Chapter 20
DAWSON
Ahalf-hour after that incredible kiss, my lips were still burning.
My lips, my face, my entire body, fuck, even my mind was on fire.
I don’t know how I’d managed to speak afterward, but Iain and I eventually calmed ourselves down and headed back to Brodie’s dressing room, where we told the guys what was going on.
Not with me and Iain, but with his stalker.
One bit of shocking news at a time, please.
My protective instincts launched into overdrive as I became aware of Iain in a way I’d never imagined. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and reassure him that everything would be okay. But reassurance—and more—would have to wait.
“I want extra security for Iain at all times. And I want a PI to look into this,” Brodie announced as he sat beside Iain. “I don’t give a fuck if Greg doesn’t agree, we’ll pay for it.”
“Hell, yes.” Ronin nodded, and Faise agreed.
“Security is well in hand,” I replied and then flushed when I thought about where my hands were recently. “And Regan’s already hired an investigator. We will do everything we can to figure out who’s behind this. We think it’s someone back home, so the threat to him here is minimal.”
“We need to make a statement,” Harlow interjected, his phone buzzing repeatedly.
He’d been busy typing away the whole time I was talking and finally looked up.
“What do you mean?” Iain asked.
“This kind of thing will send the fans into a frenzy. It’s gold.”
“Are you suggesting Iain use this stalker as a publicity tool?” Van asked.
“Yes. I’ll talk to Zoe and give her a heads-up. The more spotlight we put on the stalker, the more likely it is that he, she, or they, will be revealed.”
“Or you’ll piss off the stalker, and the situation will escalate,” I added. “After all, attention motivates that type of obsessive behavior.”
Harlow rolled his eyes. “The fans will rally around the band in their time of need. It’s a great story.”
“It’s my life!” Iain snapped. “How would you feel?”
Harlow started chuckling. “Stop being oversensitive, Holls. Nothing’s gonna happen to you. It’s probably just some weirdo who will move on to someone else once he gets bored. But we might as well take the situation and turn it in our favor. Greg just texted me, and he agrees.”
“Get out,” Brodie said quietly.
It was close to showtime, after all, so he didn’t raise his voice, but the angry glint in his eyes could not be denied.
Harlow sighed and stood up. “I’ll go. But it’s already a done deal. I’ll prepare a statement for the interviews after the concert.”
Then Harlow sauntered out of the room.
Van looked at me with worried eyes, and I understood his concerns. “I’ll talk to Regan. I don’t know how much sway she’ll have over Greg, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Do you really think making this news public might fuel the stalker?” Van asked.
“I don’t have a ton of experience with this, but yeah, I do. If Iain publicly acknowledges what’s going on, the stalker might see that as a sign that their ‘relationship’ is real.”
“Can we stop talking about this for a bit?” Iain asked as he looked at me. “I want to finish getting ready.”
I stepped outside the dressing room and waved the stylists and Lennie back inside.
The guys were subdued until Iain finally asked Van to get them a round of drinks.
I couldn’t blame them one bit. It had been another stress-filled meeting with Harlow, and I wasn’t sure how much more the boys could take.
I’d been witness to several music managers, and Harlow was pretty standard, but so unlike their experience with Van.
They all knew the media game by now, but that didn’t make it any easier.
If anything, four years ago, they were barely a blip on people’s radars, and now, every time they blinked, someone was posting about it on social media.
The tabloids were going to latch on to this stalker story and milk it for all it was worth, which left me with a very bad feeling.
All my focus was on figuring out who was trying to get to Iain.
I worked on my laptop while the guys had their makeup and hair done.
Regan and I messaged back and forth with the PI back in Nashville.
Regan’s contact in the Nashville PD had agreed to look at the phone messages and unofficially start a file.
That was the best they could do. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Regan was busy tracking down the flower delivery while I made a list of anyone who had met with Iain back in Nashville during the past six months.
I went through security log sheets and sent requests for as much video footage as I could—from the rehearsal studio to Bandit’s head office to the clubs the guys frequented.
The studio or office wasn’t a problem, but the clubs, well, it was unlikely they would cooperate without police warrants.
Bibi returned to the dressing room and offered everyone more drinks and snacks.
I took a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels and munched on them while watching Iain getting his hair done.
The stylist, a twenty-something guy named Payton, was gushing over Iain’s hair.
Just remembering how those soft strands felt in my hands had my body heating and my cock twitching.
I honestly could not blame Payton in the least.
Until Payton’s flirting with Iain kept going, and my jealousy began to mount. I kept shoving in pretzels, determined to keep my possessive streak under wraps. I’d probably break a tooth from all the grinding going on, never mind the crunchy snacks.
“So, Holls, who gave you the beard burn?” Brodie asked.
I choked on a pretzel and began to cough violently.
“You all right there, Daws?” Ronin asked with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Reaching for my water, I took a long sip and managed to clear my throat. “Fine. Good.”
“No comment,” Iain replied.
“Come on, it’s not like you to kiss and not tell.” Faise chuckled.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Iain returned. “You and Ronin finally admit that you’ve been in love with each other since high school, and I’ll tell you about the beard burn.”
“Ooh,” Brodie clapped his hands together. “This is getting good.”
“Fuck off,” Faise grumbled.
Ronin’s face was bright red. “As if.”
I felt Lennie’s stare on me, but I kept typing away. Best to ignore the shitstorm that would soon pass.
“It was me,” Payton announced.
I whipped my head up so fast that my neck cracked.
“But you don’t have a beard,” Ronin countered.
“Baby, these lips are aggressive.”
“Really?” Ronin gave Payton the once over. “What are you doing after the show?”
“You, if you’re lucky.” The stylist winked at the mirror, and Ronin fanned himself. “Or maybe you back there, the handsome Viking with the red hair?”
I felt my face heat, and I realized I was staring—at Iain, not Payton—and shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m on the clock.”
“I’ve never let that stop me,” Payton quipped as he sprayed Iain’s hair. “Some of the best sex of my life has happened on the job. Or, in the chair to be specific.”
“Storytime, Payton, tell us more,” Ronin encouraged.
“You couldn’t handle it, baby.”
“Please, we’re rockstars. We’ve seen and done it all. And that’s not just a saying,” Brodie bragged. “Like there was this one time, in Spain, at this house party, a group of—"
Van groaned and got up. “And I’m going upstairs now.”
“Honey, come on, no one compares to you,” Brodie purred.
“I love you too, but unless you want me to go caveman and haul you out of here over my shoulder, it’s best I don’t hear any of your stories.”
“You lucky bitch.” Payton pointed his hairbrush at Brodie.
“I am.” Brodie waggled his eyebrows at Van.
Van pulled Brodie up off his chair and into his arms, giving him a thorough kiss.
“At least someone is getting their pre-show rocks off,” Iain muttered.
For once, I understood Iain’s frustration.
Van gave Brodie one last kiss. “No more talking; rest your voice.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Payton piped up.
“And with that, I’m leaving,” Van replied, his face flushed as he headed for the door.
Payton finished spraying Iain’s hair, “You’re done, beautiful. Next.”
He motioned for Faise to sit down for his turn.
Payton took a step back, and his heel caught on the cord of the blow dryer. Thankfully, Lennie was nearby and grabbed hold of Payton before he tumbled to the ground.
“Thank you,” Payton gasped as Lennie righted him again.
“No problem.”
Payton stared up at him. “I need my arms back so I can work.”
“Oh, sorry,” Lennie replied, and dropped Payton’s arms, stepping back.
“No complaints here.” Payton smiled at him. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Len, it’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. If you ever need my services,” Payton pulled out a business card and handed it over.
“Thanks, but I just clip it myself.”
Payton gasped and pulled his card back. “Well, we can’t be friends then.”
Lennie’s confused expression at Payton’s joke made me want to laugh. Len was great at picking out a threat in a crowd, but he couldn’t read a flirtation at all.
“Uh,” Lennie glanced around, looking panicked.
“I’m teasing you,” Payton replied and put the card in Lennie’s jacket pocket.
“Hey, I thought you were flirting with me,” Ronin called out.
“You’re sweet, honey, but not my type.” Payton winked. “Besides, I don’t think Faisel would like that.”
Ronin got up. “Now wait—”
“We’re not together,” Faise scoffed.
Payton pointed to Faise and then back at Ronin. “Really? I thought for sure that you two—”
“No!” Faise and Ronin yelled out at the same time.