Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Jacob
EMMETT’S VOICE DRONES ON like a fly buzzing around my head.
“That’s why this period of time is so absolutely crucial,” he says. “This is when we’ll shape your public image. This is when you’ll cement yourselves in the public’s mind. Whatever comes next, this is what they’ll always remember about you, whether they realize it or not.”
I slouch in my chair around the big, rectangular conference table. My bandmates sit on either side of me, while Emmett paces on the other side of the table. The windows of the meeting room look out over gray corporate hellscape, the type of place I’ve dreaded since I was in high school. I thought being in a band would save me from these kinds of places, but it turns out the music industry loves meetings as much as everyone else.
When Emmett first called us in, I was scared it was going to be about what happened at the park yesterday, but thankfully this meeting is not about my overly eventful jog. The room grows warmer as I replay Seth’s daring rescue, the way he charged down that hill, threw me into his car and took me home. Again. It should be embarrassing to need him to do that twice in three days, but the flush washing through my body isn’t shame.
I’m not letting you out of my sight again.
It was meant as an admonishment in a moment of high tension, a moment when I should have been terrified and chastened, but even the memory is enough to send my heart bouncing around my chest. I fold my arms to hide my sweaty palms and pretend I’m listening to even a word of what Emmett is saying.
“Do you understand?” Emmett says.
He looks at each of us in turn, coming to me last. I nod, even though I have no idea what I’m agreeing to. Emmett’s sigh suggests he knows how little I’ve been listening.
“Moving on,” he says, “we need to talk about some upcoming media appearances.”
I barely manage not to groan. At least I’m not alone on this one. Keannen’s usual scowl deepens. Shawn sinks back in his chair. But our broodiest band members have no grounds to complain. They won’t be expected to do much talking. It’s part of Keannen and Shawn’s appeal that they’re such typical rockstars, dark-haired, dark-eyed, strong, silent types. I, on the other hand, am expected to be charming and smiley. I’m the lead singer, which for some reason makes me the de facto leader of the band. I’m the one the reporters always look to first after they ask a question. Most of the talking and smiling will fall on my shoulders, not theirs. And while I am naturally, normally that happy, optimistic, eager-to-please frontman they see on stage, there will always be an element of acting involved when there’s a camera and a microphone in my face.
Part of me can’t wait for our fame to die down.
I know I’m supposed to be living it up. I know it’s paying for the nice new apartment I live in. I know it’s the reason I could quit my job and focus solely on music. But sometimes it’s really, really exhausting. I can’t go for a run or pick up my own groceries or even walk from a practice room to my car. Just because people like my music, I’m now a product they can touch and scream at and harass any time they like. Whatever happened to the reclusive artist? I suppose social media did away with that lifestyle, but I sure wish it hadn’t.
Emmett describes an interview we’ll need to do next week. Some sort of daytime television show. Live studio audience, all that stuff.
“We already have the list of approved questions,” he says. “We can start getting you guys ready for those today, but be prepared for them to throw in some curveballs.”
His gaze flickers meaningfully to Keannen, who huffs and drums his fingers on the tabletop.
“I’m not answering anything I don’t feel like answering,” Keannen says.
“I’m not asking you to,” Emmett says, “but you also can’t do that .”
He nods at Keannen’s whole … thing. The annoyance scrawled across his face, the glare, the irritated tapping of his fingers.
“I’m not doing anything,” Keannen says.
“You look like you’re going to leap across the table and attack the host.”
“If he asks something dumb, maybe I will.”
“This.” Emmett jabs his finger at Keannen. “This is what you can’t do on live television. They’re going to ask about your lives, about your relationships.” His gaze centers on Keannen once more. “We’ll get you ready for those questions, but if you answer through clenched teeth, everyone will know. Keep your heads out there.”
Keannen waves dismissively. Emmett looks less than reassured. I don’t envy him having to wrangle a group like us. Our sound isn’t loud and aggressive for show. We make the type of music that’s true to ourselves, true to our lives. It’s what we were playing when there were only three people watching us, and it’s not a mere performance.
“Moving on,” Emmett says.
He goes through the questions. They’re mostly easy stuff like how the tour went and what we’re planning to do next. He throws in a couple questions about Keannen’s relationship with The Ten Hours’ drummer, and Keannen snarls and clenches his teeth but mostly gets through it. Emmett concedes with a sigh that he’ll send us all a copy of the questions so we can review them at home before we work on it more next week.
Finally, he winds down, but I speak up before he releases us.
“While we’re all here,” I say, “my birthday is soon. Well, technically it’s today, but I’m celebrating it tomorrow, so we’re going out to Q Lounge. All of us. I’m inviting The Ten Hours too. Make sure you all show up, okay?”
My bandmates brighten, but before they can agree, Emmett steps in to crush my fledgling plans.
“You’re inviting Seth as well,” he says.
I blink as heat rushes up my neck. “What? Why?”
“Because you are a public figure, and this is a public event. People are going to notice. You aren’t going to some nightclub without security. I’ll make the call right now. Give me the address. Seth probably needs to check the place out before tomorrow night.”
My heart sinks, even as the warmth reaches my face. Part of me wanted to use the excuse of my twenty-sixth birthday to do something other than think about my bodyguard. I was hoping a night out drinking and dancing with friends might cure me of my unhealthy attraction to the one guy I’m not supposed to touch. …Not that it keeps him from touching me. The second I think about him, the ghost of his big hand clutches my bicep in that firm, strong grip.
Emmett is already on his phone, presumably talking to Seth. He paces away to have a hurried conversation with the bodyguard while I slouch at the conference table.
Keannen pats me on the shoulder, but I don’t mistake it for sympathy, especially when he speaks. “Might be more fun this way, eh?”
I shrug off his hand. This is a mess. I wanted to go out and dance, have fun, maybe make out with a stranger. If I have a couple drinks, though, I know my eyes will wander to Seth. He’ll be working, working for me , and therefore the most off-limits guy in a 20-mile radius. Yet I know the second I’m tipsy my eyes will go right back to him. No amount of good intentions will keep me from focusing on a man who’s everything I want and more. The heroic rescues truly have not helped with my “knight in shining armor” complex.
Shawn is more sympathetic to my plight.
“It’s safer this way,” he says. “He’ll be there for all of us, not just you. Sometimes the fans get a little enthusiastic, that’s all. Gotta make sure everyone’s safe.”
“Any fan in particular?” Keannen says, leaning over the conference table to leer past me at Shawn.
Shawn stiffens beside me and issues a terse “no” that only widens Keannen’s grin. Whatever that’s about, I don’t want to know. I have enough issues of my own.
Emmett returns from his phone call conference in the corner of the room.
“Seth says he can be there ahead of you all with a couple of his guys,” Emmett says. “They’ll keep an eye on things all night. No coming or going without one of them knowing about it, okay?”
Everyone agrees, leaving me no choice but to nod as well. I barely hold back from groaning. Seth did say he wasn’t letting me out of his sight anymore, but I didn’t think it meant he’d be my permanent shadow. I thought I could still go out one night without a babysitter on my heels.
Once he has our agreement, Emmett lets us go. I get out of that conference room about as quickly as I can, but I can’t escape Keannen’s knowing smirk.
“Don’t even start,” I say.
He puts up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it. I can see it.”
We pile into an elevator, all five of us at once. Keannen leans back in a corner, and I stand in front of him so I can’t see him, crossing my arms over my chest. Shawn stands beside me. Our lead guitarist is a man of few words, which leads many to see him as cold and aloof. I know otherwise, even before he gives my shoulder a consoling squeeze.
Thankfully, that’s the end of the discussion about my birthday and any incredibly hot bodyguards who may or may not be there to watch over me the entire night. We get to leave the building without fanfare. We even get to drive our own cars home. No need for Seth to barrel through reporters this time.
Why can’t my birthday be like this?
It’s only temporary, I tell myself. Soon, the buzz will die down. It’s because of the tour and Keannen dating that Ten Hours drummer and us leaching off the larger band’s fame. The newness will fade sooner or later, and the paparazzi will move on to someone else. I’ll get to live my life again, I promise myself. Maybe I’ll even get to meet a guy I’m allowed to want, a guy who isn’t my bodyguard and therefore technically my employee.
I repeat those words to myself several times, like a mantra before a meditation, something to settle my heart and mind, but before I start driving, I take out my phone, intending to put on some music for the drive home. And there I find a simple text message.
Happy birthday.
It’s from Seth. He must have sent it after Emmett called him and explained the situation with the club. My heart does somersaults, leaping around like a grasshopper. I can’t quiet the reaction, but at least I’m alone. This time. If something as simple as a “happy birthday” has me sweating in my car, however, what the hell is it going to be like when I’m out at a club with Seth shadowing me the entire time? A little alcohol will sand down my good sense, eroding the guardrails that should keep me from making disastrous decisions that involve my bodyguard. Sure, he’s probably straight, but he’s also tall and strong and gorgeous and constantly sweeping in to literally save me, and I don’t know how to keep myself from falling for that.
The night hasn’t even begun, and I already don’t trust myself.