Chapter 7
DAWSON
Iwas always calm in a crisis, but that mob at the airport had fucked with my steadfast control.
My heart, too.
An hour later, even after we’d checked into the hotel, it was still beating hard and fast.
I’d been in worse situations, so why the freak out?
Iain.
I sure as fuck noticed Iain’s sudden panic when the band drew more attention, the crowd swelled, and a few fans became aggressive.
My only thought had been to get him out of there as fast as possible. Get all the boys in the band out of there, but, yeah, Iain was my priority.
I trusted the rest of my team to do the same.
Everything turned out all right, thank fuck.
Regan was waiting for us at the hotel, and I gave her the rundown.
She wasn’t happy at how I’d given in to Brodie and Iain’s demand.
I knew better, and yet, I felt bad because I knew that the fans meant so much to them.
They weren’t like other asshole rockstars I’d worked with before.
The boys of Wayward Lane were always approachable. Or as approachable as we’d let them be.
The luggage arrived, and the boys settled into their suites. The band’s creative team, including stylists for hair and makeup, had arrived prior to us. Harlow was acting PR on the trip, so he was already on his phone, preparing for the days ahead.
Everyone had a couple of hours to nap, eat, and then change.
The band and all security were situated on the penthouse level, with Iain and I at the end of the hallway, near the stairwell and the elevators. Brodie and Van were next to me, and Ronin and Faise were at the other end of the floor, with my team sharing the surrounding rooms.
By five that evening, rested and recharged, we were on our way into the heart of the city for a TV interview at a major French news station.
But Iain still looked pale and quieter than his usual self.
Instead of sitting up front, I switched with Lennie and sat beside Iain.
It was only a ten-minute car ride to our first stop.
I pulled a brand-new phone out of my jacket pocket and offered it to Iain.
“Your new cell. We’ve already programmed the numbers for our entourage and transferred data and photos. Don’t give this number out to anyone outside of our group. No one unless I vet them first. Understood?”
“Yup.”
Iain’s terse reply and lack of eye contact chafed, but I ignored it.
He was unhappy with our connecting rooms, but there was nothing to be done.
Regan agreed with my plan, and we’d started investigating those text messages.
How this unknown person got Iain’s number, I had no idea.
I could only assume it was either someone in his inner circle, which was highly disturbing, or a past lover.
So far, there were no direct threats against Iain—or anyone close to him—so it was pointless to go to the police.
We’d need his full cooperation to review everyone in his life, and I couldn’t see that conversation going well either.
He could sulk all he wanted. What did I care? I had a job to do.
I wasn’t here as his friend.
And that painful knot in my stomach was back.
Truthfully, even though Iain drove me nuts, there was something about him that I was drawn to. I was sure that Iain felt more deeply than even his friends realized.
And people with sensitive hearts were the ones I wanted to protect the most.
Iain slowly took the phone from me and placed it in the pocket of his black leather jacket.
He had on dark baggy jeans that rode low on his hips.
Black patent cowboy booties and a ripped T-shirt completed the look, along with several silver bracelets and earrings.
His hair was loose, but the band’s stylist had done something different to it.
The waves were bigger, tousled, you know, kinda messy.
Sexy as hell is what he was. Like he’d just rolled out of bed after a long night of fucking…
I had to stop that line of thinking right now.
Iain sighed. “You’re staring.”
“You’re hot.”
Every conversation in the vehicle came to a sudden silence.
“I mean, it’s hot. In here. It’s hot in here,” I stammered.
Thank God I wore black because I was starting to sweat through my T-shirt and jacket.
Jesus, Daws. Get a hold of yourself.
“Len, turn the heat down,” I barked.
“It’s not on,” Lennie replied with barely restrained laughter in his voice.
I was never gonna live this down.
Iain leaned in and whispered in my ear, his warm breath making me shiver. “Thanks for the compliment.”
I refused to look at him or anyone else in the vehicle for the rest of the ride. Even though I caught Lennie’s eyebrow raise in the rearview mirror. I shook my head in response and then ignored him.
Ignored everything except the gorgeous man sitting next to me. Iain had the man spread going on, one of his denim-covered thighs touching mine. I had Brodie on my other side, and I had no legroom to move, well, anywhere.
One of Iain’s hands was resting on his upper thigh. Slowly, that hand moved north, until he rested it on his hip, his fingers almost touching his covered dick.
And me thinking about Iain’s beautiful cock was so goddamn dangerous right now.
How much longer was this trip going to take?
My phone pinged. Thank you, work.
I tapped on the message from the TV program’s head of security.
“Change of plans. Pull into the parking garage,” I instructed Lennie. “First left after the light.”
Word of the interviews was out, and the sidewalk outside the building was filling with interested fans.
Once we found our way inside the parking garage, we headed for the service elevator.
A short while later, we found ourselves on the tenth floor of UniqueTV, the biggest entertainment news program in the country. We were whisked down a long hallway to a green room, the pre-show space.
The guys were mic’d up, prepped again by the makeup crew, and guided to the set.
Lennie and I stood in the wings, as usual, surveying. Once the guys were seated and the producer did the intros, they were ready to go live.
Then I noticed that Harlow was missing.
“Where’s Harlow?” I asked Lennie.
“He was on his phone in the green room.”
“He should be out here; they’re about to go live. Van was always on watch during these things.”
“I’ll text him.” Lennie pulled out his phone and tapped on it.
A minute later, and still no sign of the band’s manager.
The TV presenter, a handsome guy with slick hair, a designer suit, and a dentist-worthy smile, sat down.
They were a go in three, two, one…
“I’m Jean-Luc Giroux, and welcome to another edition of Célébrité Ce Soir.
I’m here today with a band that has recently become one of the best-selling groups in rock ’n’ roll history.
With a unique blend of electric anthems, intense performance style, and full-on glamour, I’m talking about none other than Wayward Lane.
Merci, thank you guys for being here tonight. ”
“Thank you for having us,” Brodie stated, and each guy in their turn said hello.
“You’re in Paris for the next week for three sold-out shows, February thirteenth to the fifteenth. Tell us why you chose our city to start your European tour this year.”
Brodie looked at the guys and then leaned forward. “Originally, we were gonna play Europe in the fall, but personal plans meant shifting things around. And one of the concerts is on Valentine’s Day, so where else would we perform but right here in the city of love?”
Jean-Luc smiled. “Well, we’re only too happy that you chose us. What are your plans in town when you’re not rehearsing or performing?”
Faise leaned forward. “Lots of restaurants, no question.”
“Art galleries,” Ronin offered.
Iain nodded and offered Jean-Luc a flirty smile. “Clubs. We’re gonna hit the clubs hard. Paris has the sexiest men, am I right?”
The announcer flushed and pulled on his tie.
I held back an eye roll.
“Brodie,” Jean-Luc cleared his throat, “the last time you were interviewed, you had just eloped with your manager, Ivan Cross, in Las Vegas. How’s married life?”
Brodie let out a dirty chuckle while the rest of the guys groaned.
“I think you can tell by the smile on my face that it’s amazing. I’ve never been happier.”
“So, is this the start of a trend? Are the rest of you guys looking for love?”
Iain, Faise, and Ronin all shook their heads vehemently, and I had to stifle a chuckle.
“I’m happy for Brodie and Van, but I’m enjoying the single life,” Ronin replied as he waved at the camera. “Et je suis tellement heureux d’etre ici, en Paris.”
“And Ronin speaks French, mesdames et messieurs,” the announcer gushed.
Faise rolled his eyes. “Barely. He was practicing with Van for days. You didn’t hear him butcher those words the first ten thousand times like I had to.”
Ronin playfully swatted his best friend on the arm.
“Faisel, your personal life has been under intense pressure lately. You were last seen in California, where your brother is in rehab. How’s he doing?”
Faise’s smile faded, and he turned to Ronin and then looked over at us in the wings.
All the guys visibly stiffened.
Judging by Faise’s reaction, I guessed the question was not vetted beforehand.
And I looked around and noticed Harlow was still missing.
“He’s still in treatment,” Faise finally replied. “And that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”
Jean-Luc turned to Iain. “Iain—”
“Holloway,” Iain returned.
Uh oh. I recognized the intense glint in Iain’s eyes. He did not like his friend in the hot seat. This interview was going to turn south real fast if Jean-Luc wasn’t careful.
“Je m’excuse, Holloway. What about your personal life? You’re known as the most mischievous playboy of the band. Are you happy with the single life or are you looking for love?”
How about asking them about their next album? Why all the personal questions?
I texted Harlow with a more direct message.
Get out here now. This interview is starting to nosedive.
“I’m pretty sure the term is fuckboy not playboy. And I’m happy and looking for a good time. Nothing serious, just fun.”
“Well, according to the tabloids, you have a lot of it.”
Iain cocked his head. “I do. I enjoy my life, and I don’t need to justify it to anyone.”
Jean-Luc nodded. “You guys have known each other since you were in high school, correct?”
“That’s where all four of us met,” Brodie answered. “But I’ve known Holls since we were six.”
“Holloway, your mom was a talented pianist who died tragically at a young age. Is she the reason you got into music?”
Fucking hell.
No one, and I mean no one, asked Iain questions about his family. He could talk about his sex life, no problem, but his childhood? Everyone knew that was a no-go zone.
Everyone except this reporter. And the band’s manager, who was still MIA. And not responding to my messages either.
I turned to Lennie. “Find Harlow.”
I typed another furious message, getting more pissed off by the minute.
Where are you? We need you here now.
Iain clasped his hands together tightly. “I’ve been passionate about music all my life. Next question.”
“You’re working on a new album. Any hints on what we can expect?”
My tension eased a bit.
Brodie glanced at the guys, and they nodded in return. “It’s going to be a bit different from our previous albums. This time, all the songs are ones that my husband and I have co-written, so the album feels more personal. But of course, fans can still expect gritty lyrics and memorable hooks.”
“I can’t wait until it drops. Are you going to be performing Sideline? Has that been recorded yet?”
Brodie shook his head, his dark curls bouncing. “Unfortunately, not at this time.”
“Why not? The song went viral at your now infamous New Orleans concert in October, and fans are clamoring for it.”
“The fans will have to wait for a bit. But it will be released eventually.”
Jean-Luc nodded. “Is it because you’re cutting ties with your label? There have been rumors about your unhappiness with Bandit Music since your marriage became public. Van wasn’t out prior to your relationship, isn’t that right?”
Brodie’s expression darkened. I just knew that whatever was going to come out of his mouth next was going to be front-page news.
“There’s a rumor that you’re fucking the owner of this news station. Care to comment, Jean-Luc?”
The presenter turned purple and nearly fell out of his chair.
“And that’s all the time we have for this evening,” Jean-Luc announced with a nervous smile to the camera. “I’ll be back shortly with more news from the entertainment world.”
Someone yelled, “We’re out.”
All hell broke loose.