Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(97)

“Back the f*ck off,” a gruff voice said over the loud speakers. It was strangely familiar.

Gasps were heard. Then faint voices argued on, only just audible over the airwaves.

“Yeah, I get it’s a wedding,” he said, nice and clear. “I’ve got the perfect song for the happy couple.”

“No. It can’t be.” I sat forward, squinting, trying to see through all the candles and balloon strings hanging down from the ceiling. “That’s not possible.”

The softer voice fought back up front. People shuffled on the dance floor, the crowd growing restless. I don’t think this wedding hijacking had been very well staged.

“Fine, what do you know how to play?” the strange man in the suit asked. More talking. “Yeah, okay, do that one.”

The opening notes of a song began, some plucking of guitar strings. I knew the melody. It was Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved.” As pop songs went, it was pretty damn good, a bit of a favorite of mine.

Then the singing interloper opened his mouth. “Beauty queen of only …”

My knees trembled and all doubt fled.

What the ever loving f*ck was he doing here?

Due to the delight of a cordless microphone, Jimmy jumped down from the stage and started searching through the crowd. Perhaps it was some bizarre coincidence and he’d decided to start performing at small events. He pushed through the sea of helium balloons, head turning this way and that. Still singing.

I didn’t know what to do.

There was this weird warm expanding sensation in my chest. I could only assume I was having a heart attack of some type. The lyrics were not pertinent. Not in the least. I’ll have you note, my smile was not broken, just a little quivery care of emotion. Also, he’d only had me three times, not “so” many times, and when I’d fallen after trying to kick in his door I landed on my ass on the floor, he did not catch me. All of this led me to the firm belief that the man was a god damn pop-singing liar.

Jimmy Ferris wove through the crowd, still searching. His voice was so suggestive and smooth, the sweetest thing I’d ever heard. Various women got flushed and fanned their faces as he passed on by, age was no discriminator. My own mother looked ready to swoon at his devilish good looks.

At the edge of the dance floor he stopped and craned his neck. Then he finally found his target. He looked straight at me, no longer bothering to sing the song. A murmur of disappointment went through the crowd.

“Lena?” his voice carried to every nook and cranny over the sound system. “What the f*ck you doing sitting in the corner?”

My heart pounded hard. I just sat there being flustered. Honestly, I had no response.

Jimmy handed off the microphone to a passing waiter while the band played on regardless. His steps over to my table were measured, unhurried. I kind of wanted to shoot him for that. No way he didn’t realize I was having a veritable meltdown while he slowly strutted his stuff. The man had donned one of his custom-made suits for the occasion. I suppose I should be grateful he’d go to such effort. Sadly, due to freaking out, I was a bit too busy right then.

“Hey,” he said when he finally got close.

I raised a hand in greeting.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Huh, I could speak, so there. I smoothed my hand over the skirt of the dress, fussed with the hem. Why the hell was I nervous? He should be nervous. Shit, the bastard should be in fear of his life.

“Guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

I took a deep breath. “Just a little, yeah.”

“I, um …” His gaze roved over my face, restless.

“What? You what?” I snapped eventually, losing all patience. Then I sat on my hands because this was awkward as all hell. My fingers itched to grab hold of him, to hurt or hang onto was still undecided. But it would be bad for me to kill him in public. Too many witnesses.

He grabbed the nearest seat and pulled it up, sitting down. I shuffled my butt back an inch or two, needing all the space I could get. It was really him. The oh-so-familiar lines of his face and guarded look in his eyes made me ache. I couldn’t stop staring, I drank in the sight of him in like I’d been wandering lost for years.

“I did some thinking after you left,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “About stuff.”

The bullshit detector blared out loud and proud inside my head. “No you didn’t. You went to some party with Liv Anders, don’t lie to me.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Nothing happened, Lena. I swear. Please, let me explain.” He rubbed at his much-aggrieved face with a hand. “I didn’t know how to handle what you said. I just … if you felt that way about me, then the chances that I’d f*ck up and you’d leave for good were too high.”

“You did f*ck up and I did leave.”

“Yeah, you did.”

I opened my eyes painfully wide. “So, what?”

“So, I need you to come back. I reacted wrong. Come back and we’ll work something out.”

“What exactly is it that you think we’re going to work out, Jimmy?”

His forehead bunched up. The expression on his perfect face was so sincere, and yet so completely gut-wrenchingly clueless. “Well, I don’t mind that you feel that way. It’s all right. You come back with me and work for me again, and we can keep f*cking. It can even be exclusive if that’s what you want, okay?”