by Sarina Bowen
Becky is the next person to dart into my room. “Omigod are you okay?”
“Yup,” I cough. “Never better.”
Silas flinches and his mom laughs. Then Mrs. Kelly stands up. “I think I’ll let you all take it from here. Nice meeting you, Delilah. Let’s do this again when you’re feeling a little better.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I rasp. “My voice is so shot.” And then it hits me. The concert! I’m supposed to sing tonight. “Holy shit, it’s Friday!” I wheeze.
“Easy,” Silas says, his warm hand on my bare arm. “The concert is postponed.”
“Until when?” I croak.
“Whenever,” Becky says with a wave of her hand. “The music festival lasts through next month. If you want to play the show, they’ll find you another night.”
I relax against the pillows and sigh. “Okay.” I want to ask about Brett, but I’m a little afraid to. Silas moves his hand to my hair, which is reassuring. He takes a sip from a Starbucks cup in his hand, and strokes my head.
“Is that coffee?” I squeak. He nods, and I can smell it now—rich and dark. Because of my phobia, I haven’t had a cup of Starbucks coffee in years.
But there’s something about waking up in a hospital room that makes things very plain. The very event I’ve been dreading for years finally happened. It sucked, but I’m still here. “Can I have a sip?” I ask.
Silas’s hand goes still on my hair. “Of course.” He removes the lid and offers me the cup. “You can have a sip of my drink anytime, anywhere.”
I take it and sip without stopping to think about it. The coffee is hot and bitter and feels great against my parched throat. Even better—Silas wraps an arm around my shoulders. I hand back the cup, then lean my head against his solid bulk. “Okay. Tell me the truth. Where is Brett right now?”
“Probably at his bail hearing,” Silas says. “There are multiple charges. Possession of a controlled substance and assault in the second degree.”
“Bail hearing,” I repeat slowly. “This probably isn’t the first time he’s done it.”
Silas rubs my back. “Probably not,” he agrees. And he’s holding back from saying more. I can feel it.
“What? Tell me all of it. I’m not scared.” That’s a lie, but it sounds good out loud.
“It’s possible that the first time you were drugged, he was the culprit. You told me once that he was there to help you afterward.”
Another shiver hits me. “That is just twisted. But it makes sense. He didn’t want me to call the police after it happened.” God, I’d trusted him even when I knew I shouldn’t. I wanted Brett to be my savior. I wanted him to launch my career.
And he did.
“Here’s the part I’m not sure about,” Silas says. “My friends at Roadie Joe’s say he came in, ordered a drink, tucked a stack of cocktail napkins in his pocket, and then left again five minutes later.”
“Cocktail napkins?” It takes a moment for that to sink in. “You think he’s my stalker, too?”
“I do. The motive seems pretty clear. He would do anything to keep you under his thumb. You were afraid to change security companies, right? He liked it that way. And mailing napkins to you didn’t require a lot of skill or daring.”
Wrapping both arms around him, I plaster my face to his T-shirt. “I don’t ever want to see his face again. I will knee him right in the balls.”
“You and me both.”
The rest of the day is sort of a groggy blur. Doctors poke at me a little while, but it’s clear that I’m going to be fine. When I’m cleared to leave, Becky and Silas try to sneak me out of the hospital via the back entrance. I hear only a few cameras click as Silas tucks me into his mother’s car.
There will be some scary photos of me out in the world before nightfall. Becky won’t show them to me, though. She knows better.
Silas sees us to the hotel elevator but doesn’t come upstairs. “Get some rest,” he says. “I’m going home to shower. Can I bring you dinner later?”
“Are you going to explain why you went MIA this week?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Make it good, Ralph. I can’t wait to hear this later.”
He gives me a sad smile and leaves.
I’m pretty happy about getting a shower, too. Becky clucks over me like a mother duck the whole time. “I should have known something terrible would happen,” she keeps saying. “I didn’t trust my gut.”
My gut is on probation these days, too. I was never smart when it came to Brett. My gut always knew there was something sour where his heart belonged. But I thought I could handle him.
I was wrong.
I pull on my most comfortable yoga pants and a tank top and wonder how long it will be until Silas is back.
Unfortunately, he isn’t my next visitor. There’s a loud knock on the door, and when Becky answers it, Charla Harris sweeps in, looking fierce. “I will fucking kill him. No—I will sue him for every penny and then kill him. When I’m finished with his bloody corpse, I will then spank you for going over to his house alone to negotiate with that violent freak.”
I blink. “It’s lovely to see you, too, Charla. But it’s unexpected. Don’t you have a dinner or a spa appointment scheduled somewhere?”
She rolls her eyes. “It takes a lot for me to cancel appointments, as you well know. But one or two things are motivating. Such as your near death.”
“I’m fine. I swear. I’ll be okay.”
“Of course you will be. But now we have paperwork to sign, girl.” She snaps her fingers. “Pay attention.”
Wait, what? “How’d you get in here, anyway?” I have to ask. Security is a little more important to me than usual today. “You weren’t on the list.”
“Oh.” She smacks her forehead. “I was recognized by your giant bodyguard. And he wants a word. He’s in the hallway.”
“Mr. Muscles?” I hadn’t seen him at the hospital. One of the other guys was on duty outside my room last I checked. I cross the room and peer through the peephole.
Sure enough, Mr. Muscles is there.
“Miss,” he whispers when I open the door, clasping his hands together like an old woman in church. “I’m so sorry. Terribly sorry. I never liked that guy, and I had a suspicion that he wasn’t all right up here.” He points at his broad skull. “But I listened to my boss and I just…” He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize. I was watchin’ through the window, and when you drank that soda and then got woozy—” He shudders. “I should’na ever let you go in there alone.”
I shiver too. And it’s going to be a while before I can think about last night without getting freaked out. Now that I’m less woozy, it all seems more real.
“Anyway.” He sighs. “I turned in my resignation today. I gotta take some time off and evaluate my skills.”
“What? No!” I yelp. “It’s not your fault that Brett’s a sociopath. And I guess your gut told you to look through the window…” I realize I don’t quite have the whole story yet. “What happened after that?”
He shrugs his mountainous shoulders. “I saw you sort of slump forward. Ferris was trying to get you to sign something. Then I had to waste a few seconds calming down your boyfriend, who was climbin’ through a shrubbery. I parked him outta sight while I knocked on the door. When the Prepmonster answered—”
“Prepmonster?” I shriek in tandem with Becky. And maybe Charla, too.
Another shrug. “That’s what I call ’im in my head. Anywhos, when he answered the door, I forced my way inside and dropkicked him while the boyfriend carried you out.”
He dropkicked Brett? And I missed it?
I leap forward, and my hug catches Mr. Muscles by surprise. And I swear it’s like hugging a tank. “Thank you for doing that for me. And please don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“Know you don’t like me much,” he whispers. “I tried to do a good job.”
“It wasn’t personal. I was pretty sure that Brett was keeping tabs on m
e and using you to do it.”
“He was,” the big man says. “I knew it. But it wasn’t like I ratted you out after every shift, okay? There were these logs I was required to fill out—who you were with and where we went. They told me it was all because of that stalker. But I could tell Brett is a jealous fucker.”
“Jealous fucker,” Charla says. “Good name, but I like Prepmonster better.”
“Same,” Becky agrees.
“Sorry just the same,” he says. “And I should go and let you rest.”
I pat the tank on his giant arm. “You take care of yourself, okay? Don’t make any rash decisions on my account. You can stay on my security team as long as you like.”
“Okay, miss. But I ’spect you won’t be on the West Coast much longer, anyway.”
“Why not?” That’s news to me.
“The boyfriend,” he says simply. “Guy like that you hang onto. I would if he was mine. Hot and super nice. If he’s also good in bed, that’s like a unicorn right there.”
The three of us stare up at him in stunned silence. The depths Mr. Muscles has revealed tonight! I’m almost too fascinated to remember how shitty the last twenty-four hours have been.
Eventually, Becky clears her throat. “Good advice.”
“Right!” I say brightly. “You have a good night. Take it easy. All is well here.”
He nods his giant head and then leaves us.
“Can’t believe we missed the drop-kick,” Becky says, sighing.
“I’d pay cash money to see that,” Charla agrees. “And speaking of cash money…”
“It must be a lot of coin if you flew up here to talk about it.” I sit down on the sofa and stare out at the ocean. The beach is always beautiful. Too bad I hate this town. My gut was right about Darlington Beach, at least.
“So, listen. MetroPlex is afraid you’ll sue.” Charla plops her body into a chair. “And if you want to, I’ll hire you the lawyers to do that. But there’s an alternative. They’ll hand you a better offer for Lucky Hearts.”
“Wait.” I’m already under contract with them on that album and have been for nearly three years. “I don’t understand.”
“I did a little renegotiating.” She smiles evilly. “I said we might not sue if they improve your terms and then launch the sucker. You’re getting a little better royalty rate and a guaranteed release within five weeks. They are suddenly very eager to launch the record.”
“But…why?” They didn’t care before.
“Your old contract has something called a fiduciary duty clause. It means that the record label is supposed to do everything they can to increase your income. Even with them sitting on your album it was going to be—”
“—too hard to prove they mishandled me. I remember.”
“But when the head of your label is arrested for poisoning your fucking drink, it’s suddenly really easy to prove that they’re not looking after your best interests. If Brett is convicted, we’ll win our suit with no problem. But it will still take a year or more in court.”
Becky squeals. “That’s why they’re in a hurry to launch. This is good, right?”
“Exactly,” Charla says. “Unless Delilah wants to sue the fuckers. It’s really her call.”
I consider my options for about a second and a half. “Let’s launch the album and cash their checks,” I say. “The music matters more than my anger. They can’t have album number three, though.”
Charla waves a dismissive hand. “No shit, Sherlock. The suitors are lining up already. I would never let you sign a contract that obligated you like that.”
“Thank God for Charla,” Becky whispers.
Indeed.
I look out at the ocean again, and marvel at the twisty path that’s led me here. “I want to sign the renegotiation with MetroPlex,” I say. “Let’s just end this.”
“Smart girl. And I didn’t even have to drug you.” She pulls a folder out of her bag. “Too soon for that joke?”
“Too soon,” Becky agrees quickly.
Silas
“What’s with the long face?” Danny asks as he hands my takeout order over the counter. “Your girl is recovering, right? And now the whole world knows what we’ve always known.”
“That Oakland is an under-appreciated baseball team?”
Danny smirks. “That Brett Ferris is a weasel, a cheat, and a psychopath.”
“Yeah, but he’s already out on bail. She needs an order of protection against him. And I’m supposed to get on a plane tomorrow morning.” Leaving Delilah again? I don’t know if I can do that right now.
“Ah. No wonder you look so unhappy.” He hands me my credit card slip. “Hang in there. You exposed that fucker this time. The whole town is talking about him. He can’t show his face in town soon.”
I sign my name and hand back the receipt. Everything Danny says is true, but it doesn’t make me rest any easier. “See you around?”
“A guy can hope. You playing the Sharks anytime soon? I’ll hit up StubHub.”
“I’ll find you some tickets, I promise. It’s good to see you.”
“You too, man. Take it easy.”
As if I knew how.
I’m brooding as I carry our dinner to the hotel. The nighttime air is California-sweet with a salty taste, but I can’t enjoy it. Halfway there, I stop and pull out my phone to text Bess, my agent. What happens if I don’t get on that plane tomorrow?
Her response is a phone call about thirty seconds later. “Silas, you have to get on that plane. The organization will fine you.”
“Money doesn’t matter to me right now.”
She makes an impatient noise. “You know it’s not right to do that to your team. It’s bad for morale. Buddy, if someone died, they’d give you a little time…”
“Bess! Jesus.” My stomach rolls.
“She didn’t,” Bess says softly. “Everything is going to be fine. And that’s why your butt needs to be on that flight tomorrow. Don’t even push your flight back, okay? Not even a few hours. She’s not the only one who’s depending on you. It’s too early in your career to be a diva.”
I know she’s right. And I don’t want to let anybody down. But after we hang up, I don’t feel any better. When I reach the hotel, I ride the elevator to the penthouse floor. In the hallway outside Delilah’s suite, there’s a new beefy bodyguard on duty. I don’t recognize him.
“ID, please,” he says.
I hand it over, happy to know they’re being cagey about who gets in to see her.
“Ah. Hello, Silas. This is for you.” He returns my ID along with a hotel keycard. “She may be napping. You’re supposed to wake her up.”
“Okay. Thanks, man.”
He actually salutes me. I hope he’s ex-military. I hope he’s a goddamn Navy SEAL. “You know what Brett Ferris looks like, right?”
“Like this?” He pulls something out of his back pocket, which proves to be a deck of photos, all of them of Brett in different settings, wearing different clothes.
“Yeah. I guess you got that covered. Later.”
He salutes again.
I let myself in to what must be the most beautiful hotel suite in Darlington Beach. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the darkening ocean. Across a generous living room, big double doors open to reveal a spacious white bed. And Delilah sleeps peacefully on it, her hair spread out on one of the many pillows.
My heart breaks a little bit at the sight of her. It doesn’t matter how strong she is. There will always be someone willing to hurt her. Nobody is unreachable, and her job makes her a target.
I set the food down on the coffee table and toe out of my shoes. In the bedroom, I perch on the edge of the bed and lay a hand on her head. She doesn’t stir. So I strip off my T-shirt and lie down next to her.
My intention is to let her sleep. But I can’t lie this close to her and not bury my nose in her hair, kiss her forehead.
“Silas,” she whispers. Or maybe it’s just a sigh. But I put an a
rm around her and pull her against my bare chest. Without opening her eyes, she makes herself more comfortable against my body as her breathing evens out again.
This is exactly what I need. She’s safe, and she’s in my arms. I might not get on that plane tomorrow, even if it costs me my job. Because if I’m feeling a little traumatized, Delilah might be a wreck tomorrow. She has every right to be.
And that’s partly my fault. I can’t walk away now.
We lie there awhile, my mind spinning. I stroke her hair and run a hand down the soft skin of her arm. The heat of her body soaks into mine, and our heartbeats find an even rhythm.
She stirs after a time, stroking my bare waist with her thumb, pressing a kiss to my chest. I lie comfortably still, wondering if she needs more sleep. But she nuzzles me with her lips, her tongue finding my nipple and pressing flat against it.
My blood stirs. Of course it does. The thrum of desire I feel for her never goes away. But I didn’t come here to ravage her. So I run a patient hand down her silken hair, and tell my body to relax.
Delilah, though. She’s not on the same page. She makes a trail of kisses across my chest before continuing the path up to my neck. I turn my head on instinct, granting her better access. Her kisses give me goosebumps, and I can’t hold out any longer. “Come here,” I rasp, capturing her face in my hands. I pull her up for a kiss.
We’re nose to nose as our lips meet for the first time in way too long. I hold her brown-eyed gaze as I kiss her gently. The kiss flips a switch inside my worried soul, and the taste of her lips is what finally convinces me that she’ll be okay.
“Dee,” I whisper up at her. “I missed you. I’m sorry I—”
She presses a finger to my lips. “Did you have a really good reason not to show up the other night?”
“Yeah,” I say against her finger.
“Then you can tell me later.”
She replaces that finger with her mouth. I groan as she deepens the kiss, her body spread out on mine. And we ignite faster than tiki torches on the beach. My hands wander down her back and under her shirt, my palms skimming over warm skin, then down to cup her ass. I roll my hips up off the bed, and she moans into my mouth.