8. Claire
8
CLAIRE
I spend the last half of the Stockholm concert sequestered in the dressing room with my laptop.
I was told I could watch the show from a VIP tent with everyone else, but I decided against it. I did some Jonah-related work at the start of the show, but now I’ve got to catch up on the MixMosaic rebrand. Conrad did say I didn’t have to work on the campaign now that I’ve been assigned to his son, but I haven’t been removed from the shared drive. There’s no harm in helping. I refuse to let Innovation Media lose this account because Brandt Macy lacks creativity.
I’m eyebrow deep in design plans when the dressing room door opens, and the redheaded woman from the hallway last night comes walking in.
“Oh.” I glance at the clock on my computer. “Is the show over?”
“Almost. They’ve still got encores. I just like to beat the mass exodus.” She smiles and takes a seat in a chair across from me. “I’m Callie. You’re Claire, right?”
“Yeah. Claire Davis.” I return her smile and close my laptop lid. “You’re Torren’s girlfriend?”
She nods and a soft pink blush tints her pale cheeks, the color drawing my attention to a scar on the left side of her face. It’s nearly three inches long, stretching diagonally from just under her eye to the corner of her mouth. I bring my eyes back to hers quickly, careful not to stare, but her tight smile tells me she caught me .
“Sorry,” I say with a wince.
“It’s okay. It’s kind of hard to miss.” Callie gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “I was in a pretty bad car accident. Got these, too.”
She holds her left arm out between us, pointing to several more scars on her forearm, wrist, and hand. Then she reaches up and parts her short red hair, revealing another scar.
“Damn.” The word slips out in a whisper. I immediately feel guilty, but Callie grins.
“Yeah. Damn. Got another on my stomach.”
She pats her abdomen, and I shake my head. I’m at a loss for words. From the looks of it, she’s lucky to be alive. I’m grappling with that realization, understanding just how bad the accident must have been, when I remember a headline from a while back.
“Was this in LA?”
She laughs awkwardly. “That’s the one.”
I have to bite my tongue on the impulse to say damn again. That accident made national news, but it was across the country, and I hadn’t paid much attention to it. I do remember that there were several fatalities, though. She truly is lucky to be alive.
I tilt my head slightly and hold her eye contact. Her eyes are light green. My old best friend has hazel eyes with swirls of green the same color as Callie’s. It makes my stomach twist and my heart ache.
“I’m glad you survived, Callie,” I say honestly, and she smiles.
“Thanks, Claire. Me too.”
The door to the dressing room opens, interrupting us, and a sweaty, shirtless Torren walks in. Callie jumps up from her seat and is immediately wrapped up in his tattooed arms. When he kisses her, I look away.
I glance toward the door and expect to see Jonah, but he’s not there. I wait a while longer for it to swing open and reveal him, but after a few minutes, I start to worry. I turn to Torren and Callie and clear my throat.
“Where is Jonah?”
They break apart and look at me. Callie is blushing again, but Torren is completely unbothered.
“He probably went to smoke.”
I sigh. “Where would that be? ”
“End of the hallway, there’s a door that leads outside. He’s probably there.”
“Thanks.” I look at Callie and give her a small nod. “See you later.”
Once in the hallway, I follow the EXIT signs to a large set of double doors. I push them open, letting in the night air, and step outside.
No cigarette smoke. No Jonah Hendrix.
“Goddamn it.”
I groan and take out my phone, dial his number and wait while it rings and rings and rings. A voicemail doesn’t even pick up. Of course this prick wouldn’t have voicemail.
I dial again, each unanswered ring stoking my irritation as I storm back into the building. I open the door to the dressing room and check inside, even though I know he won’t be there. He’s not. I knock on the door to the girls’ dressing room and then pop my head inside. He’s not there, either.
“Have you seen Jonah?”
“Probably smoking,” Sav says, and I shake my head.
“I checked.”
Her eyebrows scrunch with concern, and when I glance at Mabel, her expression is similar.
“No worries,” I lie. “He’s just...testing me. I’ve got it under control.”
I smile, wave goodbye, and escape back into the hallway.
“Goddamn it,” I groan to myself. First full day on the job and I’ve fucking lost my charge. This is the last thing I need. “I’ll kill him.”
I have two options. The first is I can call Wade Hammond and ask for help, but this mistake will probably get reported back to Conrad. I’d look like I can’t handle the job, and that’s not acceptable. No. I have to go with option two, which is to find the fucker myself, then shove my foot up his ass.
I’m not worried about Jonah Hendrix. I know it’s a challenge. He’s feeling me out. Looking for boundaries he can toe. I just have to be firm. He’ll see that I mean business.
I pull out my phone and send him a text.
Me
Where are you ?
It’s read immediately, but he doesn’t respond, and that confirms my suspicions. This is a game to him. I hunt down one of the hulking security guards and ask them to bring me back to the hotel. It takes fifteen minutes to get there, and when I’m finally climbing out of the car, I’m so worked up that my hands are shaking.
“Do you need help, ma’am?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t need help but thank you.”
“Still, take my number.” He pulls a business card out of the glove compartment and hands it to me. “Call if you need assistance with anything. I’m Damon. I’m Mr. King’s security detail.”
I read the card, then look back at Damon. Hammond told me that each band member has an assigned detail for public outings and events. He offered to bring Jonah’s security guard on full-time, but I told him no.
I’m wondering now if that was the right choice.
“Why are you here? I was told concert security and bodyguards were two separate teams.”
“They are, ma’am, but Mr. King prefers full-time security for himself and Ms. James. Ms. Loveless does as well. Mr. Hendrix and Ms. Rossi don’t like bodyguards unless it’s necessary.”
I nod. It would make sense that Torren’s protective of Callie, especially in the wake of her accident. Sav Loveless requiring twenty-four seven security makes sense, too. She’s one of the most famous people on the planet.
I put the business card in my purse and look back at Damon.
“Thank you for the lift. I might need a ride in a few minutes to...somewhere.”
Fuck, I have no idea where to start. If he’s not in there...
“I’ll wait for a bit.”
“Thanks. If I’m not back down in fifteen minutes, just assume I’m good.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Davis.”
“You can call me Claire.”
He nods and returns my smile, then I head into the hotel.
I ball my shaking hands into fists and try my best to take deep, even breaths as I walk quickly through the lobby. I step into the elevator and keep my eyes fixed on the door, avoiding the mirrored walls as I rocket to the top floor.
I don’t know what I’ll find, but I know I cannot let Jonah see me rattled. I can maintain control of a spoiled rock star. I’m a professional.
The elevator doors open on our floor, and I can already hear music thrumming from the suite I’m sharing with Jonah. The closer I get to the door, the louder it gets. He’s having a party. He’s having a fucking party in my room.
It takes me three tries to get the key card to work, and when it finally does, I throw open the door and march into the suite.
The loud, dark, empty suite.
What the fuck?
There’s a Bluetooth speaker blaring on the coffee table, so I walk over and turn it off. Then I hear it.
Moaning.
Moaning, and squeaking, and...
Spanking ?
The feminine yelp that follows the sound of a crack confirms it.
He certainly wasted no time. Bolted immediately after the show so he could come back here and get laid. Jonah Hendrix is no better than a horny teenager.
I march toward the bedroom with every intention of forcing an NDA and condoms on the participants, but when I step through the door and flip on the light, I see red.
Jonah is on my bed.
He’s on my bed, and he’s naked, with his dick shoved down the throat of an equally naked blonde woman. But that’s not what freezes me in my tracks and steals the air from my lungs. No. It’s the naked brunette woman the blonde woman is straddling that does that. The naked brunette who has her face shoved between the blonde woman’s thighs.
He’s having a fucking threesome on my bed, and all I can think about are the...juices...that are probably on my duvet. All that foreign DNA. It’s going to be all wet and weird.
Just...ew.
I stare with my mouth gaping as Jonah looks at me lazily. Eyes hooded and lips swollen, hand fisted in the blonde woman’s hair as she gags around him.
“Trouble. I’ve been waiting for you.”