Chapter 26
26
JORDAN
A fter a long and luxurious shower, I step out into the main room of the executive suite. The New York City skyline greets me and I spend a decent amount of time standing at the windows, enjoying my morning coffee as the city thrives beneath me.
When I was just a young girl growing up in Las Vegas, I dreamed of a life like this. Sure, home has its perks, but it doesn’t have this view, that’s for sure.
Enjoy the view, sweetheart.
Soon it’ll be yours every day.
I sneer at the card still sitting on the counter. From any other person, in any other situation, I’d consider it. But with strings attached to an asshole like Paul Monroe…
Nah.
I’ll pass.
I’m happy where I am. And with whom I’m represent.
I finish my coffee, then head into the bedroom to get dressed. I throw on a pair of classic black slacks and a matching blouse before fixing my hair in a casual braid and putting on some light makeup. The whole time, I think of last night. Of going to The High Note and reuniting with Christian Myers.
I just wanna rock your world.
Quite the catchy tune.
I sit down on the bed, taking a moment to slip on my shoes, and… more memories rush over me. Memories of Bronson. Of his hand gently caressing my back. Of falling asleep in his arms.
I lean toward the pillow beside me. His scent still lingers on it, gentle and strong. Just like him.
My stomach flutters with butterflies.
Bronson Isaacs is a good man.
I’ve always known that. It’s just nice to have all the good thoughts and words I’ve shared about him throughout our lives proven so very true.
I can’t wait to fall asleep in his arms again.
Briefly shaking the thought out of my head, I finish putting on my shoes. Bronson and I are friends. Fuck buddies. Nothing more. He said it. I said it. I’m not allowed to develop feelings for him. I’m also his manager, and I’m not about to even think about how weird and complicated that relationship could become if I did suddenly fall for him.
With my clipboard in one hand and my favorite faded golden travel mug in the other, I banish those thoughts into oblivion and board the elevator.
It’s show night in NYC.
And there’s a lot to check off my list.
As the car descends, I look over my to-dos. After lunch, it’s a brief band meeting-slash-practice before we head to the venue. My inbox is already loaded with notes from our road manager, Roy, so I have my work cut out for me with all the little last-minute preparations. Our New York City shows are often the largest — and most complicated — of the entire tour, so it’s best to limit distractions as much as possible.
Distractions like Bronson.
Distractions like…
I hear the music before the elevator reaches the lobby. A ballad. Soft and low, performed by a solo performer with an acoustic guitar.
As the elevator opens, I take one step off and pause, his voice reaching my ears.
Christian Myers sits on a chair in the center of the golden lobby, surrounded by a group of a few dozen people.
I step lightly, my heart pounding. I can hardly see him through the crowd, but I feel a tug in my stomach pulling me closer to him. Spotting Katrina standing at the edge of the circle, I move to stand beside her. She looks at me and widens her eyes, a look so full of sass I think Addison is finally rubbing off on her.
I shrug a shoulder and we say nothing for the rest of the song.
At the end, Christian smiles at his adoring crowd, soaking up the applause. He sees us and his smile deepens as he offers me a wink.
I wave, unsure what else to do.
“Thank you for listening,” he says as he stands up. “But I’m afraid I have to take a break.” The crowd groans. He rests a hand on his heart. “I know, I know. But I love every one of you beautiful people.”
They reluctantly disperse, leaving with whispers and cherished videos on their phones, as Christian walks in our direction.
“Good morning, ladies,” he greets as he adjusts his guitar to rest along his back.
“Hi, Christian,” Katrina says.
“Hey,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just putting on a little show for the hotel guests while I wait for you to come down.”
“Us?” Katrina asks.
“Well, Jordan, specifically.”
I tilt back. “Me?”
Christian pauses. “Chrissy didn’t tell you?”
I withdraw my phone from my pocket to check for a missed message. “Chrissy’s been a little tied up lately,” I quip.
“Oh, well, long story short: I have a gig in DC next week. And I need a ride.”
“A ride?”
He leans in. “Chrissy said it was okay with her if I tagged along, but you’re the boss of this tour. I have to clear it with you first.”
I arch a brow, confused. “You want us to give you a ride to Washington?”
“Uh-huh,” he says, nodding.
“That’s a four-hour train ride from here,” Katrina points out.
“Right. I know.” Christian shrugs. “But I don’t have to be there until next week, so I have some time to kill. And I checked your schedule and saw that you’re heading to Philly and Boston after this and I fucking love Boston.”
I nod. “Boston’s great.”
“You’ll be riding into DC a day before I have to be there, so I thought, what better way to kill time than to follow the best damn rock band in the world on tour?” He grins as he spins his guitar back around and holds it. “Maybe I’ll even join you for a song or two on stage. Give the people a real good show, just like old times. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Katrina peeks at me. “It sounds very fun.”
“It does,” I say. “But our bus is... kinda cramped already.”
“I won’t take up much space, I promise,” Christian says. “And I’ll get my own accommodations. No worries about housing me. Or feeding me or clothing me. Well...” He smirks. “Unless you’re into that.”
Katrina nudges my ribs.
“I don’t know, Christian.” I hesitate. “I’ll have to check with the band. I might be the boss, but it’s their tour.”
“All right.” He turns to Katrina. “But just out of curiosity, what’s your vote, Lil’ Benton?”
She smiles. “I approve.”
“Excellent,” Christian says, his handsome smile reaching his eyes.
I take a breath, smiling back.
So much for limiting distractions.