2. Chapter Two
2
Wren
I should’ve listened when my head told me to stay where I was. Instead, I chose to follow his broad form and watch as he disappears through a small wooden door. His voice is muffled as he talks to someone, and I quickly jump back when the door flies open a few moments later. He’s got his fists clenched at his side, the anger radiating off him like a heatwave, and I quietly follow behind him.
I’ve followed Raising Havoc since they got big, but I never would’ve imagined that Ryker was so much more attractive in person. His eyes, that look much darker in the pictures, are much brighter, like honey, with swirls of darkness in them. He's got a tattoo that pokes out from the edge of his sleeves, and I wish I could get a closer look at it.
He’s my client.
I shake my head and catch up to his form, which has disappeared through another set of double doors with a small window I can peek through. When I cast my gaze over the partition, he’s lifting the shirt from his frame and tossing it onto the ground without a care in the world. My breath hitches at the sight of his tightened muscles and sweat glistening on his bare chest, those tattoos covering his back standing out.
This is a terrible idea, I should turn around right now and figure out where my room is. He does know I’m staying here, right? Mack said that I wouldn’t have to worry about finding somewhere to stay, since I live over two hours away from his house, enunciating that there was plenty of room at Ryker’s place.
A thump brings me back to the present, and I snap my attention onto Ryker as he leans down to grab his shirt, brushing the fabric across his face to soak up the sweat. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when he lifts back up, and I quickly make my way back down the hall, then turn the corner.
There are so many damn halls in his house, I wouldn’t be surprised if I get lost trying to navigate this maze. When I come to the first open door, I disappear inside and slam a palm against my forehead from how easily my mind wandered at the sight of him. The sound of the floorboard creaking outside my door has me freezing against the wooden frame and sucking in a lungful of air.
I glance down briefly, noting his shadow hovering in front of the door, and silently pray that he will get away from it. After what seems like forever, he moves away, and I finally let out the breath I was holding while inching further into the darkened room. As soon as I flick the light on and note the black comforter draped over the large mattress, along with the masculine scent wafting through the air, I know I’ve gone into the wrong room.
Shit.
My phone blares in my pocket and I immediately rip it out, my brother’s name flashing on the screen, before punching the green button to answer it. “Remind me to never take a job like this again,” I mutter into the line before he’s got a chance to say hello.
He lets out a deep chuckle. “Well, hello to you too, sis.”
“It’s going to be a grueling, Eli.”
“I could’ve told you that much when you mentioned who you would be working with.”
I roll my eyes and sink onto the mattress Ryker will soon be lying in, then groan loudly. “I’m currently hiding in his room.”
“Uh, why?” His voice has gotten a tad harder, but I can’t bring myself to wonder why that is.
“Because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to find my way around a house,” I say, a fake smile plastered on my face. “Oh, and because he couldn’t bother to show me where my room was.”
“Sounds like you’ve got things under control over there.”
“Yep, everything is going perfect,” I say sarcastically. “What do they expect me to do when he’s not even open to me helping him?”
Elias sighs heavily. “You’ve gotta prove that you know what you’re doing, which you do, and maybe he’ll fall in line after that.”
“You could be right. It’s just going to be difficult, and he’s definitely going to fight me on stuff.”
“And you’re the perfect person to handle the fight, sis. Look, I’ll let you get situated. I just wanted to check in on you and make sure everything was okay.”
“You always know the right things to say.”
“Love ya, sis. You got this. Just remember why you’re doing it!”
As soon as I got the details of this therapy gig, I knew it was something I couldn’t pass up. All I’ve been trying to do is save up enough money to pay off my parent's house because they took out a second mortgage to help pay for my college tuition and master's degree. It wasn’t until I was almost graduating that I found out they did it, and I vowed to myself I’d give it all back when given the chance.
Most of the big chunks of money I’ve put toward it came from the other celebrity clients I’ve helped throughout my career, but those types of clients are few and far between.
When I first started at Mindful Solutions, I told them I wanted to work on short-term, high-profile contracts, knowing that I could earn large sums of money in a shorter time. It’s much more complicated than I thought dealing with celebrities and their egos.
It’s been a slow process, and I was worried I’d spend the next decade saving money up for it – until I got the call for this job with Ryker. I’m spending the next few weeks helping him work through his anger, which is detrimental to his well-being and being part of the band, and at the end of it, I’ll get enough money to put a chunk toward my parents' mortgage.
A knock sounds on the door, and I tuck my phone back into my pocket before walking up to the door and pulling it open. Ryker leans forward, his arm resting against the doorframe above his head, and I swallow thickly at the sight of his corded arms. “You gonna let me in my room, or do I have to ask your permission?”
I blink and catch the smirk on his face, then roll my eyes. “If you’d show me where my room is, there wouldn’t have been any confusion.”
His smile drops, and he pushes away from the frame with narrowed eyes. “Your room?”
“Well, yeah, Mack said there would be a room for me here.”
He curses under his breath, then shakes his head with a heavy sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, sure, follow me, Whitney.”
I glare at his back as he storms down the hallway toward another long hallway that likely leads to the end of the damn earth, and mutter, “It’s Wren.”
“Whatever.” He comes to a stop outside a door at the end of the fourth hallway, if that’s possible, and waves his hand at it with a fake smile. “Here you go, enjoy your stay.” Before I can thank him, he’s already walking away and heading back into his room.
This room is much different than the one I first walked into. Instead of black-out curtains keeping the sun from shining through the window, natural sunlight spills onto the carpet, and dust bunnies fly through the air in front of it. This bed is slightly smaller than the one in Ryker’s room, but it’s got a tan comforter draped over it instead of black, and it makes me feel more at home.
I find that I’m missing that masculine smell, which only frustrates me because this is off-limits. He’s a client with an anger problem, one that I’ve been hired to manage before he needs to go back on his tour. This is definitely not the trouble I need in my life right now.
When I lay back on the bed, I nearly pass out from exhaustion as the soft mattress dips under my weight. I take a few deep breaths with my eyes closed, taking in the warm sun glowing on my face, then remember that I forgot to bring my bag in here and jump from the bed.
Surprisingly, my red bag is outside my door, and I cautiously wheel it into the room with a frown. Is there someone else here I don’t know about?
I shake my head at the question. That doesn’t matter – as long as I’ve got my things and can start situating them in the room. As much as I’m hoping this job will only last a few weeks, I’m worried Ryker’s anger will require more than that, and I’ve come prepared for just that.
Once people realize he’s staying here in Arizona rather than New York City, I’m sure there’s going to be a crowd gathered outside the iron gates begging for a picture with him and I’d rather not have to push myself through that when the time comes.
Another knock sounds on the door, and Ryker’s voice echoes through the other side of it. “Foods in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Don’t expect it to stay there.”
Such a gentleman.
Now would be a good time to assess him since he seems upset about something. I quickly shove my clothes into the dresser sitting along one wall, then move over to the vanity next to it and place the small amount of makeup I brought with me onto the flat surface.
Even if I don’t go out anywhere, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared for the time to come.
When I’m done, I pull open the bedroom door and head down the hall in the direction of where I believe the kitchen to be. I’m relieved when I step into the living room, which has an open concept with the kitchen.
Ryker is sitting at the island, eating his food while watching a video on his phone, and I calmly enter and study his features.
As if sensing my stare, he looks up at me and glares. “Do you mind?”
“Everything okay?”
“Are we really going to do this right now?” He mutters, then tosses his fork onto the plate in front of him. “Let me guess, you want me to go deep into my feelings so that you can find the root of my problem?”
Instead of answering, I simply lean against the counter and stare at him.
He shakes his head and mumbles, “Not happening.”
As he says this, I pay attention to his posture and it straightens as if to prove he’s tougher than I think he is, but I can tell he’s bouncing his leg against the stool he’s sitting on and that shows the nerves he’s hiding deep inside – or the anger.
“What happened?”
“You showed up here. That’s what happened.”
“Are you against therapists?”
He sighs heavily. “I’m not against therapists. I just don’t think I need one.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Just like I told Mack, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. That’s how it’s always been and will continue to be.”
I arch a brow at the small hint of information, then turn back to the plate of food sitting on the counter. “Is this mine?”
“Are you the only one here?” When I don’t answer, he adds, “Then, yes, it’s yours.”
“Thank you.”
His only response is to grunt, and I grab my plate before making my way back into the bedroom.
Just from that interaction alone, I can tell that there’s a deeper issue going on – what did he mean when he said that’s how it’s always been? Why has it always been that way? Is this something that factors into his anger?
These are all questions I’m dying to ask him, but now is not the time to start asking them when he’s barely on board with me being here. I’ve got to ease into it, slowly pick at his brain while gaining his trust.
I kick the door shut behind me, then place the plate on top of my temporary dresser and change into something more comfortable.
While I chow on the baked pasta he brought up to me, I think about the day and how it could’ve gone better. Maybe tomorrow will be different, especially since I’m going to do my best to get inside his head and understand where all the pent-up anger is coming from.
When I finish the pasta, I simply place the plate on the nightstand and curl into the gloriously comfortable bed. It won’t be long before I finally fall into a blissful sleep.
Somehow, I know that this is going to be a lot harder than I originally thought it would be, and sleep is going to be my only saving grace.