4. Luke
FOUR
LUKE
It’s been exactly a week since I got to L.A. I’ve unpacked my things into the hotel I’m staying in temporarily. I’m hardly ever there, though—just to sleep and use their very crappy gym. Other than that, I’m always at Calla’s.
When they told me Calla James was always on the move, they weren’t kidding. It’s been nonstop since I landed.
Rehearsal, interviews, meetings, dinners. I can honestly say I don’t envy her one bit.
I don’t envy myself either, rolling out of bed at four a.m. so I can be at Calla’s no later than six, as per her team’s specific instructions.
Using the code Talan gave me, I go inside and do my normal checks of the house. Calla’s personal trainer shows up right on time, as always. It’s like he’s never heard of a rest day. But from what I’m gathering, Calla’s team puts a lot of pressure on him to make sure she’s in shape. I’m sure they’re paying him big time, so I can’t blame him. Sadly, it looks like it’s at the expense of Calla. It’s obvious to me that she’s worn out. But that’s not my business.
I help myself to some coffee and then head to the security room while Calla does her workout. I can see when she leaves the gym on her way to get ready for the day, so I send my check-in emails to Cody, submit a few expense reports from my last assignment, and head to the kitchen to meet Calla for the day.
She doesn’t seem to notice me as she stares out the back window, looking out at the city with a cup of coffee in her hand. There’s an empty plate in front of her, so at least I know she got to eat something this morning.
The amount of times she’s been pulled away from her meals is infuriating, but it’s not my place to say anything. She should be able to stand up for herself. At the very least, the people she surrounds herself with should care enough about her to allow her to eat.
I lean against the door frame with my hands in my pockets and watch her. Her hair is down and slightly curled, and she’s wearing green workout leggings and a black sports bra, her typical rehearsal attire. She’s thin. A little too thin, in my opinion.
She finally notices that she’s not alone and turns toward me. She’s not smiling this morning, though she doesn’t usually smile when she sees me. That’s fine by me. I’m not here to be her friend.
But today she looks sad. For a moment, I feel bad for her. I wouldn’t want her life at all.
“Morning.” She walks to the sink and rinses out her coffee cup.
“Ready?” I ask, not bothering with a greeting.
She sighs. “As I’ll ever be.”
She grabs her bag, and I follow her and Ashley out the door and into the SUV. She doesn’t scroll on her phone while we ride in silence to the rehearsal place, just stares out the window as the world passes us by. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if something was wrong, but again, it’s none of my business. I can’t help but wonder if her toolbag of a boyfriend did something. I’ve only talked to him a handful of times, but I can already tell he’s a complete asshat. I’m not sure what she even sees in him.
I focus my attention back on today’s schedule. She has a morning rehearsal, lunch at her manager’s office, and then a dress fitting for an event she’s going to next week with Thompson.
Lovely. Can’t wait for dress shopping. Cody better give me a hell of a Christmas bonus for this assignment.
We get to the rehearsal space, and Calla jumps out of the car before I can get to her door. I don’t know how she expects me to actually do my job if she’s running out of cars before I can be at her side. I let it slide today, though, since there’s no one out here, and she’s in a mood.
I follow her into the building, where she tosses her bag down and immediately starts warming up. Today, I make a split decision to sit inside the rehearsal room. Calla raises a brow when she sees me sit down in what I assume was Talan’s chair, but she doesn’t say anything.
I checked out the building as soon as I started, and the lobby is the closest door to Calla’s rehearsal space. If anyone was trying to get to her, they’d have to come through the front door or the back door, which would still bring them past the lobby. So, that’s where I usually sit to save myself from listening to the same pop songs over and over again for hours.
Today, I changed it up for no particular reason.
Calla works with a vocal coach for a bit before running through the first half of her show. The frown from earlier is gone as she interacts with her band and dancers. She’s a complete professional, I’ll give her that.
Eventually, Ashley comes in and tells Calla we have to go soon, so she excuses herself to change outfits for a lunch meeting.
“So, was that the best show you’ve ever seen?” she asks me once we’re in the car.
I huff a laugh. “It’s the only show I’ve ever seen, so you win by default.”
“What?” She turns and looks at me wide-eyed. “You’ve never been to a concert?”
“No.” Between coming from a low-income family and then leaving for the military, there wasn’t time or money for concerts, vacations, or other things that my friends all got to experience growing up.
“Wow. Well, wait until you see the final show. It’s going to blow your tiny little mind,” she says, smiling. I’m glad she seems to be in a better mood.
We finally pull into the parking deck of a high-rise downtown. I get out of the car first, and Calla follows me. I’ve never been to this building before, so my eyes are moving to every corner for possible threats. Luckily, it seems to be mostly empty.
We follow Ashley to a conference room in her manager’s office. Before we walk in, Calla silently squares her shoulders and attempts to relax her face before plastering on a smile. It’s like I just watched her mentally put on her mask.
“Calla James. My favorite person. How are you today?” a man in jeans and a very bright orange T-shirt says when we walk into the conference room. His information was in Calla’s file: Brayden O’Riley, thirty-eight, entertainment agent/manager. And he makes a disgusting amount of money off of Calla.
“Hi Brayden. I’m doing well.” The two of them hug. He looks in my direction when he pulls away from her.
“Bray, this is my new bodyguard, Luke Pierson.”
“Ah, right. The other one was having a baby, right?” Brayden asks, even though I’m sure he doesn’t care.
“Well, his wife did, yes. He sent me pictures.” She pulls out her phone and scrolls through a few pictures. Brayden says, “Aw,” but it’s obvious he doesn’t give two shits. Calla either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because she keeps smiling at her phone.
“Luke, you can have a seat right there,” Brayden states, pulling away from Calla and pointing to a spot at the end of the table.
“I’ll stay back here, actually. No need for me to be at the table.” I take a chair and roll it toward the back wall, making myself comfortable.
“Don’t worry about him, Bray,” Calla says, pointing her thumb in my direction. “He wants absolutely nothing to do with me.”
Brayden huffs a laugh. “He might be the only male on the planet, then.”
I look away when I see Calla’s cheeks turn pink.
The two of them sit at the table where Ashley is already staring at her iPad. Calla quickly reaches for one of the sandwiches in the middle of the table and starts eating.
The next two people who walk into the room I recognize as Calla’s mom and dad. It seems strange for her parents to be at a business meeting since Calla is an adult, but what do I know.
When they’re all seated around the table, Calla points to a bag of chips. “Mom, will you hand me those chips, please?”
Her mom looks at the chips and then the fruit bowls next to them. “Don’t you think you’d rather have fruit?”
Calla’s brows furrow together. “No, I’d rather have chips.”
Still, her mom hands her the fruit. I grip the armrest of my chair a little tighter. Just give the woman the damn bag of chips. I’m about to get up and hand Calla what she asked for when her dad chimes in.
“Dana, just give her the chips.” Her parents share a pointed stare before Dana gives in and slides Calla the bag of chips.
“Thank you,” Calla responds in a clipped tone. I don’t know what the hell just happened here, but it was weird as fuck.
“Ok, let’s get down to business,” Brayden starts the meeting off. “Calla, after the tour, we want to release your next album immediately so we can roll it into the publicity for the tour.”
Calla stops eating and puts her sandwich down. “The album is nowhere near being done.”
“I know, but we can have you record while you’re on the road. That way, it’ll be all nice and ready right after the tour.”
“No. No, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to rush it. And you said I could have some time off after this tour. I need that time off.”
“Listen, Calla.” Brayden takes a tone that makes him sound like he’s talking to a child and not a fully grown adult who’s making all of his money for him. “The label is knocking on our door asking for songs. We’ve got to give them something. And if we want to stay on this popularity train, we’ve got to keep the momentum going. That means we need another Calla James album and fast.”
She shakes her head again. “No. We have songs we can give the label. They’re good. But I’m not going to force an album. I want to give my fans a good product, not some bullshit that makes men in suits happy.”
“Calla, honey. You’ve got to be reasonable. The tour will last three months. That’s plenty of time to record enough songs for an album,” her dad explains.
She looks at him with wide eyes. “But what about my time off?”
“You’ve had plenty of time off. Didn’t you go to Europe last month with Thompson?”
“That was for an event, and I met with the head of the UK label while I was there. I don’t really call that time off,” she counters.
“How much time do you need? A week? Two? What would you do with more time off than that?”
“I want more than two weeks. I want at least a month.”
“Calla…”
“Please,” she pleads, on the brink of tears. “Please, I need this.”
“We’ll talk about it again when the time gets closer,” Brayden responds quickly, trying to appease her.
Calla’s shoulders drop, and she hangs her head for a moment to collect herself. I think everyone in this room knows that they won’t be talking about it when it gets closer and that she won’t be getting her time off.
Brayden continues on with his agenda for the meeting. Calla listens and manages to answer when it’s required of her, but I think anyone with eyes could tell that she’s checked out. I notice she doesn’t pick her sandwich back up like the news of her canceled vacation completely wiped her appetite.
After the meeting, Calla hugs everyone goodbye, and I silently follow her out of the building. Once we’ve driven off and are en route to the dress fitting, I can’t help but speak up. “Are you ok?”
“Yep. I’m great,” she responds too quickly.
“Are you sure?”
Without looking at me, she says, “Weren’t you the one who said you weren’t here to be my big brother? That you’re here to keep me safe? Why do you care if I’m ok?”
Ok, yep. I deserve that. I’m not good at the small talk shit. I’m not cut out to be friends with people besides Cody, that is. The military taught me that. I lost too many friends fighting, so it’s not worth it to me anymore.
“You just seemed sad. I wanted to make sure you were ok. Not at risk of doing something, uh, unsafe.” Jesus Christ, what am I even mumbling about?
She scoffs and turns away from me again. “I’m not a danger to myself if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m fine.”
“Alright.” I don’t know what I was hoping to get out of that conversation. It’s not like I want her to open up to me, but I’m just not sure she has anyone she can open up to. One thing I learned from my therapist (Cody made me see one before he hired me, and truly, I’m glad he did) is that you need at least one person you can talk to when you’re feeling down.
At the dress shop, Calla is whisked away to a dressing room while I wait by the door of the shop. They’ve closed it down specifically for Calla to try on this dress, but I keep my eyes moving the entire time. You can never be too sure. If one person notices her through the window, all hell could break loose.
Calla walks out in a floor-length black gown. It sparkles when she moves, and I find myself thinking that I kind of like that. She steps up on a pedestal in front of a big mirror.
She looks stunning. The pictures I’ve seen of her on the internet all dressed up don’t do her justice. She really is a beautiful woman. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.
“This dress is amazing. You guys did such a wonderful job,” Calla says, turning this way and that in the mirror.
“Thank you for wearing it. We’re so excited to see you in it on the red carpet,” one of the girls says. Her cheeks are pink and I can tell having Calla wear this dress is a big deal for them. “Would you mind if we get some pictures of you in it? We won’t post until after the event.”
“Of course,” Calla obliges. I’m learning that Calla James is not good at telling people no. Even though she’s had a shit day, she’s still willing to make their day.
After the pictures, Calla turns around to take one last look at herself in the dress. Our eyes meet in the mirror. I should look away. I know I should. But I can’t. I cannot physically take my eyes off her, and I don’t fucking know why.
She looks away first and straightens her shoulders. Her power move, I’ve noticed. She steps off the pedestal and walks back to the dressing room without another glance in my direction.