Managed (VIP #2)(23)
“Sophie. Jules.” I give them each a nod.
The freckles scattered across Jules’s cheeks start to stand out in sharp relief as her pale brown skin goes ashy gray. “I…ah… That is…I was explaining to Sophie that…”
I put her out of her misery. “It’s all right if you want to flee. I won’t hold it against you.”
Jules jumps up, grabbing the massive green hobo bag she’s constantly hauling around.
Sophie sits straight, her brows rising. “Hey! She doesn’t have to go anywhere. In fact, you should go.” She points her finger at me like a weapon.
“No, no,” Jules says, already backing away from the table. “He’s right. I totally want to flee.”
And she does, nearly creating a breeze in her haste. Sophie sits back with a huff, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “God, it’s like you’re Darth Vader or something.”
I missed you. The unwanted thought doesn’t even make sense; it’s been less than an hour since I last saw her. But that doesn’t change the feeling that I’ve been granted clemency just by sitting here with her.
“We’ve already established that I’m the engineer of this production,” I say lightly. “And you’re mixing space dramas.”
Her nose wrinkles, and she looks away, giving me her profile. I use the moment to steal her Guinness and take a sip. It’s room temperature, thick and dark and perfect. Truly the breakfast of champions.
“Hey!” she snatches the glass from me. “Get your own.”
She makes a point of wiping the rim with a soggy cocktail napkin.
“Do you fear I might have cooties?”
“I’m surprised you even know that word.”
“I know quite a few.”
I’ve missed sparring with her most of all. Sophie is…fun. When was the last time I had any fun?
“Which reminds me…” I lean in close. “While I do enjoy anal play with a woman now and then, I have never munched an ass.”
Sophie chokes on her beer, sending droplets of it across the battered table, as her cheeks flame scarlet. Trying not to grin in victory, I hand her another napkin.
She glares at me as she dabs her chin. “If you’re here to try to talk me into going home, don’t bother. I’m staying, and you can’t do anything about it.” She lifts her chin as if to say, So there!
I sit back in my chair. “You were right, you know.” When her brow wrinkles, I go on. “Business is personal. I simply hadn’t thought of it as such until you put it that way.”
Her expression goes darker. I nudge the beer glass out of her reach, and she rolls her eyes, but there’s a reluctant smile on her lips. It strikes me that my day is already better just for seeing it. Weakness. I don’t want any. But some things are stronger.
Honor. Honesty. Need.
“I have hated those pictures and what they represent as much as I hate what happened to Jax,” I tell her quietly.
Anger melts off her face, and she stares at me with wide, pained eyes.
“No,” I correct. “I hated them more. They created a monument to that ugliness. That…” My throat closes, and I have to clear it. “Pain.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “You’ll never know how sorry.”
“I believe you. I know what it is to lose yourself in a job. We were all spinning out of control before Jax. There were days I’d wake up and not remember what country we were in. Because everything was a blur of having fun and believing the crap lines people fed us. I understand the lies you tell yourself to get through the day.”
“I can’t imagine that of you.”
“Chatty girl, you spin castles on social media. I spin them for the music business. The suits, the mannerisms, the whole f*cking fa?ade is part of the arsenal. Back in that room, you saw it full force.” My finger touches a drop of beer. “I reacted out of an old anger.”
When she answers, it’s soft and hesitant. “Are you sure it’s old anger and not fresh?”
I meet her gaze and am hit anew with that strange punch of sensation just beneath my ribs. Pain, resentment, remorse, tenderness, it’s all jumbled together, making it difficult to settle on one emotion. I want to tell her I’m sorry for hurting her. I want to send her away so I don’t have to experience this discomfort.
She is dangerous because I cannot control her. And she is utterly beautiful, like molten glass that tempts you to touch even though you know you’ll be burned.
But for all that, there is one emotion I do not feel. “I am not angry with you.”
When she nods, an awkward jerk of her little chin, I reach into my billfold and pull out a few pounds. My fingers are unsteady as I drop the money on the table. “Do the tour,” I tell her. “I will not stand in your way but welcome you as a valuable asset to the band.”
Then I flee, just as desperately as Jules did minutes before. Because I’ve just consigned myself to months of hell and temptation.
* * *
Sophie
* * *
We’re staying in London for a week, so I work with the guys, combing through their social media and making adjustments. In other words, adding myself as admin to all their accounts and acting as them from time to time.