16. Hollywood Tool
SIXTEEN
hollywood tool
I forgot how big Clinton was after a few weeks being gone from the dojo. Enormous. Six foot five, with muscles barely contained by his T-shirt, he’s huge. I feel like a poodle next to a Great Dane sitting across from him at the coffee shop. His left arm is the size of my thigh — if my thigh had been blown up like a balloon.
In other words, he’s intimidating. Which is absolutely perfect.
“This is really a thing? Off-duty cops act as security?” Brianna’s shock at the thought comes across clearly, but even I’ve heard of this. Someone’s kept her sheltered from real life. I’m sure Logan had something to do with that, but what about Char? I can’t believe this is simply the result of a lack of experience managing a pop star.
“It’s fairly common in Los Angeles. We don’t generally provide personal bodyguard services, but overseeing security for private events is the norm. With the nature of our shifts, some cops have more time on their hands, especially the young guys just starting out. It’s extra income.” Clinton speaks casually even in the presence of someone as famous as Brianna Royce. Unlike my first experience with her, he’s as cool and calm as can be. Zero word vomit.
Brianna nods, thoughtful. “Can we keep this quiet? I don’t want questions from the media about my new entourage every time I’m out in public.”
“It can be as hush-hush as you want. I’m just an old friend.” Clinton winks. “The only time we’d have other security around is during public events where extra security is expected. No one will ask.”
Brianna sighs and then looks over at me. “I feel like an idiot.”
“What? Why would you say that?” I turn to face her fully in the coffee-shop booth.
We’ve been sitting with Clinton in the back section for the past half hour, going over details. The cafés in Hollywood tend to be prepared for the occasional celebrity meet-up, with most having a semi-private back section. The things you find out when you hang with the rich and famous ...
“Because how could I not have known about any of this? Especially with what I’ve got going on. I assumed it would be public record and Star Tracker would be all over it. I mean, considering the host is a former lawyer who combs every celebrity arrest record and divorce filing for details.”
“Some police investigations begin simply as backroom conversations.” Clinton spreads his hands to emphasize our surroundings. “If there are imminent threats or sufficient evidence, then we begin proceedings to obtain a warrant. But otherwise, we don’t need to file anything official if we’re just looking into a situation.” He winks again.
“Bree, you shouldn’t feel bad. I’m betting Logan wanted to keep you scared. He wanted you to worry about all this so he could hold it over you, control your decisions.”
I hate being the one to say it to her, especially when I can see how my words affect her. She leans over and covers her face with her hands, shaking her head.
“God, I’m so stupid! That’s all the ass ever did was control every part of my life! My music, my clothes, my boyfriends! Crap, even my fears!” Her voice rises on every word .
So does my anger. Listening to her, hearing how pissed-off she is, I want to find that piece of shit and get my hands on him.
“Whoa.” Clinton puts his palms up, looking directly at me. “I know that look. You absolutely cannot follow through with those thoughts.”
“But dammit, Logan’s done as much damage to her as this freaking stalker!”
Clinton’s pointed look chastises me, but I still want to bash the guy.
“One, we don’t know how serious the letter-writing fanatic is. Most often, these types of fans get off on writing the letter itself and living out their fantasies in their heads. You only read about the few who act on them. Very infrequent, if you think about the number of celebrities and then multiply that by the number of fans. It’s rare.
“Two, I do agree it’s time to show Logan he has no power anymore. It seems to me he’s holding some as we speak. The letters. Taking a little trip to visit him is clearly the demotion he needs. I’ve got some time right now—what do you say, Zack? Want to head to his office and make some demands of our own?” Clinton’s eyes sparkle with anticipation.
He might be looking forward to this as much as I am.
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation. “But we aren’t taking her.” I thumb over to Brianna. I saw how nervous she was after her last encounter with Logan. I’m not putting her through that again.
Brianna agrees. “Fine by me. He likes to twist the knife whenever I’m around anyway.”
I’ll show him what twisting the knife feels like ...
“Hey.” Clinton snaps to get my attention. “What did I already tell you? Drop those thoughts. No getting physical with Logan. There’s no way that will fly later.”
I put up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. But I guarantee, five minutes with the guy, and you’ll be having the same thoughts.”
Clinton smirks. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”
Clinton leaves his car at the coffee place and jumps in with Brianna and me.
We used Brianna’s driver today so both of us could be free to make calls or take notes. Good thing too—I’m way too fired up to be behind the wheel right now. My mind’s racing all over the place. I’d be speeding for sure.
After dropping Brianna back at her office, with instructions from Clinton for her to stay with Char until we return, we head across town to Logan’s office. Of course, the agent extraordinaire had to have a pretentious high-rise office downtown, away from the Hollywood crowd.
The reception area gives the impression the guy is a classy businessman, even though I know what a tool he really is. Our surroundings are sleek, modern, and upscale: leather seats facing a glass wall, modern sculptures scattered down the hallways, clean lines and sparse details on all the furniture. A sharp contrast to the two of us sitting here waiting to confront the big man himself. Here I am, with torn jeans and a team jersey. Clinton isn’t any better in his off-duty attire—leather work boots and a fitted black T-shirt paired with dark jeans just tight enough to indicate his massive leg muscles. Intimidating in the physical sense, yes. But we basically look like hillbillies sitting in this office.
The secretary emerges from behind a large office door, nervously approaching us. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Lackey is not available since you don’t have an appointment.”
Clinton’s intimidating her. Not me. When people don’t know I have a black belt, they aren’t concerned in my presence. I don’t give off a threatening aura. The ones who know my capabilities are usually opposite me on the mat, and opponents would never show any intimidation. It’s all psychological warfare in a match.
Which reminds me . . .
“Interesting,” I say, leaning in closer. “I wonder how Mr. Lackey would feel if he realized any possibility he might have at renewing his contract with Ms. Royce is contingent on this meeting.”
Two can play at the manipulation game. That’s all Logan really wants anyway—his control back. If he thinks he can get it, he might drop the mask.
I feel Clinton sit up straighter at my game. He’s onto me. He isn’t worried I might actually let that happen, although the entire charade could blow up in my face if Logan realizes I’m bluffing.
I’d better add a little extra cushion.
“Ms. Royce has been experiencing some distressing events. Things that didn’t occur when she was with Logan. Why don’t you see if he’s willing to talk to us about it?”
Her eyes widen as she glances back at the still open doorway. The lady is practically vibrating with anxiety. Something tells me she knows how badly Logan wants Brianna back. She tells us to wait and goes back through the door.
I look over at Clinton, but he’s staring straight ahead, right at the door the secretary just went through. He shakes his head minimally. I almost miss it, but it’s there. Knowing immediately what he’s saying, I too turn back and eye the door hard.
Clinton doesn’t want to give anything away too soon. I realize there may be cameras capturing our every move. Logan could be watching us. So we stare at the door without talking.
We don’t have to wait long. The secretary opens the door all the way and gestures for us to step inside. Then she leads us down a short corridor to a double set of doors—wider, if that’s even possible. Once they open, we find Logan the picture of poised confidence, leaning back in his chair, arms bent, hands behind his head, and legs crossed, with one foot propped up on his desk.
Exactly the smug tool I was expecting.
“Gentlemen! Welcome to my agency. It’s good to see you again, Jack, and your very large friend.”
“It’s Zack , as I’m sure you’ve read in the headlines showcasing our ... interaction.” I nod over at Clinton. “This is Clinton. He works with me.” I don’t mention Brianna. I want Logan to think we’re here without her knowledge.
“Right. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
My body tenses at his phony tone. He’s a fucking jackass. I roll my gaze over his Italian suit paired with a lime-green dress shirt, unbuttoned on the top three buttons. There’s a thick gold chain around his neck. I want to vomit. This is the part of Hollywood I want nothing to do with. The part I avoided when I moved out here.
Probably why I never got a callback.
“Brianna got another letter,” I state matter-of-factly.
His expression changes from smug to concern. False concern. He might be the worst actor I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a few.
“That’s distressing news. I’m very sorry to hear that.” He steeples his fingers. “I’m assuming you’re here to seek my help?” A hint of a smirk appears on his face.
What an opportunist. At any sign of weakness, he’ll be ready to pounce. He knows these letters are Brianna’s weakness.
It’s getting hard to keep my hands to myself like a good boy right about now.
“We need the other letters.” I fight the urge to crack my knuckles, crossing my arms over my chest instead. The motion may look serious, but it’s really to keep from punching him.
Clinton takes the same stance. I wonder if he’s feeling it too.
Logan stands up, shaking his head as he does. “Now, why would I have kept something that was so distressing to my favorite client?”
Clinton speaks. “Are you saying you’ve destroyed—and therefore tampered with—evidence, which in itself is a crime?”
Logan stops mid-step, frozen by the implication. “That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?” This is his attempt to downplay the situation. “Those letters were just typical hyper-fan material. You know how some people get when it comes to their favorite celebrities— sleeping on sidewalks all week to be the first into a concert, crying in social media videos begging everyone to just leave their stars alone ... People go overboard all the time.”
“If these letters are so innocent, why lock them away in the first place?” I challenge his lies, knowing he won’t have an excuse worth listening to.
Logan stares at me. I’m used to an opponent’s stare-down, so his attempt to make me uncomfortable is about to backfire.
“I never said they were innocent,” he begins, but he leaves us waiting in silence as he continues walking closer to where Clinton and I stand near his desk. Logan leans against it while crossing his arms, wedging himself between me and Clinton.
His game is strange, and I’m getting tired of playing it.
“There is some sensitive content of the ... mature nature,” he says, making his meaning of “mature” clear by his tone of voice. “Like I said, some fans go overboard. After all, I can’t really blame them. Brianna is a hot piece of?—”
Before I can blink, Clinton has Logan caged up against the desk, his vile speech cut off by Clinton’s physical presence taking up all his air.
“Watch how you speak about Ms. Royce.” Clinton’s deep voice sounds menacing and nothing like it usually does. “You’re a pretty suspicious jackass. I wouldn’t try leaving the country if I were you.”
Eyes narrowing, Clinton’s speech strikes Logan silent. He’s got to be about to shit his pants, but he’s doing a pretty good job of masking it. Clinton glares at him for an additional thirty seconds before stepping back and nodding at me. Time to go.
We don’t say anything else as we turn to leave, but the idiot we’re walking away from seems to suffer with an inability to keep his damn mouth shut.
“I’ll be happy to represent Brianna again if she’s ready for someone who can actually get her career to the next level.”
I don’t turn around as I step out the door, saying calmly, “Keep dreaming, Logan. ”
When we make it into the elevator and the doors close, I address Clinton’s little display. “Impressive. You beat me to him by mere seconds. I almost got my hands on that jackass.” I tilt my head. “And what happened to keeping things from getting physical?”
Clinton shrugs. “I never touched him.”
“Thanks, by the way. She doesn’t deserve the way people talk about her.”
Clinton stays quiet for a few seconds, taking in my words. Then he speaks without turning to me, but his voice has the smooth confidence he spoke with earlier. “If I hadn’t met her and watched the way she is with you, I’m not sure I’d agree with you on that.”
How she is with me? I look at Clinton as soon as his words are in the air. I don’t have a chance to ask before he continues with his thoughts.
“She doesn’t deserve it. She isn’t really the diva everyone thinks she is. I’m right on that, aren’t I?”
I smile. He’s already seen past what Brianna is forced to portray to the world. He gets what I saw right away. “Damn right, you are.”
“Okay. Let’s get back to the office and set some parameters for her fan event.”
Before we step off the elevator, I reach out and shake Clinton’s hand. “Welcome to the team, man.”
I have a good feeling right now. Things are going to be all right.