the toe of his boot. "You're a hard woman to remain pissy with, Sophie."

"Remember that when I follow you like a tick on a dog's butt."

He laughs again, a deep rumble of sound. "You sound like Libby."

"Uh-oh," Jax says, picking up his beer. "He just gave you his highest  compliment. Watch out, you'll soon be subject to noogies and pranks like  the rest of us."

I feign horror, but inside a soft warmth swims through me. I have many  friends and acquaintances. Meeting new people has never been my problem;  it isn't hard when you're a natural-born talker. But I've never been a  part of a close-knit family of friends. Maybe I won't really be accepted  by these guys either. Time will tell. But I want to be.

It is an odd thing to discover I'm lonely, despite never truly being  alone. But I am. I want someone to know the real me, not the shiny shell  I show the world.

I leave Killian and Jax to their practice and move on to Rye, and then  Whip. After I'm done with photos, I upload them to my computer and pick  out the ones I want to use for today's social media.

Time passes quickly, and then we're off to check out the venue for  Tuesday night's opening show. The guys are all restless energy. I swear  they must be powered by music, because the more they talk about it, the  more they play, the more fueled they seem to be.

Me, on the other hand? I'm still feeling the effects of jet lag-I  haven't had a true night's sleep since I got here-and the lack of lunch.  When did we skip lunch, anyway? How did I miss that?

My stomach growls in protest, and I try to ignore it because no one  appears to be ready to leave. I take a break, sitting on the stage and  leaning against a set of unplugged amps. My head hurts, and I'd love to  nap. Only napping kind of blows here too. I just can't settle down when I  get back to my room.

My stomach growls again, and I swear it's started to eat itself because  my insides clench in pain. I fumble with the latch on my camera case and  curse under my breath. I'm in hangry territory here. Soon I'll be a  snarling mess. And these boys don't seem to fucking care that it's been  hours since we last ate-

"Here." A boxed sandwich from Pret A Manger is thrust under my nose. A second later, Gabriel sits next to me on the stage.

I'm caught between snatching the sandwich and admiring the effortless  way he moves. Which is just ridiculous, I grump silently, sinking my  teeth into honey wheat bread. Lusting over the way a man moves. What  next? Writing poetry about the scruff along his jaw?

Sadly, I could. I really could.

The first bite of food hits my mouth, and I sigh in relief. "Thank you," I mumble between chews.

"It's nothing." His shoulder lifts with a light shrug as he surveys the stadium.

He's brought me egg salad with arugula. My favorite. I clutch the  sandwich in my hands like it's a precious gift before taking another  bite. And another. Damn, I was hungry. "It's something."

"Don't talk with your mouth full." He pulls a bottled water, covered in  condensation, from a bag and twists the top off before handing it to me.  "God forbid you choke on your food and are unable to talk any more."

The water is ice cold, and I feel it going down, spreading through me. Sweet hydration.

"How did you know my favorite sandwich?"

He keeps his gaze distant, but his chin lowers a bit. "It's my business to know everything about my people."

His people. His flock.

"I don't see you handing out food to anyone else."

He finally turns my way. Brilliant blue eyes crinkle at the corners with  sardonic humor, the curve of his lip tilting slightly. As always, my  breath catches. The crinkles deepen.

"No one gets quite as hangry as you do, Darling. It's for the good of all to keep you fed."

I suspect he calls me by my last name as a taunt, but he always says it  as though it's a caress. I shake the feeling off with a roll of my  shoulders. "I don't even care if you're insulting me. It's true. I was  about to eat my own hand."

"We wouldn't want that." His arm barely brushes mine. "We need you to work."         

     



 

My cell phone rings. "Hold that thought," I say as I answer my phone. "Yellow?"

"‘Yellow'? That's how you answer your phone? It's your mother, by the way."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Mom, I'm familiar with your voice."

"Well, you never know," she replies with an expansive sigh. "It's been so long since you called, you might have forgotten."

Smiling, I set my sandwich down. "Mom, you could make guilt an Olympic sport."

"I try, angel pudding. Now, tell me all about your new job. Are they nice to you? Do you like it?"

This is not the conversation I want to have with Gabriel and his  bat-power hearing in close proximity, not to mention his eyes are on me  in clear amusement. But I can't exactly say that. "Of course they're  nice to me. I wouldn't stay if they weren't."

Not exactly true. I've had some shit jobs with even shittier bosses over  the years, but I'm turning over a new leaf: accept nothing but what  brings me joy from now on.

"And I love it, Ma. Truly."

"Well, that's good. And those band boys?" Her voice dips. "Are they as sexy as they look on TV?"

I told her what I was doing via text. But I hadn't expected her to know  about Kill John. I make a gagging noise into the phone. "Seriously?  You're trying to scar me for life, aren't you? You do not need to be  asking about sexy rockers."

At my side, Gabriel snorts and takes a bite of my sandwich. I snatch it back, giving him a side glare as my mom keeps talking.

"Please," she drawls. "If I didn't like sex, you'd have never been-"

"La, la, la …  Not hearing you!"

Gabriel chuckles, so low only I can hear it. But it does illicit things to me, sending tingles where I don't need them.

"Born!" Mom finishes emphatically.

"Mom."

"Don't whine, Sophie. It's unflattering."

A click sounds, and my father's voice filters in. "My baby girl doesn't whine."

"See? Daddy knows," I put in, grinning. It's an old game I play with  them, and I don't care if I'm twenty-five; it feels good to act like a  kid. Safe and secure.

Here I am, sitting on a stage, about to go on a European tour with the  world's biggest band. But for a few minutes, I can just be Sophie  Darling, only daughter of Jack and Margaret Darling.

"You spoil her, Jack," my mother is saying. "I have to counteract the ill effects with doses of hard realism."

I am essentially my mother-only younger and with ever-changing hair  color. I have to cut my parents off before they can get going. Their  back and forth can go on forever, and I have a hot, nosy, sort-of boss  to eat lunch with-something that suddenly fills me with bright  anticipation.

"Look, my lunch break is about to end. Let me call you tonight when we stop for the day."

"All right, honey," my dad says. "Just remember, men love women who play hard to get. Extremely hard to get."

I don't need to look over to know Gabriel is rolling his eyes.

"And yet you and Mom started as a one-night stand … "