10. Cash
10
CASH
S canning the crowd of thousands of fans screaming at the top of their lungs while Monroe finishes her opening song has my heart pumping and my skin tingling. The hair on the back of my neck stands up when Clint Clyde steps out onto the stage to join her. The crowd roars louder, the panicked shrieks nearly piercing my eardrums.
I’m in a hidden pocket below the stage, between Monroe and the closest fans. There’s an eighteen-inch section separating the stage from the crammed pit that Brooks, two other security guards, and I are patrolling.
“How y’all doing tonight?” Monroe’s seductive Southern twang booms across the swarm of fans. “Y’all don’t mind if I bring up an old friend for this next song, do you?”
The squeals somehow grow louder. The earplugs we were given suddenly make a lot of sense. Between the screaming and the speakers close to our heads, I bet I’d lose my eardrums without them .
“Friend?” Clint says with a wry grin. “That’s not how I remember it, sweetheart.”
In the screen across the arena, I see him flash her a grin as the gentle strumming of his guitar fills the air. He winks, drawing swoons and gasps, followed by shrill voices calling his name.
“I love you, Clint Clyde!”
“They were so perfect together!”
I try to tune it all out, focusing instead on the screen, where I see Monroe’s bedazzled silver boot tapping to the music. My eyes travel over the fans behind her, but it’s impossible to pick out any details with so many phone lights and moving targets.
Keeping my gaze on her is the best plan, assuming that if there was any danger, it would be from a physical assault, like what happened in Texas last year. The metal detectors and bag searches upon entry are thorough here.
“I guess we were a little more than friends back in the day,” Monroe purrs, turning away from Clint and blessing the crowd with her million-dollar smile.
He steps closer to her, dipping his cowboy hat in her direction. “Well, you wrote this song about me, so I don’t think there’s a point in denying it.”
“ Allegedly ,” she says.
She turns back toward him, lifting her head up slowly. The way she gazes into his eyes looks like she views him as much more than a friend. She lifts the mic to her lips, her raspy voice pouring out of the speakers.
“Oh, baby, I know I can’t change you, but I wish I could change the way I feel about you. ”
Her voice captures the crowd, mesmerizing each fan as they sway to the music, along with the overall captivating aura that is Monroe Blue. Clint is barely a side character. He’s more like a prop or a part of the stage decor or the band.
My heart feels like a jackhammer in my chest. I watch as Clint pushes his guitar to the side and curls his hand around Monroe’s waist. He pulls her body flush against his, nuzzling her neck. A strange trickle of jealousy travels from my throat down to my stomach.
Zade is just okay with this? If she were mine ? —
I stop myself right there.
She’s not fucking mine, and she never will be.
Her boyfriend is up on a platform to the left of the stage. I can’t see his expression from here until a camera pans over to his face. He appears on the big screen for a few split seconds. His mouth is twisted in disgust. He downs his drink before turning away.
Guess he’s not okay with it.
I try to focus back on Monroe, shoving down my own strange, twisted emotions. I have a job to do, and I need to man the fuck up and do it. Monroe Blue is laughably out of my league. Even if she weren’t, I don’t crush on superstar singers with Coke-bottle figures that could drag grown men to their knees.
Monroe’s legs wobble as she walks onto the elevator. It’s past one in the morning here, and I have no idea what time it is back in Texas. I’m still jet-lagged. I can’t imagine how she feels after performing for three hours straight.
She slumps back against the elevator. Her hair is in a high, messy bun. She shuts her eyes, leaning her head back to rest against the wall. She’s wearing biker shorts and my hoodie. I’m beginning to think I might not get it back. It’s my favorite one, but seems to be her go-to thing to throw on when she’s tired now, which makes me feel warm.
Her phone starts to buzz in her hand. She looks down at it, firmly pressing the Decline button. She holds down the Power button to turn the device off. Her eyes drift over to me. Her face still has remnants of makeup on it, like it was mostly wiped off, but some was missed.
“What’d you think, cowboy?”
I stare back at her, wondering who called and why she didn’t invite Zade back to her room.
“I thought it was … impressive.”
She tilts her head, squinting at me. “Impressive,” she repeats.
The elevator doors open when we reach our floor. I sent Brooks ahead to clear the hallway and room and to ensure there were no surprises in her bed.
“I know you’re just here for the money. You don’t have to pretend to like the show,” she mutters, following me to the door.
Pretend?
I glance down both directions of the hallway before sliding my key card into the door. It swings open to reveal Brooks lounging in a chair in the spacious suite. I step to the side to allow Monroe to walk in before me.
She collapses on the bed in her room, kicks off her shoes, and crawls underneath the covers.
“Please don’t make any noise for at least twelve hours,” she mumbles, her head slightly poking out of the hoodie and the cloud of pillows.
“I’ll be in the next room.”
Her eyes drift over me slowly before she pins me with them. “Promise not to leave me?” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.
A mass forms in my throat. My head bobs up and down. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her bright blue eyes drift closed. I stand motionless for a few beats, watching her sleep like a creep. Finally, I step closer to the bed. I feel a surge of temptation to reach out and brush her hair back from her angelic face, but instead, I turn the switch off on the lamp.
Brooks is waiting for me when I silently walk back out to the main area of the suite.
He pulls out a bottle of amber liquid. “One drink? Dammit, tonight was stressful.”
Normally, I would never drink alcohol while still on duty. But the concert tonight has left my nerves fried. Some whiskey might help take the edge off, and with so few people knowing where Monroe is actually staying, I feel like she’s safe for the night.
I nod, removing my baseball cap and running a hand through my hair. “Fuck, this is not what I expected.”
Brooks pours us each a generous glass before handing me one. He smirks. “Yeah, being a bodyguard for a world-famous superstar turns out to not be all that glamorous. The way people act around her is just … scary as fuck.”
I nod, sitting on a plush red armchair in the sitting area. A long swig of the whiskey burns down my throat, almost instantly throwing a blanket of calm over the layer of uneasiness I’ve been feeling all night.
“Is it always like this with her?”
I feel a connection with Brooks. He reminds me of my brothers—mostly my younger brother, Duke. I didn’t expect to get homesick in just a few weeks away from the ranch.
Brooks leans back against the barstool in the small island in the kitchenette. “Yeah, but I’d say tonight, everyone pretty much behaved. Zade was a dick, but he’s not usually here. He likes to throw his weight around when he is. I expected more drama with him and Clint both around.”
“What’s the story there?” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to catch myself.
Shit. I don’t want anyone to get the impression that I care about what goes on in Monroe’s personal love life.
Brooks doesn’t seem to be thrown off by the question. I take another drink of whiskey. He opens his mouth to answer when a quiet knock sounds on the door. I stand, reaching for the gun concealed at my hip.
Brooks steps closer to the door and peers through the peephole. He unlocks it and swings it open to reveal Ember. She’s changed into a matching pink hoodie and sweatpants.
“Hey, I just came by to check on her. How is she?”
Brooks closes the door, a smile forming on his lips. Ember’s hand comes out of the baggy hoodie to reveal a bottle of wine.
“We always have to unwind after night one. The nerves and stress leading up to it come crashing down like a tidal wave.” She sighs, taking a seat at the island next to Brooks.
He takes the wine bottle from her and twists open the lid. He finds a wineglass in the mini kitchen, pouring her a generous amount.
“She went straight to her room and crashed,” Brooks says. “We were just talking about what happened between Clint and her.”
Ember takes a long gulp of the wine and heaves out a heavy sigh before answering, “She was madly in love with Clint. Fucker cheated on her with a fan while on tour. Monroe was the one who had really shot him into stardom. No one had given a shit about him until they dated. After the breakup, her next album went viral pretty much worldwide.
“Zade and she met at some LA party, but Katherine, her publicist, is the one who really pushed for the relationship. I think Monroe wants to break it off, but her love life is twisted up with the business side of things now. Katherine strongly advised her to wait until there’s a viable replacement . After tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if Katherine wanted her to get back with Clint.” Ember’s face twists with disgust.
Brooks leans against the island. “The way all her personal life decisions are based on public opinion sounds fucking exhausting.”
Amen. Fuck that.
“Don’t the fans hate Clint for what he did to her?” I ask .
I feel like a gossipy teenage girl. Brooks shrugs, chuckling as he tips his whiskey glass back over his lips.
Ember answers, “You would think so, but when they were together, you could feel the chemistry through the screen. They know she actually loved Clint, and they can tell Zade is a douchebag she tolerates because he’s famous. Lately, they’ve been seeing him photographed with his female costars all over the world. Monroe’s fans never latched on to their relationship the way they did with Clint, and I think, after tonight, they’re officially going to turn on Zade. If some other guy comes along and they really see and feel that chemistry again, then they’d probably go for it. But the Blue Babies are super unpredictable, as well as obsessed with her.”
“Blue Babies?” I ask.
“Her fans. Blue Babies —it’s what they call themselves.”
“Feel bad for the guy who does get roped in. What a nightmare,” Brooks says. He refills Ember’s wineglass and pours himself some.
She rolls her eyes. “Sure, dating a drop-dead-gorgeous celebrity is such a shitty thing to go through.”
He chuckles, stretching his arm around the back of her chair. “Not for me.”
The thought of dating Monroe Blue sounds like a nightmare and a dream come true rolled into one. She and I couldn’t be more different, and after tonight, I still don’t know how much I can take of this job.
What I can’t decide is if I’m willing to stick it out for longer in order to protect her from whoever is stalking her.
As if on cue, a knock sounds on the door again. I reach for my pistol, keeping my hand on the butt of the gun before nodding to Brooks to look through the peephole. After seeing whoever it is, he opens the door.
“Delivery for Kitten?” a male voice says.
I stand, my hackles rising. Brooks steps aside to reveal a hotel employee holding a massive bouquet of blood-red roses, a note in his hand.
I don’t even realize what I’m doing as my hand slams around the guy’s throat, the roses crashing to the floor.