Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
ZARA
Me
What the actual fuck was I thinking?
Vi
Oh, good, you’re right on time. You never disappoint, sis.
Mom
A little late, honestly. I thought we’d get the freak-out text first thing this morning. I had coffee ready.
I stare at my phone in disbelief. I expected this from my sister.
But my mom? Aren’t moms supposed to be the sensible ones?
The prudish woman who clutches her pearls and tells me that taking a job where I jet-set all over the country with a bunch of hot as fuck rock stars is just about the worst idea ever.
Instead, when I set them both down and told them about this crazy job opportunity, my mom, a sassy feminist who teaches math at a community college and plays the harp for fun, practically jumped out of her seat and screamed, “Dooo it!”
Come to find out that the woman who raised me is a closet Manic fan and thinks Asher Knight is the hottest man on the planet—except for your father, of course. Gross. She now plans to live vicariously through me for the next five months and wants every single detail.
Life just keeps getting weirder and weirder, I swear.
Me
Did you know that you don’t go through security when you fly on a private jet? They just drive you right onto the tarmac?
Vi
Of course I knew that.
Mom
Yup.
Me
How did you both know that?
Vi
I had this boyfriend…never mind.
Mom
I saw it on Netflix. What boyfriend?
Vi
He wasn’t exactly a boyfriend. He was a…friend.
Mom
A friend? What does that mean? I thought you were dating that nice makeup artist. Marta? She had the prettiest skin.
Vi
We weren’t dating. We were…This is why I said never mind, Mom!
Me
Guys, I have actual problems going on. Can we focus?
Mom
I’m never getting grandchildren.
Vi
Not with that attitude…
Me
LADIES!
Vi
Zara, chill. You’re gonna be fine. Where are you?
Me
In the fancy car. About to pull up to the fancy plane. There is sparkling water in here. And snacks.
Vi
STEAL. THE. SNACKS!
Mom
Can you send me a pic of Asher when you get there? I want to make it my home screen.
Me
There will be no snack stealing and absolutely no selfies. You are supposed to be helping!
Vi
We are? I don’t recall offering those services.
Mom
Party pooper.
Me
You both suck. I’m going now. Also, Mom, don’t forget those hand stretches I told you about for your tendonitis.
Vi
Yeah, go get on that private jet with all those rock stars. Poor Zara.
Mom
I will if you get me PICTURES!
I roll my eyes and try to steady my breath. The car rolls to a stop, and I look out the window.
Holy shit.
When I imagined a private plane, I immediately thought of something small, with a few plush seats and maybe a room in the back.
This plane is not small.
This plane looks like it could carry an entire NFL team. Wait, how many football players actually make a team? Twenty? Thirty? I have no idea. All I know is that when I step out of that sleek black SUV, my palms feel sweaty, and I definitely feel out of my league.
The Prices are wealthy, but this is a whole other level.
I start to reach for my bags as the driver hauls them out of the back, but he politely intervenes. “I’ve got it, ma’am. Unless there’s something you wish to take with you onboard?”
“Just this,” I say, patting the large strap of my medical bag currently slung over my shoulder.
I doubt I’ll need it on the plane, but as of today, this giant thing is my new best friend.
I’ll have a better setup when we’re on site at concert venues, but this bag has everything I’ll need in a pinch. “Do I just…?”
He gives me a warm smile, showing no trace of judgment or amusement at my obvious nervousness. “Yep, just head on up the stairs. The crew will get your ID and get you situated.”
“Thanks,” I say, wondering if I should tip him. But before I decide, I hear someone shout my name over my shoulder.
“Dr. Valentine!”
I turn, and I don’t know why, but I feel immediate disappointment when the person walking up to me is unfamiliar and not…
Yeah, okay. I know why.
It’s been two weeks since Hendrix walked out of my office.
It’s been two weeks since he made it abundantly clear that if I took this job, he and I would be nothing more than acquaintances. And I should be relieved, right? I’m the one who just got out of a messy divorce and am definitely not ready to date.
Still, the brushoff he gave me hurts.
More than I like to admit.
“Hey.” Mystery man offers his hand. He’s tall, and I have to crane my neck up to look at him. His dark-brown eyes match his skin tone, and his smile is breathtaking. “I’m Ridge, the band’s manager.”
“Yes, we’ve chatted through email.” I nod, shaking his hand. “Please call me Zara. It’s nice to finally meet you, and thanks for all your help with the supplies. I know it was a lot in a short amount of time.”
Ridge emailed me about a week ago, asking me to make a list of medical equipment, supplies, and drugs that I would need.
I was thorough.
“That? That was nothing compared to some of the things I’ve had to procure.” He chuckles, then hands a wad of cash to the driver before steering me away.
I try not to calculate how much that must have been.
We walk side by side as he asks about my drive over. We both commiserate about the LA traffic, and I realize that his voice has a slight British accent. Has he lived here so long that he’s lost it, or does he purposely try to mask it?
Interesting.
When we reach the plane, he lets me go first. It’s one of those times when I truly wish male chivalry were dead because I would love to have someone to hide behind right now.
But I did not endure a million years of school, a hellish divorce, and two weeks of pep talks to turn back now.
Let’s do this.
What’s the first thing I do when I step onto the private plane filled with mega hot rock stars?
I trip.
And it’s not the kind where you quickly catch yourself before anyone notices. No, this is the kind of fall that makes your arms flail and people gasp. It’s the attention-grabbing, cheeks-heating kind of fall.
I take one step forward, and I don’t know if it’s the ridiculously plush carpet or if the gods themselves have chosen to smite me from the heavens. But suddenly, my shoe catches on something, and I’m falling face-first into—a chest?
“Nice entrance, Cupid.”
I freeze because, of course, it’s him. It couldn’t be a random assistant or a flight attendant.
No, it has to be Hendrix fucking Creed.
I look up and inwardly sigh because, yep, he’s just as hot as I remember.
His eyes are a soft denim blue with the tiniest flecks of gold near the irises.
He looks as if he’s had a haircut since I last saw him because he’s rocking an edgy undercut, and his honey brown locks are pushed back like someone just ran their fingers through them.
His beard is neat and trimmed, and I try not to think of all the places I’ve felt it scrape across my skin.
I was sort of hoping I had built him up in my mind and that all those sexy tattoos and lean muscles were just a figment of my imagination.
He stares down at me with a cocky smirk, and that’s when I realize my hand is still pressed between his pecs. Gripping his T-shirt. I spring backward.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to…” Grope you? Fondle your man chest?
“Who is this, then?” I hear someone say from behind Hendrix in a posh British accent. He turns and sighs at the giant beast of a man. His tawny brown skin is covered in intricate tattoos, and his thick, wavy brown hair is pulled up in a messy man bun at the crown of his head.
Is everyone in this band tall?
“This is Zara Valentine,” Ridge answers. He managed to make it onto the plane unscathed and stands next to me looking impeccable while I try to reclaim my dignity after nearly face-palming it moments ago. “She will be our on-site physician for the duration of the tour.”
“We have our own doctor now? Brilliant!” Tall guy grins, offering his free hand. The other is wrapped around one of those giant energy drinks. “I’m Darius, the drummer. Hey, will you be supplying condoms?”
“Dar, what the fuck?” Ridge mutters.
“Jesus,” Henrick groans.
“What?” Darius shrugs, looking completely unbothered.
“It’s a genuine question. I always run out.
This one time, I brought back these gorgeous blonde triplets to my room, only to find out I used my last rubber the night before.
I don’t know about you, but I go through a lot of them when I’m in a ménage situation.
” He notices Ridge staring at him. “You’ve never had that problem? ”
I can’t help the tiny smirk that tugs at my lips. This guy seems to have no filter.
“No,” Ridge answers flatly.
“Well, you’ll be glad to know I come fully stocked with Band-Aids, over-the-counter meds, and yes, even condoms.”
“Splendid. Well, if you ever need a visual aid to demonstrate proper placement—Ow! What the fuck?” Hendrix whacks him across the top of his head.
“Stop harassing her.”
“I’m not harassing her. I’m just being friendly. And kind. That’s what we do for newbies here.”
“I’m new,” Hendrix reminds him.
“No, you’re not,” Darius argues. “You and Z are so attached, I was starting to wonder if you were in some sort of throuple situation we didn’t know about. And we’d be okay with that, just so you know. Love is love, right, Doc?”
“Um, yup.” See? No filter.
“A throuple? Seriously? If you think Zander would let anyone touch his wife, even his best friend, you clearly don’t know him well enough yet.”
“Speaking of Elena,” Ridge interrupts. I follow his gaze and see a woman with chestnut brown hair and a gorgeous smile.
She’s dressed comfortably in high-waisted leggings and a cropped hoodie, and I’m guessing the toddler wrapped around her is the reason I was hired.
“I’m going to go introduce her to Zara.”
“Lovely to meet you, Doc!”
“You too, Darius.”