Chapter 2 #2
“Yeah, right.” Moss shot him a mock sneer as he rose. “I’m headed out to do my ‘easy’ job. Be at the first aftershow party in an hour. I want those influencers to be enthusiastic when they release their Survival content.”
“Hey, will that Samoan chick be there?” Pete asked. “The one who does her videos in a pirate outfit and wears the purple contacts?”
“Nobody finds bassists sexy,” Steve informed him. “Give it up.”
“Do we really want to encourage the word pirate to be associated with our music in any way?” DJ queried.
Pete ignored them, doing a fist pump when Moss sent him a thumbs up. “I’ll put in a good word for you, Pete.”
DJ caught the towel Steve tossed toward him and mopped his damp neck and face. “Want to hit some night spots after the schmoozing?” Steve asked. “You can wear a disguise.”
“Not tonight.” DJ dipped his head toward Roy.
“Yeah, shit, I forgot. You’re on lockdown until they find that nut job. That blows. Hey, we could do one of the private hotel parties instead and take a couple of Henry’s guys.”
“Naw, but I appreciate it. Shoot me some pics. Not a dick pic.” DJ pointed a finger at Tal, who grinned unrepentantly. “I can never unsee that shit.”
“It’s unforgettable, that’s for sure.”
Groans and catered food were thrown toward the drummer. Tal picked a mini quiche up off his chest and popped it into his mouth, chuckling.
“I’m going to my dressing room to get out of this makeup,” DJ said, rising. “I’ll meet you guys at the limo.”
A chorus of agreement answered him, while Roy intercepted him at the door. “If you have ten minutes, I want you to meet my other team leaders.”
“Sure. Just bring them to my dressing room.”
When the rap came on the door, DJ was sitting at a vanity table.
He drew in deep breaths, his shoulders expanding, contracting.
The post-show centering exercise helped release the chaotic energy a show created, leveling him out for aftershow demands.
As he did it, he flexed his picking hand in a tendon exercise for his fingers.
He’d left the door open so was aware when Roy arrived.
Another point in the man’s favor, he waited for DJ to finish his breathing exercise and acknowledge him before he stepped inside and introduced the woman and man accompanying him.
G was wiry and sharp-eyed, while Warren, a tough-looking bastard in his fifties, had the Sam Elliott, comfortable in his own skin, “don’t mess with me or I’ll kick your ass” vibe.
Roy didn’t waste time on preamble. He knew DJ was on a schedule.
“G’s a country fan. She likes swarthy beefcake, so she has no interest in you.” Roy swept his gaze over DJ’s lean frame. “She’d also rather wear earplugs than suffer through what you call music, but she’s a professional. She’s done SERE training so she can perform her duties under duress.”
DJ gave Roy a mild eat shit look. “Obviously, building up my ego isn’t in her job description, either.”
“You have an army of screaming fans for that.”
DJ rose and offered his hand to G. True to Roy’s description, he detected no starry-eyed groupie in her manner.
She had a strong grip, a short, sassy hair-cut and direct green eyes.
Her smooth face was like silky marble. The black slacks, white shirt, a sidearm and a well-cut jacket gave her a sexy and severe look.
Every celebrity had to deal with people who wanted something from them or only saw the fame. Someone not like that brought a different challenge, a mixed bag of relief and trepidation. The trepidation was the oh shit, they might see the real me. Asshole, dork, not the image. The shadow negative.
The larger the star, the more fragile the ego. It became easier to assume the role and not show the shadow anymore.
Hell, that shadow thing is good. DJ grabbed his notebook from the dressing table and jotted the words on the page. “Sorry, I know this is rude,” he said, not looking up. “But if I don’t get it down, I lose it.”
Roy had already anticipated him, lifting a subtle hand to the other two so they knew not to interrupt him. DJ caught it in his peripheral vision.
As much as the insight pleased and impressed DJ, it was nothing personal or specific. Roy was familiar with working with performers. The other pitfall of meeting someone who treated him like a human being was the temporary desire to latch onto them the way a patient did to a doctor or nurse.
Or a shrink. Probably more accurate.
“Hate your music, but your lyrics are inspired, Mr. James,” G said unexpectedly when he set the notebook aside. “Maybe you could let Jason Aldean or Miranda Lambert do a cover of your songs.”
“Tim McGraw would be better,” DJ said. “His song selections come closer to the essence of mine.”
Amused approval filled her blue eyes. “Solid choice.”
Roy gestured to the older man. “Warren did protection detail work in the heavy metal scene in the nineties and aughts. He normally handles our corporate clients in foreign countries, but he’s getting back up to speed fast.”
When they shook hands, Warren whistled. “Strong for a scrappy, skinny guy,” he observed.
DJ wiggled his fingers. “Roy crushes skulls to get that kind of grip. I just play the guitar. Since you aren’t officially working yet, all of you are welcome to come to the afterparty. Really good food and top shelf alcohol.”
“Thanks, but that breaks the first rule of security,” G said. “We don’t party with clients.”
“Need to stay sharp. Understood.”
Warren flashed him a grin. “Nope. Civilians couldn’t survive how we party. We’re hardcore.”
DJ liked the look of these two Roy back-ups. “I’ll keep that in mind. Roy, can you stay a moment? I need to ask you something.”
Roy turned to his two employees. “I’ll meet you at the hotel. We’ll go over tonight’s report and work out the next few days.”
After G and Warren took their leave, DJ sat down at the vanity again and started wiping off what his makeup artist had applied a few hours before. Roy stayed by the door.
“That report you were talking to them about,” DJ said. “Can you send it to my phone?”
“You want to know the details?”
“What’s being done to protect my life is of passing interest to me.” DJ gave him a look in the mirror. “I don’t give up control easily, Roy. No matter what it looks like.”
“Noted.” Roy could have let it pass, but the vibes between them kept flashing like a disco ball. “My job isn’t to play games with you, Mr. James. Don’t mess with me.”
DJ’s very appealing lip curled at the corner, his penetrating eyes sliding over Roy.
“Noted.”
Rising, he discarded his shirt and folded his long body over a sink to dunk his head under the water and scrub out the product. He reached for a towel and straightened, tossing his hair back. Water dripped down his back, wetting the waistband of the jeans.
He could be doing it deliberately, or he was that damn appealing, even without trying. Roy realized he was just standing there, watching him. Thankfully with his mouth closed and no drool. “If that’s all you needed—”
“Do you do the BDSM club scene, Roy?”
DJ’s face emerged from the towel folds. The wayward curls draped on his high forehead shadowed his eyes and gave them different color depths. He didn’t have a weak face.
Roy gave the kid a look intended to be a clear warning. “That’s none of your business.”
“My business is open to you, but yours isn’t to me?”
“Correct. Beyond vetting me to make sure I’m not a homicidal maniac, one who pretended to be a top-rated security agent for years until I could get close to my ultimate pretty-boy target, my private life is private.”
DJ moved toward the door, reaching out to close it. Roy put his hand on the frame, preventing the move. Thanks to their matched height, it put him and DJ eye to eye. The slimness of his body would a good fit against Roy’s greater mass.
“I need to ask you something, and I don’t want anyone to overhear,” DJ said. “Serious.”
Roy let the door go and DJ shut it. Roy put a few steps between them as DJ leaned against it, shirtless, the water still beaded on his shoulders. His curling hair was dark and wet against his corded neck, and the light mat of chest hair gleamed with the dampness as well.
“I wanted to know if you’re familiar with that scene, because I may want to go to a club or two along our tour route. The more upscale ones have good security, right?”
The places that came to mind met Roy’s standards. “We can make it work. And yes, I’m familiar.”
The golden lights in DJ’s brown eyes took on a greater intensity. Roy could almost see him imagining what Roy might have done within the walls of those places. He didn’t offer any confirmations. But the hint of vulnerability in the set of DJ’s lips revealed the truth.
“You’ve never been to a club, have you? You’ve just thought about it. A lot.”
“A lot more lately,” DJ said, giving him a sweeping look. Kid was irrepressible. “How about G and Warren? Would they be cool with it if I’m on their shift?”
“G and Warren have seen it all. It won’t faze them.”
“But you’ve…played. You’re a Dom.”
“Yeah.”
DJ pushed away from the door and returned to his chair in front of the mirror. “Okay, that’s what I wanted to know.”
Roy picked up a slight strain in his voice, and figured he knew the cause. He opened the door, but paused in the threshold.
“Eat that power bar, Mr. James. People do unwise things when their blood sugar crashes.”
“I can do unwise things even after a full meal, Mr. Bloodwell. Is Roy your full name?”
“No.”
DJ looked up. In the mirror, Roy saw what he’d been hiding. Raw interest. Need. Desire.
“Your life is on the line,” Roy told him. Calmly. “It’s hard for a normal person to wrap their minds around someone trying to kill them, let alone someone who lives in a celebrity fantasy world. But you’re a smart guy, so cut this shit out now.”
“I have a different idea,” DJ said, a determined light in his eyes. “You give me your time when you’re off shift, and when you’re on, I treat you and you treat me as we should. Professionally.”