Chapter Eight #2
I don’t blame him. He often creeps me out with his invasion into my personal space.
“Let’s get up to your suite and out of the open area,” Ben suggests.
Knowing I’ll have plenty of time to see the sights when we come down for rehearsal later, I agree. Because the upside to leaving the large lobby is being alone with my bodyguard in that luxury suite.
* * *
Ben
As I watch, Summer studies the gray curved sofa in the center of the main room, the floor-to-ceiling windows behind it, the large king-size bed, and the double bath and Jacuzzi large enough for two, and sighs in delight.
I see extravagance in my line of work, protecting politicians and actors who come to the city, people who are used to the lap of luxury and take the things around them for granted.
Her enjoyment of the ridiculously huge suite and the amenities provided for her by the hotel, courtesy of Jade Glow, is a joy to watch, and I hope she never loses the sense of gratitude and awe that makes her so special.
She steps out of the bathroom she’s been ogling, a big grin on her face. “You know we have got to make use of that tub while we’re here,” she says, eyes twinkling with unmistakable desire and playfulness.
My cock twitches in my pants, almost as if asking me if we have time. I glance at my watch. We left the city early and have hours before her rehearsal.
I shrug and begin to unbutton my shirt.
“Right now?” she asks, stepping up to me and sliding my shirt off my shoulders, her soft fingertips grazing my skin.
I checked the lock when we arrived and now unhook my holstered gun, planning to set it down beside me in the bedroom.
“I didn’t see anything else on your agenda until later this afternoon.” I grasp her around the waist, guiding her to the bedroom, where we make sizzling use of the king mattress, then lounge lazily in each other’s arms in the huge tub. And Summer is nearly late for rehearsal.
After a flawless practice run, I surprise her with a reservation at a steakhouse owned by a famous television chef, telling myself that we have to eat.
That it doesn’t mean anything special that I made the reservation and asked for a quiet table in the back, or that she was so happy I’m not making her eat dinner in the hotel room that she almost had tears in her eyes and all I can think about is how I can put that glowing look on her face again soon.
Sure. Like the fact that I’ve fallen into a routine, living with her as her boyfriend isn’t a big deal.
I told myself I learned from my father’s mistakes, and I turned around and repeated my own, getting involved with a woman who, despite her best intentions—because I don’t think Summer is anything like my selfish mother—will take off and move on to bigger and better things.
And I knew the end result going in. Isn’t that why I insisted on great sex only?
I have no business violating my own rules, but deep down, I know I am.
By the time this assignment ends, she’ll be ripping my heart out of my chest again, only this time, it will be way worse because I am falling harder the more time we spend together. But that doesn’t mean I can take a rational, much-needed step back.
I am in it for the painful duration.
* * *
Ben
The next night, even I can to tell Tawny’s performance isn’t her best, while Summer’s production and voice are spectacular.
The other songstress’s lack of energy and occasional off-key moments are visible for all to see.
Tawny doesn’t take the rough night well, throwing a tantrum behind the stage and storming out, presumably to her suite upstairs.
I don’t envy her bodyguard or the people who surround her their jobs dealing with a diva in the truest sense of the word.
Even her agent doesn’t seem to have his usual calming effect on her.
Afterwards, we are taken to an exclusive part of the nightclub in the hotel, roped off for a party at which Summer is a guest. I linger in the background, close enough to keep an eye on everyone and everything, including a good view of the only entrance to the elevated party area.
A waitress in a skimpy black cocktail dress offers me a drink, but I decline, instead cataloguing the servers, noticing they have specific women working this area of the club, making my job easier.
Tawny shows up late, but she obviously knows enough not to blow off such an important event. Photographers take pictures, and even Jade Glow makes an appearance, spending time talking to both Summer and Tawny after having seen both women’s performances.
Summer, dressed in a short sparkly red cocktail dress, beams as she speaks to the major pop star, and the other woman is clearly impressed with Summer as well.
My stomach cramps at the sight, knowing she is taking another step toward her dream, a huge positive for her, another nail in the coffin for us.
I scan the crowd. Her agent, who managed to show up after all, and whom I met earlier, is schmoozing Jade Glow’s agent. And once Jade herself leaves, Tawny’s bitchy attitude returns. Summer keeps herself away from the other woman, talking to music executives who came by as well.
An hour passes, and I hope Summer will want to head upstairs soon.
I’m not a fan of the loud music or flashing club lights surrounding us.
Arms folded across my chest, I study the area, stopping immediately as an unfamiliar woman wearing the black dress waitress uniform approaches Summer with a drink on her tray.
Summer, I’ve learned, isn’t a big fan of hard alcohol because it makes her voice raspy.
Wine is her choice. White wine, as she had with Ivy, or a glass of champagne, which is why the red-colored alcohol on the serving tray is a red flag, along with the fact that I don’t recognize the cocktail waitress carrying the drink, and I’ve been watching the same women for as long as we’ve been at the club.
I don’t like how things are adding up in my mind, but someone unfamiliar handing her a drink she doesn’t normally prefer is odd. True, there is a better chance I am overreacting and the alcohol isn’t drugged, but I trust my gut when it comes to the job.
Summer glances at the waitress and gives her a curious look before accepting the drink. Acting on instinct, I dart forward with every intention of stopping her from drinking, but a man in a suit steps in front of me and I have to push him out of the way to get to her.
I’m not in time to stop her from bringing the glass to her lips before I reach her and grab it out of her hand.
“Ben! What was that for?” she asks.
I grasp her elbow and pull her aside, ignoring the stares of people around us. “Did you order this drink?” I ask.
“No. A waitress brought it over, and I was so thirsty. All this talking over the music,” she explains.
I turn to look for the woman who served her, but she is gone.
“What’s wrong?” Jack, Tawny’s bodyguard, steps up to us, grasping Tawny’s arm and pulling her into our circle.
“Hey! What’s with the manhandling? What’s going on?” Tawny asks.
“I think someone drugged Summer’s drink.” I take a sniff, but of course, only inhale the scent of red wine. “If it’s GHB or Rohypnol, it won’t smell. And according to recent studies, it gets lost in the color and fragrance of dark drinks.” There is no way to test it.
“What the hell?” Jack turns to Tawny. “We’re going up to the room. Immediately.”
“The police will be questioning you,” I warn the other woman.
She frowns my way but doesn’t reply. Instead, she grows quiet and lets Jack lead her away.
I need to get Summer to her room, too, but we also need to get this incident on record.
“I drank from it,” she whispers in fear, her gaze shooting to mine.
“A lot?”
She shakes her head. “A tiny sip before you stopped me.” She looks up with gratitude in her gaze.
I slip an arm around her waist and pull her close. “You’ll be okay. Even if I’m right and the drink was drugged, with the minute amount you ingested, you won’t need the hospital.” Although I can always take her there immediately if the need arises.
Just like after the trashing of her dressing area at the last event, Summer and I stay for hours while the police come and take our statements.
They agree to test the drink, although they concur with my assessment that there is very little chance of anything showing up.
And they write down Tawny’s name and promise to question her and her entourage, especially since she was missing from the area for a long while.
The good news is that if Summer finished the drink or taken enough to poison her system, she’d be showing signs of the drug, but she is coherent, just exhausted.
Meanwhile, I request the manager let us view security video, because I would recognize the unfamiliar waitress who suddenly showed up to serve Summer, and if there is a chance the woman met with Tawny, maybe we’ll see it.
As it is an Atlantic City casino hotel, security cameras are everywhere, even on the bar.
Summer sits in a chair in front of the cameras, me behind her, leaning over to observe the screen in front of us. It doesn’t take long to isolate the thirty minutes before Summer was served.
I scan the crowded bar on the screen, quickly zeroing in on the woman with blonde hair, wearing a black cocktail dress, sitting at the bar. “That’s her.”
The security guard who is running the video pauses and pulls a close-up of her face. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “I am.”
“I don’t understand,” Summer murmurs.
I squeeze her shoulder. “Run the video.”
The woman orders a drink, and sure enough, the bartender passes her a glass of red wine.
“I don’t recognize her,” the manager, who is also watching carefully, says. “She’s not one of ours.”
“Yet she walked to the side of the bar, picked up a serving tray, and mingled through the crowd, into the roped-off area, and handed Summer a drink,” I say through clenched teeth.