6. Monroe
6
MONROE
I wake up with a slight headache and the realization that it’s my last day at home before leaving for six months. A zip of excitement cuts through my belly.
I love going on tour. I love traveling the world. As a girl raised in a South Texas trailer park, I never thought I’d see anyplace outside of my small, suffocating hometown, so this life still feels surreal sometimes.
Someone knocks on my bedroom door before pushing it open. Ember pokes her violet-red-haired head in.
“Good morning! Maurie has almost finished your breakfast. It’s a gorgeous morning, so I was wondering if you’d like to eat out on the patio while we discuss the day and some last-minute tour details.”
I reach my hands overhead, stretching my arms as I yawn. “Sure. Let me pee, and I’ll meet you out there.”
She dips out, shutting the door.
I climb out of bed, shove my feet into my fuzzy slippers, and don a silky pink robe. After the break-in I stopped sleeping in my birthday suit for a while because I felt unsafe in my own home. Last night was the first time I did it again, and I slept the whole night through. My bed is my sanctuary. I spend a horrifying amount of money on my luxurious silk sheets, and they’re worth every penny. My housekeeper launders them every three days, like clockwork.
After doing my business, I wash my hands and walk out to the second-floor balcony overlooking the Beverly Hills valley. The modern Greek villa was designed by Frank Wu, one of California’s elite architects. The creamy-white stucco walls and dramatic arches are what drew me in, but the view overlooking the canyon sold me on the home. It sits on three acres—a rare find so close to Los Angeles—but the distance from my neighbors is the only way I can breathe sometimes.
My chef, Maurie, is setting a tray of food out on the rectangular acacia table. He smiles at me warmly before returning to the kitchen. Ember steals a grape off my plate before continuing to tap on her iPad. My eyes trail over the rolling hills with enormous homes dotting the green scenery for a few moments, and I exhale deeply.
“You’re in a good mood today,” Ember comments.
I smile, pulling my chair forward. Movement to my right draws my attention, and I glance over to see Brooks sitting in a chair near the patio door. He looks tired.
“When is shift change?” I ask.
“Hmm?” Ember grunts, distracted by her iPad.
I pick up a piece of bacon from the tray. “For the bodyguard.”
Ember glances up at me before her gray eyes move over to Brooks. “I think any minute now. ”
Her gaze lingers for a moment too long before her cheeks heat, and she looks back down at the device in her lap, sitting up.
“So! Let’s go over some details. Vogue , costume fittings, Clint, mid-tour break, the label, the last minute reshoot for the US leg tour promo happening today, and … that’s all I have at the moment. Vogue wants you for a mid-tour shoot, and the sum they’re offering is staggering, as usual. Fidel thinks it’s a go, but I’m always a little wary of overbooking you. It will be three months in, so you might need the two-week break to just lie in bed or drink mimosas by the pool. Thoughts?”
I chew the thick bacon, considering her words. “Is it a typical lifestyle shoot? Where would it be?”
“They’ll come to you. I was hoping you’d be in a tropical mood, maybe get a beachfront property in the British Virgin Islands to relax in and disappear from the paparazzi. Coming home is out of the question, unless you’re okay with being bombarded anytime you try to grab takeout or are invited to a different party every night.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right. “Book it. A view in the British Virgin Islands sounds good, but I want either Maurie or someone just as good there. Tell Vogue yes, but no longer than four hours for the shoot and interview.”
It goes unspoken that only Ember, Fidel, and I will be in the know about the vacation. We’ll tell the security team I’m bringing the day we leave. The more people who know my whereabouts, the more likely I’ll be assaulted by paparazzi.
Or worse, my stalker .
I shiver, snatching the buttered sourdough toast off my plate. “Ugh, Maurie has my heart.”
“My sister makes the best sourdough. I need to bring you a loaf of it,” Ember says.
“Please do. It’s my favorite. What time is the shoot today?” We had a photoshoot for tour promo months ago, but Fidel said a reshoot is necessary before we take off for the Eastern Hemisphere.
A movement to my right steals my focus as Cash walks in through the side door of the house. His muscular six-foot-four frame is covered in all black—from his Wrangler jeans, V-neck T-shirt, Western boots, to a felt cowboy hat.
His emerald-green eyes are the only ounce of color on him. My stomach clenches, along with the naked slit between my crossed legs. I’m only recently single since calling things off with Zade, but it feels like ages since I’ve had a crush. Keeping up appearances for the media has been exhausting.
I should put some clothes on.
My nipples pucker under his steely gaze, the silk robe doing little to conceal them. His eyes sweep over me, as if looking for any hint of injury or if something is amiss.
His taut, broad shoulders relax slightly when he finishes his inspection. He dips the black cowboy hat in my direction before assuming his post on the side wall of the house, freshly shaven jaw in a hard line.
“Mr. Redford! Join us,” I hear myself say.
Clothes? You should put those on first.
My nakedness suddenly feels like all I can think about in his presence. He pauses for a few beats, eyes sweeping the vicinity once again before he struts over toward the outdoor dining table set overlooking the canyon view. He observes it for a few breaths, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a moment to.
“Nice view.” He pulls out a chair and settles his big body into it.
I grin. “It’s the only way I can possibly survive California—a view and a little distance from the neighbors.”
He doesn’t respond, simply nods and keeps his eyes moving over every object in the area, except for me.
Ember is chewing her lip, eyes still on the iPad.
“Ember?” I nudge her with my foot under the table.
She jolts, looking up at me. “Oh! Right. Sorry, emailing Vogue. Okay, Clint asked if you would grab dinner with him the night before the tour starts.”
I pick up the fork and spear a slice of strawberry with it. “As friends?” I ask, popping it into my mouth.
She shrugs. “He didn’t specify.”
I chew slowly, debating her words.
Clint Clyde is my ex-boyfriend. He’s another rising country star, although the peak of his career was when we were dating and performed a hit single together. We’re singing the song together as an opening act to the tour.
“Let’s put a pin in it, and I’ll decide later.”
She nods. Cash shifts in his seat. My eyes trail up his thigh until reaching his eyes.
“Hungry?”
He shakes his head.
“Are you excited to leave? For Seoul, I mean. ”
The potential of him dipping out and leaving the tour in general in a few weeks fills my stomach with a lead ball.
He finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. “I’m ready for it.”
I’ll take that as a … sort of?
The fact that he makes me question every word that comes out of my mouth is strange and unnerving. I’m not an insecure person in general, but Cash Redford makes me feel like there’s an electric current surging over the surface of my skin, about to spark fire at any second.
The fact that I have no makeup on and am still butt naked under my flimsy robe makes me feel even more vulnerable and exposed under his piercing eyes. I glance up at Ember, who is observing me closely, a smirk barely touching her lips. She knows me too well.
I square my shoulders back, planting my elbows on the arms of my chair. “Well, I need to shower. I shall return in twenty minutes. Don’t have too much fun without me!” I reach for my latte.
I move to stand, but the sash of my robe gets caught under my elbow, pulling loose. The forces of nature and the gods must have conspired against me because at the exact same moment I realize the mishap, a gust of wind from the canyon sweeps across the patio, ripping my loosened silk robe wide open, exposing my naked body to Ember and Cash.
A high-pitched squeal erupts from the back of my throat. I drop the cup in my hand, splashing coffee all over the table.
Cash jumps up from his chair, as if he didn’t know the source of my squeal until it was a second too late. His gaze melts over my skin, leaving a trail of heat and need .
Wetness seeps from me through my lower lips, even as he steps away, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head to the side.
“Are you all right?” he chokes out, fists clenched by his sides.
My hands finally obey me, and I grab for the edges of my robe and cinch it tightly closed around my waist, attempting to steady my trembling body.
“Uh, um, yes, I’m good! I’m A-okay today,” I say with a nervous laugh.
My eyes briefly meet Ember’s to see that she’s gaping at me. Her hand slams over her mouth as her eyes widen. She shifts her gaze from my face to Cash’s stoic frame. He looks like he’s poised for an attack, ready to fight for his life, face turned away from me.
Southern gentlemen are something else.
I move toward the back door as heat creeps up my chest and into my cheeks. I can’t bring myself to utter another word before escaping into the confines of my bedroom, shutting the door, and locking it behind me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I nibble on my fingernails as I walk into the bathroom to turn on the water. I check my phone to see a text from Ember.
Ember
Well, if that doesn’t convince him to stay, I don’t think anything will.
The photographer’s camera flashes over my skin. The studio room of my house has natural light and plenty of room for the cameras and equipment, so that I don’t have to leave my house every time Sun Records needs a new picture for a T-shirt.
“That’s it, beautiful. Tilt your head back for me.” The photographer holds his camera higher, snapping more photos.
The pink stilettos I’m wearing pinch my toes, but I’m used to the discomfort.
“Turn your face left, look at the wall.”
I obey, my eyes meeting Cash’s as he observes from the door. He’s watching me, but his expression is unreadable. Since the incident on the patio, we haven’t spoken. My cheeks heat at the memory.
“Okay, darling, can we lose the jacket?” the photographer asks.
I’m only wearing a white lace bra underneath, but I shed the white leather jacket and toss it to the side. The matching miniskirt is riding up in the back, so I tug it down.
“Gorgeous, lovely. Lean forward.” Snap, snap.
Cash adjusts his cowboy hat. I’m dying to know what he’s thinking after what happened outside. He seems so stoic and unaffected by seeing me naked.
That’s why you hired him. That’s what you need.
It’s fucked up, but a tiny part of me is dying to know if he liked what he saw.