11. Eli
eleven
Eli
Jace : Has anyone heard from Cam since the punch that rocked baseball?
I stifle a laugh at my big brother’s message. It’s wrong to laugh at Cam’s misfortune, but he had it coming, sneaking around with Nico Romero’s little sister. What did he expect? The guy has hated my brother for over a decade. Cam’s lucky all he got was a fist to the jaw and one to the ribs.
Mason : No. He refuses to answer my calls and messages. E?
Eli : Same. Have you tried siccing Rhys on him?
Jace : Yes. Didn’t work. Cam spoke to him for less than five minutes before hanging up. Two hours later, a new hat, glove, and bat arrived.
Eli : Well, at least he’s not dead.
Jace : We need to do something. I don’t like seeing him like this.
Mason : Same.
Shaking my head at my phone, I hold back my eye roll. These guys act like it’s the end of the world. Sure, he’s a mess on the mound—pitching meatballs and hitting nothing—but it’s temporary. I saw him and Talia together. They’ll work it out. It’s only been a week.
Eli : You act like it’s been seven years or six months. He’s fine. Let’s give him more time.
Jace : Low blow, E.
Mason : So that’s how it is? Jace, did you know our dear brother Eli had his car stolen?
Mason : By a woman.
Mother fucker.
Jace : I know we are supposed to be thinking about Cam, but this just got interesting.
Eli : She’s a client, and it was a misunderstanding.
Mason : Sure it was.
I close my texts, ignoring the buzz of new messages rolling in. I do not need comments from my brothers aka the peanut gallery. There is nothing going on with Callie and there never will be.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I tap on the security camera app. The live feed fills my screen, and I bounce around all the cameras, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Like with DJ Reigns’s security footage, I come up empty.
Something about those cupcakes still bugs me, and I can’t put my finger on what.
Opening the stage camera, I find Callie rehearsing with her choreography team. She started rehearsing acrobatic routines for the concert, and I don’t like them one fucking bit. Between the closet, the stage slip, and the cupcake, I’m constantly thinking about her well-being.
Yeah, that’s the reason you keep thinking about her.
She’s my client, and I made Hudson a promise. I would watch over her and keep her safe while he’s gone. I’m not thinking about her for any other reason.
Sure you’re not.
I could punch myself with all the unprofessional thoughts and feelings I have for Callie. Living in denial is the only way I will survive whatever this thing that keeps tugging me towards her is. I can’t be another one of those creepy Hollywood guys who date clients ten years younger.
What I can be is a good agent. I can make sure Callie has everything she needs. If I’m that guy, I can wonder if the stage is safe for her. I can double-check there are no nuts in her food. I can keep tabs on her security guard, making sure he sticks by her side like white on rice. But that’s as far as it goes.
My eyes eat Callie up as she stands tall, listening to the team instruct her. Even in black and white, the woman in the sequined costume—standing on the stage with her hands on her delectable hips—is stunning.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only person who thinks so. I’m up and grabbing my jacket when Callie purses her lips in distaste as the tech buckling her into the harness grazes her hip with his fingers, lingering on her body for more time than acceptable.
He’s lucky I’m not there to rip his fucking hand off for making her uncomfortable.
Overreacting much? I bristle at my inner thoughts.
The tech backs away, and her shoulders relax at the distance he puts between them. That doesn’t stop me from getting to her. I’m out the door and on the road to the hall in seconds. No one touches her without her permission. He’s going to learn quickly that if he fucks with her again, he’s fired, and I will personally throw his ass out on the street.
My earlier anger has lowered from a boil to a low simmer when I arrive and find Callie exactly where she was when I was watching her on camera. She nods as she listens to the choreographer, then mimics the choreographer’s movements with the long pieces of fabric hanging from the ceiling.
Everyone steps away from Callie as the stage darkens. The first notes of her song begin, and the spotlight turns on. The look on her face when she’s hoisted into the air has my chest tightening and my protective instincts kicking in.
How can nobody tell she’s scared? Fear is written across her face, plain as day. She does not want to do this.
I can’t help wondering if that flimsy-looking harness is safe. My heart leaps out of my chest as she hangs fifteen feet off the ground and somersaults. There are no nets below her, only old gymnastics cushions and pads.
Callie grips one of the aerial silks hanging from the ceiling, and my heart leaps into my throat as she spins, legs wrapped around the fabric as her head dangles down towards the ground. She looks like a lilac studded disco ball, sparkling overhead like a star captured out of the night sky and placed here for us mere mortals to worship.
The song ends, and they lower Callie to the stage. When her toes hit the ground, the breath I didn’t know I was holding whooshes out of me.
“That’s a wrap for the day, everyone,” the stage choreographer shouts.
The room erupts in chatter as Callie’s eyes find mine. All rational thought leaks out of my brain as a slow smile spreads across her face, and like a moth to a flame, I make my way towards her. Her eyes never leave mine as she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear and her pink tongue swipes across her plump bottom lip.
“Hey.” My voice is way too gruff. I place my hands on the stage and look up at the bombshell above me.
How is she even prettier after eight hours of working her ass off, dancing and rehearsing?
“Hey.” Callie half kneels to the ground before getting pulled back by the harness still attached to her hip. Her face turns beet red as she fumbles to unclip the carabiners holding her back.
“Need some help?” I raise my eyebrows at her, fighting off a laugh. She’s so fucking cute when she’s flustered.
“No, thanks. I got it.” She unclips the harness and falls to her knees, which brings our faces closer.
Visions of her on her knees, for other reasons, have my dick going half-mast in my pants.
“I thought you had to work at the office today.”
“I finished early.” The lie slips easily off my tongue. Callie doesn’t need to know I was watching her through the security camera, turned into a jealous overprotective beast, and rushed over here instead of doing my job.
“Does that mean you’re driving me to the recording studio again?” She bites that plump, pink lip of hers.
A lip I want to suck on, feel wrapped around my cock…
“If you want,” I grit out, willing my cock not to move.
What is wrong with me? I sound like a gruff, moody douche. Knock it off.
My tone doesn’t bother Callie as her lips turn up into a shy smile. “I’d like that.”
Without permission, my chest puffs. She wants me to drive her. I wonder what else she wants. Don’t go there.
“Did you eat?” I ask, unable to help myself. She brings out this protective, nurturing side of me that wants to take care of her all the time. Spoil her and never let her out of my sight.
Callie playfully rolls her eyes. “Yes, sir.”
My cock hardens to steel at being called “sir” . By Callie.
Fuck, I want her to say that again, only breathier. As she…
Nope. Stop it. Right the fuck now.
“Good.”
“I’ll go shower and meet you in thirty.” She brushes a strand of her blonde hair back into her messy bun.
“Yep.” My mouth goes drier than California in a drought as my brain involuntarily pictures Callie naked in the shower, water cascading down her toned body, my hand coiling her hair around my fist as I fuck her up against the cold tiles.
“Hey, Callie,” the back-up dancer that wants his hand to be chopped off calls out, pulling me from yet another round of dirty thoughts about Callie.
My client, I remind myself.
The dancer swaggers over to us, looking way too fucking confident for his own good, wearing fancy sneakers, baggy sweatpants, and a white tank top with the sleeves cut off so deep you could see his abs from the side. He has perfectly styled shaggy hair, a bright white smile, and boyish good looks. Emphasis on the boyish. And fuck, do I want to punch this guy for interrupting me and Callie. For talking to her at all. And definitely for putting his hands on her while they dance.
Callie plasters on a fake smile, and though it shouldn’t, the sight makes me feel ten feet tall.
That’s right, fucker. She’s not interested.
“ Oh. Hey, Josh,” she says, not bothering to get up from her position.
Josh. What a douche name.
The D-bag thumbs towards the other dancers gathered around in a circle and chatting behind him. “We’re all going to a new club—Catch 22—opening tonight down in Hollywood. We wanted to know if you wanted to join us. I’m friends with the manager, and she’s going to hook us up with a private room.”
Sure you are, dude . His invitation is code for “Callie, please join us so we can get our drinks comped, and then let me take you home and fuck you after”.
Over my dead fucking body.
I stare daggers at the scrawny twerp.
He purposefully ignores my presence, staring at Callie, his eyes not-so-subtly sweeping over her tits as she sits back on her heels.
Asshole.
“Um, thanks. But I have to hit the studio tonight, so I don’t think I can make it,” she says sweetly.
“No worries. Maybe next time?” He grins at her.
Next time . I scoff under my breath.
“Maybe.” She shrugs.
Maybe ? Like hell she’ll be going out with him next time.
More, like, never . I choke back the growl in my throat and force my face to stay unreadable as I step back and shove my fists into my pockets, waiting for this little chat to be over.
“Cool.” The tool looks my way and smirks. “You’ve got my number if you change your mind. Or, you know, if you need anything ,” Josh says innocently, but I know what he’s doing.
Yep, I’m definitely punching that scrawny tool in the face.
Callie ignores his last comment, waving him off before bringing her attention back to me. “Thirty minutes?”
“I’ll be here, waiting.” Forever .
Maybe I should just punch myself and hope the blow stops me from having these thoughts.
With feline grace on four-inch heels, Callie pops onto her feet, leaving me speechless. Every single thing this woman does captivates me. So much so, I can’t stop staring at the apex of her thighs, wondering if her pussy would be mouth level if I laid her on the stage and stood between her legs to eat her out. Or at her perfect ass as she walks away and disappears around the corner, out of view, leaving me with visions of gripping it as she rode me hard, taking my cock like she was made for it.
Scrubbing my hands through my hair, I take a deep breath and will my cock to behave. When I’m calm, I do a lap around the hall, chatting with stagehands, double-checking cameras, and watching everyone flit around the room until it empties. By the time I make it to Callie’s dressing room, enough time has passed for her to be ready to leave.
As I turn the corner, I catch Silla slinking out of her office. Strangely enough, her presence has been scarce these past few weeks, which seems highly suspicious. Silla loves parading Callie around, garnering as much attention as she can by riding Callie’s coat tails like the parasite she is. She’s the Wicked Witch of the West, Cinderella’s stepmother, and the Evil Queen all rolled into one, wanting to control Callie and her career.
After watching her with the seamstress and her lack of presence, my gut says Hudson’s right. Something isn’t right between Silla and Callie.
I try to step back out of the hall, but Silla catches the movement. Catches me. I bite back a groan. Fuck.
“Eli, you’re here,” she croons with a seductive lilt.
My balls shrivel up, and my skin crawls.
Before I can stop her, Silla grips my forearms and smacks two kisses on each of my cheeks, way too close to the corners of my mouth. “When are you going to take me to dinner, darling?”
How about never?
“Silla, lovely to see you.” I avoid giving her an answer. I step back, putting distance between us as I brush myself off, erasing the feel of her claws on me. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to meet with Callie about something.”
Silla’s eyes narrow into slits for a flash before she smiles. “Business? Shouldn’t I be there for that?”
“It’s all good. No contracts to sign today. I just need to ask her something about the recording studio schedule for tonight.”
Silla hums, unconvinced by my excuse. She adjusts her purse on the crease of her elbow and fluffs her hair. “Well, I better be off. There’s so much to do before our tour starts.”
“Have a good evening, then.”
“You too, Eli, darling.” And just like that, Silla gets on her broom and flies away.
A full body shiver wracks my spine as I taste her cloying perfume on my tongue.
I’ve met vipers like her. They are usually stage moms living vicariously through their children, banking all the dollars while their kids work to the bone.
Interesting…
“Hey.” Callie’s sweet voice rips my concentration away from the weird exchange with Silla and lands it back on her, where it wants to be. She’s wearing black jeans shredded at the knees, exposing her tan skin that begs my hand to touch it, and a sheer white top that shows one of her silk-smooth shoulders.
Her beauty knocks me on my ass every time I see her.
Callie looks me up and down, and her neatly groomed eyebrows crunch in such an adorable way it makes me want to kiss the spot between them. Kiss away her worry.
“Are you okay?”
Her question throws me off. “Fine. I just had a run-in with Silla.”
Callie looks down the empty hall, then back at me. “I can smell,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
I bark a laugh, and I don’t know if I’m laughing at her astute observation or the cute way her nose wrinkles, but I can’t help it.
“We all can. Come on, Cal. Let’s get out of here.” Throwing my arm around her shoulder—where she fits all too damn well against my body—I lead her down the hall.
“So, what’s up with you and Silla?” I ask.
Callie stiffens under my arm. “What do you mean?”
“Hmm. Let’s see. You’re a nice person, and she’s not. It has me wondering why she’s your manager.”
“She, uh, d-discovered me,” Callie stammers.
“Doesn’t mean you have to be loyal to her. It’s okay to outgrow certain people in this business as your career takes off.”
“I know, and I will fire her when I’m ready, but not yet.”
“Is something going on I should know about?” The alarm in my head goes off again.
She shakes her head. “No. Just trust me, okay? Please?”
Trust. I keep giving it but get nothing in return.
I drop my arm from her shoulders and glance down at her dark-brown eyes. My instincts tell me there is so much she wants to say but won’t. Or can’t?
More alarm bells sound in my head. Not wanting to ruin the few minutes we get to share on our ride to the studio, by chatting about Silla, I agree, going against my instinct.
“I trust you, Callie. Just know you can always come to me. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here waiting and ready to help.”
“I know. Thank you, Eli. You don’t know how much your trust means to me.” Callie wraps her small hand around my wrist.
Her touch might as well be a hot iron branding on my skin with the way it burns, and the heat spreads through my body, lighting my entire nervous system on fire.
She releases her grip on me physically, but mentally, she’s had me in a tight grasp since I met her. The barrier I’ve erected between us starts to shake and crack. There’s no way the wall is going to withstand the hits from Callie’s battering ram. She’s breaking the damn construction down one hit at a time, and all I can do is brace for impact with open arms.
Because once she gets through, there’s no going back. I’ll never let her go.
And that scares the absolute fuck out of me.