Chapter 2 #2
“Yes. They’re not thrilled that she’s hired us, but they’re not about to give shit to the talent.”
“What about her agent? Will he be there? Is he trustworthy?” I ask.
“She is.” Joe smiles. “Bianca Brooks is Kat’s childhood friend and is a top agent with the Jett Agency. And yes, she’ll be there. Her husband, too. Brody Holden. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” Joe grins at Collin and I can’t believe Collin grins back.
“You’ve been holding out, you bastard. You know hockey is my game.”
“Does this mean you’re going to go all fan-boy over him and ask for his autograph?” Joe laughs. Collin gives him the finger.
“Nope. But after the gig I might invite him up here for a beer.” He spreads his arms around to encompass the space created to impress and entertain.
“That can be arranged,” Joe nods looking pleased by the suggestion.
“Do I get a vote? I have no idea who this guy is and I’m not into hockey.” It’s not entirely true, but I’m out of the loop. Sports haven’t been relevant to me for a long time and the only stars I’ve been into are in the sky or in the unit.
“You sound like someone’s kid sister who’s being left out of the party,” Joe teases. “I promise you’re included—unless you don’t want to be.”
“We’ll see how things go,” I say, meaning to be cheeky. But a chill shudders through me and I stiffen, trying to stop it. Because that only ever happens when there’s something terribly wrong. And it’s way too early to know that or even have a feeling like this one way or another. Isn’t it?
“Do we have everything covered, Joe? What about background checks on all the stage hands and everyone with access?”
“Kat says they’ve all been with her for the entire tour which has included seven concerts so far.”
“That’s not very long.” The feeling heightens. “Did you review the background checks?”
“Of course. I reviewed the police files but they didn’t find anything. There was only time for me to do a surface check of my own which turned up nothing. If Acer bothers to get back to me, we’ll have more.”
“Shit.” I say this to myself, but I feel Collin’s eyes on me. And his frown. I especially feel the worry of his frown.
“You’re worried,” he says. “Intel is never perfect, Dag. We’ll be there and we’ll keep a watch on everyone who goes near her.”
“There will be no weapons allowed inside and that includes a check of all personnel,” Joe adds.
I nod.
Joe stands. “That’s all I have. Time for us to dress.”
I’m surprised when I walk into my quarters—I mean bedroom suite.
It’s spacious with a large window a desk, a stationary bike and set of weights in one area and a plush area rug under the bed.
I wander into the bathroom—which is more accurately a spa—and notice the make-up mirror and velvet tufted stool at the end of the vanity. I laugh out loud.
Then I realize, maybe this new job will require a polished look for private clients, especially if they’re all celebrity clients like Kat.
My curiosity sparked, I leave the spa room and head for the closet. The lights come on as I enter and the space is large enough for a second bedroom, lined with customized shelving and hanging spaces, drawers, a round tufted seating bench and a chandelier.
My eyes travel the perimeter until I find the only clothing in the cavernous closet.
“Uniform?”
I stalk over and pull the skimpy clothes from their hangers.
A pair of low-rider hole-filled jeans that look like they’re three sizes too small.
I hope they expand. And a thread-bare t-shirt—or half a T-shirt—with a deep V and the words Two to Tango emblazoned on it strategically in bright pink.
Then I notice the pair of sandals on the nearby shelf and pick them up in disbelief.
They’re more like platform slippers with fluffy fur—and they’re the same pink.
I laugh, dress and present myself in uniform with a salute. “Ready to go, sir.”
Joe nods his approval with a grin and then I dare a glance at Collin.
Pleasure ripples through me like the shock of dynamite as I watch it ripping through a long dormant mountain of rock—that rock being Collin. The sight of Collin’s jaw dropping when he turns and catches sight of me moves me back in time like a supersonic whiplash.
Joe blows out a whistle.
“You’ll blend in perfectly with our client’s crowd.”
Collin’s still wearing his same clothes, more suitable for a PGA golfer crowd than hanging with an up and coming pop star.
“Nothing to say, big boy?” I watch him gulp down the choke of emotion and my elation doubles up in the form of a Cheshire cat grin.
“Get dressed, Collin. We need to pick her up at 1500—”
“What the hell, Joe? We’re dressing in costumes?”
“You heard him,” I say. “We’re blending in.”
He rolls his eyes and stalks back into his suite. I follow him automatically, without thinking. When he stops short and turns, I bump into him and another stronger wave ripples through me, this one hitting its target exactly between my thighs.
Unfortunately, my body hasn’t changed how it feels about the man even if the rest of me protests.