4. Monroe
4
MONROE
I don’t normally have a thing for cowboys. Most of the men I dated in the past had softer skin than mine. I stare at the thick calluses on Cash’s hand resting on the white leather armrest of my private jet.
I bet they’d feel amazing in certain places. Lucky Texas women.
He showered, packed, and said goodbye to his family, but he’s still wearing the dirty cowboy hat he had on when I arrived at his ranch. The chain of the dog tags I saw around his neck a year ago at the Sundance Pavillion is peeking out of the neckline of his shirt. The visual of him riding the enormous bull so up close is burned inside my brain.
Hottest thing I’ve ever seen, hands down.
What is he, six foot four?
I’m now his employer. I don’t sleep with the staff.
I’ve kept to that rule from day one, and it’s always served me well. Cash Redford’s powerful, muscled body, height, sleeve of tattoos, and callus fingers aren’t going to change it.
Still, the curiosity I have to know what those calluses feel like dances around in my head. I’ve had bodyguards for almost seven years. They’ve become like another body part to me, as unnoticeable as my own hand or foot.
Ignoring Cash Redford would be like ignoring a house fire—while living in the house. He’s silent, but I have a feeling getting used to him being around isn’t going to be as easy as it normally is.
You’re being ridiculous. He’s here—begrudgingly—to protect you. You have a tour to focus on. This is your career! You’ll adapt.
I shift my eyes away from his work-worn hands, clearing my throat as I look out the window. Ember has been typing away on her laptop since we were wheels up in Texas.
With two weeks until I leave for Korea, there are still plenty of preparations to be made. Cash will be training so he can familiarize himself with the routines and protocols in the event of an emergency, either during a concert or anywhere out in public.
My hands haven’t stopped trembling since the picture from inside my bedroom was sent to my personal phone number. The police are already on the scene, but I doubt they’re going to find anything. Whoever the intruder was, he must’ve hacked the security system.
A new threat with that kind of ability is not what I needed right before going on tour for six months. The security company my record label uses has the shittiest response time. They’ll send the police out, who won’t find anything, and then they’ll put me up in a hotel for a few days while my passwords get changed and call it a day. I’ll take it upon myself to have my house deep-cleaned from top to bottom .
Things had been quiet on the unstable-fans front since the attack in Texas last year. I was hoping that I was overreacting and overpreparing.
I guess not.
“Did they set me up at The Plaza?” I ask Ember, rubbing my palms together.
She nods, continuing to type. “Two rooms, one for you and one for the bodyguard on shift. Brooks is up first.”
Cash leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking up at Ember. “Does she normally stay at The Plaza after something like this happens?”
Ember peers up at him, nodding slowly.
“I think another hotel would be a better idea. Anything that’s a pattern should change.”
Ember glances from my face to his. “Like what?”
He sits back, shrugging. “Where she parks her car, where this plane lands and takes off, where she buys a new dress, where she eats her morning bagel, and where she sleeps at night. Anything and everything.”
I stare at him, wondering if I’ve finally found someone who gives a shit about my safety enough to put effort into a plan, even if it’s a hassle for everyone else. The overpaid, shitty security company sure doesn’t.
“Do as he says,” I tell her.
My anxiety can’t take any more hits at this point.
The following week is a whirlwind of tour preparations, costume fittings, hotel room-service meals, and DoorDash. I’m too afraid to go out in public after what happened, and I can’t stomach going to my house without three bodyguards with me.
Cash refused to onboard with the security company and is instead employed by me directly. The record label executives weren’t pleased with the decision, but they didn’t argue with me about it for long.
After the final trip to my house to get a few last-minute personal items, Cash opens the door of my black SUV for me before climbing in after. He’s still wearing his cowboy hat, and I’ve spotted the bulge of his handgun on his hip several times.
He met with the security company three times before telling them he got the picture and started guarding me on regular shifts. He also called the police station to see if they’d gathered any evidence on the break-in at my house. There was no sign of forced entry.
“They came through the dining room window. It wasn’t locked,” he says, eyeing Harold in the driver’s seat.
The other two bodyguards are behind us in an identical black SUV. I pause the typing on my Notes app, where I always log new song lyrics that come to me, swallowing over the sudden lump in my throat.
My eyes meet his. “How did they get past the security system?”
He shrugs. “Hacking it is the only explanation.” He shifts his big frame to face me.
His jaw clenches, like he wants to say more but is holding back. His dark emerald eyes stay locked on mine for a few seconds before we both look away. The contrast of his eyes against his tanned skin and black hair is stunning.
Harold pulls up to the Chateau hotel, where paparazzi are gathered.
“Fuck. Is there another entrance?” Cash grumbles.
I laugh, pulling a thick pair of black sunglasses out of my purse. “It’s always like this. I’m surprised it took them this long to find me.”
He groans, reaching for the handle of the SUV. I don the glasses and crawl out behind him. He stays close to me as I walk through the crowd with my head tilted down, cameras flashing.
“Monroe, are you ready for the tour? When do you leave?”
“Monroe! How do you feel about your boyfriend being photographed out with his costar last night?”
I drown out the voices and camera clicks. Once we reach the automatic doors, the crowd stays back. Hotel staff rushes to meet me with wide eyes.
“Hello, Miss Blue. Welcome back. Do you need anything before going to your room?” The clerk blinks at me, his blue eyes wide and sparked with excitement.
He steps too close to me for comfort, and I feel Cash’s warmth behind me grow closer until his chest is nearly brushing my upper back.
The manager—a tall, thin woman with a black bob—approaches on his heels with a grim expression. “Thank you, Jones.” She ushers him away. “Miss Blue, if you need anything, please let us know. We have increased security for your stay, and police are on their way to scatter the loitering photographers out front.”
I nod my thanks, too exhausted for anything else, before heading straight for the elevator, where the other two bodyguards finally catch up to us. Cash pushes the button for the top floor.
I contemplate why I feel so much safer around him than I do with my security detail. They’re supposed to be the best. Sun Records insists on using them, reassuring me repeatedly that they’re stepping up and filling in the holes, but due to my rapidly growing level of fame, they can never be one hundred percent free of incidents.
With the rising use of social media and the very real parasocial relationship that many fans have, being stalked and obsessed over are becoming more and more common for celebrities.
The elevator rises into the sky with all four of us in tense silence. I haven’t seen any of the other bodyguards speak or interact with Cash. When we reach my floor, he steps out first, nodding to me that the coast is clear. He moves like someone with military training, like he’s always coiled for an attack.
When I make it to the suite, Ember is inside, talking on the phone and typing on her computer. I have a team that handles my career, but Fidel manages all of them. He’s sitting at the desk, twirling a pen around on the wooden top, staring out the window.
He was the one who discovered my talent for singing and piano playing when I was fourteen, performing at a small- town festival. He was visiting his ailing mother, who lived in my hometown.
My mother jumped at the chance for me to go to Hollywood. I got my face from her and my musical talent from my father. According to Mother dearest, if she hadn’t gotten knocked up at fifteen and if my father hadn’t been an addict, they would have both been famous.
She didn’t hesitate to send me off with Fidel because she wanted some of her independence back. She was only twenty-nine years old and hadn’t ever gotten to experience life as an adult without a child in tow. I inherited my fierce independent streak from her. She was surprised when I called her to tell her about my first single being released. She never actually believed I would succeed in Hollywood.
Fidel slowly became a father figure to me in the following years.
“Yes, she’s ready to go. Everything is set up for the first night in Seoul. She’ll have three days to acclimate, do sound checks, and get ready before the first night kicks off.” Ember turns to face me, holding a hand up in an absentminded wave.
Fidel stands, offering a half smile at me. “How was your workout, mija?”
I did a quick set with Marty at my home gym—the last one we’d have for a while. Being in physical shape for my tour is imperative—not just because of the cameras on every angle of my body, but because performing onstage in front of hundreds of thousands of people for three hours is hard work.
I nod. “It was good. We need to talk. ”
I glance at Cash. His eyes are carefully sweeping the area on the streets below. I turn back to the other two bodyguards. I don’t even know their names. Brooks has been on vacation.
“Can you give us a minute?” I look at Cash. “Please stay.”
The others nod, exiting the room. The door clicks shut behind them. I exhale a deep breath before facing Fidel. It’s high time I did this, and I don’t know what’s held me back for so long.
“I want to hire a new security company. Someone on my own, not affiliated with the label.” It’s on the tip of my tongue that I want to task Cash with finding them, vetting them, and ensuring that they’re actually capable of the work, but I hold back.
My relationship with Fidel has been strained lately, due to the stress of tour preparations, combined with me flat-out refusing to go if I didn’t get Cash on board. Now that he’s here, I feel marginally better, but he’s most likely dipping out after my first two weeks on the road.
Fidel nods, squinting at me. “It’s short notice. I’m not sure who would be able to accommodate your tour needs at this point.”
I exhale in relief that he didn’t balk at the idea immediately.
He’s a good manager and the closest thing I have to a father. He’s always listened to me and taken me seriously, but he has a point.
I turn to Cash, chewing my bottom lip. I don’t really know him well at all, but for some unknown reason, I feel like he’s the first person in my life who truly understands how dire the need for me to feel safe is. I need it mentally and emotionally, as well as physically. If I’m going to do this tour, I have to have more men like him.
Cash turns to face Fidel. “One of my buddies from the Green Berets owns a security company.”
I blink at him, suddenly understanding the rigid placement of his shoulders and his calculated movements are from more than just being a soldier. He was Special Forces.
That’s not hot. Not hot at all.
When I was a little girl, living in a drafty trailer, G.I. Joes were my favorite toy. I’ve seen every Special Forces military movie ever made.
He’s a G.I. Joe–cowboy combo? Lord help me …
Fidel’s eyebrows scrunch together. He considers Cash, then me again.
“As much as I understand that Mr. Redford saved your life, he doesn’t have any knowledge of the forethought and planning that have been happening for years in anticipation of this tour. Accommodating one more bodyguard was hard enough, moving things around and securing an additional hotel room. I’m not sure it would be possible to squeeze more people in at this point. However reputable this company may be, they’d need advance notice to accommodate a tour like this. It’s not a simple task by any means to handle hundreds of thousands of adoring fans.”
Fidel thinks logistically, practically. He’s the one who has to deal with handling moving a ton of people from one major city to the next, where many hotels have already sold out to fans attending the tour.
I sigh, shutting my eyes and collapsing on the bed. “Just please try, Fidel. Do what you can to make it happen. I need to focus on the performances, dances, the fucking lineup, and all that. I can’t be bogged down with this. At least talk to this other company. This team has fucked up one too many times.”
I roll over onto my stomach, covering my face with a pillow to try and take a much-needed nap.