8. Luke
EIGHT
LUKE
Calla has been laser-focused on preparing for the tour we’re leaving for in two days. She’s been practicing every day, and when she doesn’t have rehearsal, she’s in the studio.
It’s impossible not to notice that she’s burning herself out, but it doesn’t seem like anyone cares. Ashley keeps pushing Calla to stick to her rigorous and demanding schedule. She’s literally pushing us out of doors to make sure we leave one place on time to get to the next. Her manager calls every other day to make sure Calla understands how important the tour and the album are for her.
I’ve been on the brink of piping up a few times, but the lecture I got from Cody after the coffee shop pictures dropped had me taking a step back and minding my own business.
I’m not here to interfere with her business. I’m here to protect her from outside dangers.
Speaking of dangers, she’s barely seen any of Thompson Sledge since the pictures came out. They went to dinner once. As always, Thompson mostly talked about himself. Calla left that dinner looking more exhausted than she did after a four-hour rehearsal.
Today, Calla has a photoshoot and an interview, the last one before she’s on tour for the next few months. Apparently, it’s a big deal because Ashley has been running around like a mad woman trying to get Calla ready. They did a bunch of beauty shit the other day where I had to wait in a waiting room for almost two hours while Calla got a facial and her nails done. She had to cut out caffeine for the week leading up to the shoot because, as Ashley informed me, it’s not good for your skin. The lack of caffeine has made Calla even more cranky than usual. I’ve barely seen her smile over the last few days and truly, I didn’t realize how much that would bother me. Not that I’m waiting on Calla to smile or anything, but… well, maybe I am. Shit. Who knew.
Today, Ashley’s been rushing around the house, urging Calla to hurry in the shower and then putting these weird sticker things under her eyes.
“Those will look good in the pictures,” I tell her while we’re sitting at the kitchen island eating breakfast. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she’s wearing a big robe. Her breakfast is two eggs and half an avocado. It’s like they’re trying to starve her.
She gives me a side-eye. “It’s to reduce swelling, you idiot.”
I chuckle. She’s feisty today. “Ah, right.”
She’s then whisked away to get dressed.
Calla comes down with her hair in a big bun on the top of her head and in leggings and an oversized T-shirt with Thompson’s face on it. If I were her, I’d burn that shirt. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, and I can’t believe that she doesn’t see right through it. Or maybe she does and is choosing to ignore it. What do I know?
Thompson doesn’t care what Calla does. Even after the pictures of us surfaced, he didn’t seem bothered by them at all. Maybe he’s just that confident. But if it were me and my girl was photographed with another guy, I think I’d start making sure I was there for her more than I had been.
Thompson took the opposite approach and just gave her even more space.
“Nice shirt,” I say as Calla walks past me.
“He is my boyfriend,” she mutters.
“Hm. Where’s he been then?” I ask as I follow her to the car. Sometimes, it’s fun to poke the bear. This job has been so unbelievably monotonous for me, spending hours outside of recording studios and rehearsal rooms. Sadly, the only fun I have is when she’s giving me attitude.
She stops in front of the back passenger door and waits for me to open it.
“He’s been busy,” she says before she ducks into the car.
Busy, my ass. Part of me wishes she’d let me tail him. I bet my right leg that he’s fucking around on her.
“Hmm,” is all I say, taking the seat next to her.
“Do you have something you’d like to say, Mr. Pierson?” She cocks an eyebrow at me.
“There are several things I would like to say, Ms. James .” She furrows her brows when I call her that. “But I won’t because it’s none of my business.”
“No, please. Enlighten me,” she says.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Come on. Tell me. I’m dying to know what’s going on in that tiny brain of yours,” she says sarcastically, making me chuckle.
“Nah. I think I’ll keep it to myself.”
She doesn’t like this answer. As much as she acts like she doesn’t care what I, or anyone else, thinks about her, I can tell she does.
She reaches over and squeezes my side, making me jump.
I look over at her to see her looking at me with one raised eyebrow. So, I reach over and squeeze her thigh. She jumps and starts laughing. It’s the first time she’s laughed in days.
She grabs my side again, so I do it back, and then we’re both grabbing and poking each other and laughing. Suddenly, we’re having a fucking tickle fight in the back of this SUV like fucking teenagers, and I have no idea how we got here.
Ashley glares at us from the front passenger seat. “Stop it, you two.”
We both freeze as we look at her.
Shit. What the fuck am I doing?
I straighten up and Calla does the same. Just like that, her smile is gone again.
We stare out of our respective windows and sit in silence for the rest of the ride.
The driver takes us to a studio on the outskirts of the city, and I walk Calla to her dressing room and wait outside the door. More waiting…
At least when I was working in D.C. I had a real threat to look for. There’s always someone trying to take out a fucking politician after they say something stupid at a press conference or vote on a bill someone didn’t like. It certainly kept me on my toes.
Following Calla is plain boring. Besides a few fans running down the street to get her autograph, everything has been easy. Even her stalkers aren’t really stalkers. More like obsessed fans who think they know her and want to be friends with her.
I stand outside her changing room for over an hour, watching people walk in and out of the room.
Finally, they get her for the shoot. She walks out of her room in a floor-length red gown that’s so tight it looks like a second skin. I try my best not to stare at the curve of her ass as she walks past me. Her hair is down and full of curls that bounce as she walks. Her makeup reminds me of those old Hollywood glam women that I only know about because my mom was obsessed with them before she died. She was always showing me pictures.
Calla looks just like those pictures. She’s got her head held high as she walks down the hall toward the room where they’re taking the shots.
In the room, there’s a white backdrop and a black suede chair that looks an awful lot like a throne.
The director sits her down and shows her how to position herself on the chair.
I stand toward the back of the room, careful not to get in the way, but I’m entranced with Calla. She’s always beautiful, but there’s something about her right now that I can’t take my eyes off.
The photographer starts clicking away, and Calla’s eyes move in my direction. I have no idea if she can see me through all the bright lights, but when her red lips part, I suddenly wonder how they would look wrapped around my cock.
I quickly push that completely inappropriate thought out of my head, but I still can’t take my eyes off her.
My dick twitches slightly in my pants, but I resist the urge to adjust myself. If she can see me, the last thing I want is for her to think I’m over here getting a boner.
I move further away from the shoot to give myself space. I don’t know what’s going on in my head right now, but it needs to stop here.
I think I’ve got myself under control until Calla comes out over an hour later in her next outfit, which isn’t much of an outfit at all. It’s leather pants and… that’s it.
Her hair is now straight and strategically placed in front of her chest to cover her tits… barely.
If there is a God, he’s testing me right now, I know it.
Calla smirks at me when she sees my eyes drop to her chest. Fuck. That’s unprofessional.
“What’s wrong, Luke? Boobs make you uncomfortable?”
I certainly wouldn’t describe looking at her tits as uncomfortable. What’s uncomfortable is that she’s my client and I shouldn’t be looking at her chest, no matter how badly I want to right now.
“No. I love tits.” Ah, fuck. Why did I say that? I can handle being on the front lines with bullets flying past me, but a topless Calla James makes me lose my ability to think straight? Get it together, man.
Thankfully, she laughs instead of calling me a perv. “Good to know.”
I position myself to the side of her, a few steps in front, actually, so that I’m not tempted to look back at her. While she shoots, I keep my eyes anywhere but on her.
I almost sigh with relief when she comes out in another outfit that covers all the important parts.
After being in front of the camera for hours, they sit her down and start asking the interview questions. She talks about the tour, her next album, and how she got started in the industry. Everything I’m sure she’s answered a million times for other people, but she does it all with a smile on her face.
After being around her for almost a month now, I can tell that the smile she’s giving them is fake, but no one else would know unless they’ve been around her for more than a day.
I’m starting to understand how she came to be dubbed America’s Sweetheart. She gives the people what they want and always sounds so positive and excited about everything. Even when she’s barely keeping it together on the inside.
Finally, when I’ve never been so ready to get out of a place, Calla opens her dressing room door. She’s back in her oversized T-shirt and has taken off all the makeup and put her hair up loosely on top of her head.
“Ready?” I ask.
“God, yes. I’m exhausted.” She looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing up.
I follow her down the hall and notice her start to sway a bit as she walks, so I stand next to her and wrap my arm around her waist to steady her.
I half expect her to swat me away, but she doesn’t. She leans into me. She fits perfectly into my side. Almost as if she belongs there.
“Do you do this often?” I ask when we’re on our way back to her house.
“What? Photoshoots?”
“No, working yourself to exhaustion.”
She looks over at me, her eyelids struggling to stay open. “Sometimes. It’s what’s expected. I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“What about what you need for yourself?”
She chuckles. “What I need doesn’t matter, does it?”
“That can’t be true,” I say, but I’m not sure I believe what I’m saying. I’ve seen it firsthand.
“It is true. I’m the pawn. Everyone always gets what they want from me.”
“Maybe you should stop letting that happen.”
Her lips curve up in a small smile as her eyes flutter closed. “Maybe.”
Her head tilts to the side, and her breathing slows as she falls asleep.
I watch her for most of the drive just to make sure she’s still breathing, which is ridiculous. I know she’s not a baby, but she looks so peaceful like this that I can’t help but stare.
I attempt to wake her once we’ve parked in the driveway, but she doesn’t budge. So, I do the only thing I can think of and carry her inside and up to her bedroom.
She doesn’t even stir when I gently place her on her bed. I look down at her for a moment, contemplating if I should help her change into pajamas. I really hate having to look at that douche Thompson’s face on her shirt, but I have to remind myself that he’s her boyfriend and she willingly put that shirt on this morning.
I opt to leave her in what she’s wearing but pull a blanket up from the end of her bed and cover her.
I turn to leave and hear her quietly ask, “Will you stay with me?”
I freeze on the spot. I wasn’t expecting this question, especially not from her. What’s even more surprising is how much I actually want to say yes.
But it would be a terrible idea.
After I hesitate a moment too long, she adds, “Not to sleep with me or anything. I’m just so tired of being alone.”
My common sense comes rushing back. “I can’t, Calla. It would be inappropriate.”
“Right, yeah. Stupid of me to ask.” She rolls over and pulls the blanket up to her face.
“Is there someone I can call for you?”
“There isn’t anyone to call.”
It’s confusing and sad that someone so loved by millions of people across the world can be so lonely.
“What about Thompson?” I cringe at my own suggestion, but I truly hate to leave her alone.
She scoffs. “I’m beginning to think he couldn’t care less about me anymore. It’s fine, Luke. I’m fine. Just go.”
“Calla…”
“Just go, Luke.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. Maybe the fact that her boyfriend is an idiot? That I said no to her asking me to stay? That I actually want to stay for some insane reason?
None of this makes sense, and I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.
I shut her bedroom door behind me and loosen my tie.
When I took the job with Cody, I expected to be protecting high-profile clients who I wouldn’t have time to get to know. Not an emotional woman who needs more support than I can or am willing to give her.
But dammit, I’m starting to wish I could give it to her.