24. The Charm Offensive
NICKY
The Archer Armstrong charm offensive was formidable.
Once he decided he needed to woo me, the man was everywhere. In the morning, he had my coffee ready—cream and a little sugar.
When I took Charlotte for pee breaks, he walked beside me, always staying between me and the highway.
He got in Bruce’s face when Bruce demanded I get him a latte, even though I was looking forward to the break from the crowd that a Starbucks run would entail.
When Sheree did a drop-in at the University of Memphis, she invited Archer to sing two duets with her. The rapturous crowd was glad to welcome him to the stage, but cries for Charlotte became overwhelming. Sheree laughed and nodded, and Archer gestured to the person holding Charlotte’s leash—who happened to be me.
Sheree and Archer weren’t on a stage with a six-foot drop to an audience; they were on a stone patio. It was as likely for Charlotte to head for a screaming student if I dropped her leash as it was for her to go to Archer. I was forced to walk forward and hand him the leash, putting me briefly in the fierce cone of attention around Sheree.
Archer took the leash and made a big production of kissing my cheek, which made the female audience members sigh.
“That’s Nicky,” he told them as I scurried away. “Thank you, Nicky. Thank you.”
My skin was hot from the flush. Did I like the attention or hate it? I couldn’t say.
Ian smiled and nodded the first night on the bus after the Memphis concert, when I paused by my bunk and looked at him in the back lounge. He had his guitar out and was playing scales. “I know,” he said quietly.
So, I went to sleep in my bunk under Archer.
The only good thing about the nightmares was that this time, I didn’t wake anybody else. And I wasn’t in the merch storeroom, although the white-tiled locker-room shower somehow held the same terrifying menace. I never saw what was stalking me. I woke myself up before I had to look at the horror.
The second night, on the road to Denver, I had to get out of the bunk. The confinement was too much like the crate I’d dreamed about—the one that ate me, trapped me, locked me in the crushing grip of clinging fabric.
The bus was still rolling through the night, Ken oblivious with his headphones on. Even Charlotte stayed asleep in her bunk across from me. Only Ian was awake, still trying his self-soothing technique with his guitar.
It would be rude to ignore the one other person alive on the planet at that hour.
I sat across from him on the thin bench. We both avoided the daybed part of the sofa.
“Nightmare,” he said neutrally.
“Insomnia,” I replied.
We both sighed.
When the bus pulled into Denver, Archer looked at me. “Hotel tonight,” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“A bed. Clean sheets.” Mal and Ian pretended they couldn’t hear him.
“And just enough time to get some laundry done before I corral your press this afternoon.”
“Laundry?” Archer was confused. “We’ve got a few hours before we have to be at sound check.”
“For laundry,” I said firmly.
I could almost hear the gears clicking in his skull. Was he going to push the point?
No, he wasn’t. “Laundry,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
“That’s fine. I still have enough laundry soap for all you guys.”
“I’ll send mine out,” Archer tried, but Ian and Mal ganged up on him and insisted he join us for what apparently was now an Aftermath tradition, called Do Your Own Laundry With Nicky. I felt absurdly pleased that they were going to come with us.
Reporters were now reaching out to me instead of me trying to attract their attention, and I got Aftermath set up in a room of their own before taking my place in the merch booth. Bianca had adhered to a strict one-for-you, one-for-me policy when it came to staffing the VIP suite. We swapped duties every stadium. There had been no further accusations of theft.
I tried to keep my mind occupied as sound checks gave way to crowds and sales and concerts, but a running chant was stomping around in the back of my mind.
What was I going to do about Archer and the hotel room?
He’d been generous and kind and funny. He loved it when I took casual photos of him for the website and social media, so I’d had plenty of pictures to send Selene and Judy. My friends were strongly advocating for the once-in-a-lifetime chance to fuck a rock star.
Even though I pointed out that I thought it was almost certainly a one-night stand.
They didn’t care. “You have to do it for those of us who can’t,” Selene insisted.
“Will you ever sleep with a more gorgeous guy?” Judy asked.
And they were right. He was breathtaking. All the time. Just waking up in the morning. Arguing about the set-list order. Frowning at Charlotte as she ate his boot. Cuddling with Charlotte.
Especially cuddling with Charlotte.
It seemed to hit all women right in the uterus when that handsome man picked up his oversized puppy and came nose to nose with her. She would lick his face, he’d be surprised into sudden laughter, and then he’d chastise her. While I sighed.
If Archer would keep Charlotte in his arms, I’d be sure of my decision. But he did occasionally put her down.
And when he spoke, he wasn’t always so handsome.
No, that wasn’t quite right. The shoulders were as broad, the eyes as blue, the grin as inspirational . . . but in the end, what Archer wanted to talk about was Archer.
I scanned another box of tank tops for Cassidy the merch worker and tried to ignore the fact that my erotic dreams weren’t about Archer. My subconscious kept peopling my fantasies with tall, dark, intense men who—all right, with Ian. Just admit it.
Ian was inspirational.
But Archer was Archer.
And maybe it was vain of me to object to every conversation being about Archer. The alternative was, what? That I wanted to talk about me?
Nice, Nicky. Real mature.
And then Archer was there. Looking at me from the concourse and making the women workers utter unintended exhales of lust.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him. “You’re supposed to be upstairs at the meet-and-greet. You need to talk to people.”
He swung his legs over the counter. Any other person doing it would have been attacked by older women wielding cartons of T-shirts, but they stood back and watched him invite himself into the booth.
“I’m talking to who I want to talk to.” His arm came around my waist, and he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against my temple.
My hands came up. I felt the lean muscles of his ribs through the white button-down he wore, opened far enough to show off his throat.
“God. Hot flash,” Cassidy muttered.
I had a definite tingle in my crotch. Good—my decision-making was getting easier. “I have to work,” I said. “You don’t want to go upstairs?”
“I’ll wait here. Do you mind?” He sat on the counter, out of the way but definitely still on display.
“She doesn’t mind,” Cassidy’s friend, Hazel, said.
“No, she does not,” Cassidy chimed in.
Archer favored them with a grin and a wink, and Hazel staggered.
Sheree was still on her second set, so there weren’t many customers at the merch booth. Things would pick up as people were on their way out, and I worked with Cassidy, Hazel, and the other four workers to prepare for that. Every time I passed him, Archer reached out a finger, a knuckle, a warm hand to touch me in some way. Along my waist. Down my arm.
Once skating down my jeans just to the curve of my ass.
I jumped when he did it, a bolt of excitement shooting through me. He laughed.
Sheree had saved her city song to end the set, before her encores. She and Ian had discussed it. Even though John Denver was from New Mexico, he’d chosen his last name, and everyone knew his most iconic song. So we all sang “Take Me Home, Country Roads” in the concourse with as much delight as they sang it in the stadium, and when Archer added a harmony just for us to hear, the merch workers and I applauded in wonder.
Yes, Archer was spectacular. I could hear Judy saying it. Do it for all the women who can’t.
He was recognized as people streamed out and caused a minor traffic jam as people demanded he sign things for them. Two different women wanted their breasts signed, but each time, Archer looked at me and gently refused.
Yes, he was definitely desirable.
At last, the final fan packed up their dreams and happiness and found their way to their cars. Archer looked at the dark, empty concourse, and said, “Time for the hotel, Nicky.”
“Jesus,” the worker said. “He’s got to stop doing that to me.”
“Not yet.” I smiled. “Now for the important part. The reconciliation.”
“What’s that?”
I gestured to the merch booth. “We took in a lot of money tonight.”
“A lot,” Cassidy said. Our conversation was definitely between eight interested people.
“Now we have to make sure the stadium and the tour agree on how much was sold and how much each party gets.”
“Just take it all,” Archer said with a grin. “It’s hotel time.”
I shook my head, flattered by his enthusiasm. “This is the most important part. I can’t leave yet. You can go. I’ll meet you.”
“No way. I’m not letting you escape.”
“I’ll go,” Hazel offered.
Archer smoldered at her.
“It’ll be a little bit of time,” I cautioned.
A look of annoyance flashed across his face, and then he settled on his counter with a smile. “I’m in for the long haul.”
Did his words mean he could endure the half hour?
Or was he referring to some kind of longer-term relationship?
My breath hitched at the thought. I buried myself in my tablet. How many cases of each? What was left over that needed to be boxed up anew? Did the cash drawers match what was supposed to be in there? Did credit?
I pushed down my growing excitement and realized I’d made my decision. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I’d sleep with Archer Armstrong that night.
Oh boy. Hot flash.
Bruce and Bianca were confused to see Archer sitting on the counter when they came with the stadium manager for the reconciliation. He gave them his whitest grin, and Bianca forgot to breathe. I gave her a big, fake grin.
Yes.
That’s mine.
At least for tonight.
The count was—once again—perfect, and I was off duty. I held out a hand to help Archer off the counter and started to follow Bruce and Bianca to the buses.
Archer stopped me, using a smooth gesture to tuck my hand into his elbow, up against his ribs. “Let’s go this way,” he said.
“But the bus?—”
“I told them to go without us. I want you to myself.” He kissed the corner of my mouth, and I sighed. I was evil enough to be glad when Bianca looked over her shoulder as they walked into the darkness.
Bye, Vampirella.
Archer crooned to me as we walked to the main entrance, “I screwed up with you before, Nicky, and I’m not going to do it this time. Please join me.” A car waited for us at the curb. He seated me and tucked in beside me. “Driver, you can go. Need help with your seat belt, sweetness?”
His attentiveness was overwhelming. “I can get it,” I said.
“Of course. I have some wine chilling at the hotel. Or I can get a red, if you prefer that.”
“I like white.” Maybe it would calm my nerves.
“Perfect.”
He crooned in my ear the whole way to the hotel, smoothing my hair back from my forehead, caressing my cheek, playing with my fingers. He managed to walk the fine line between gentlemanly behavior and intense desire as we crossed the lobby and went up to the fifteenth floor in the elevator. Unlike our last trip, he didn’t attack me in the elevator. Just like the last trip, I saw our reflection in the elevator doors.
And he made my knees weak.
The hotel hallway was hushed. Behind one of these doors, Ian was staring at the ceiling, not sleeping.
Don’t think about that now.
Archer’s room was elegant and large. A seating area overlooked the lights of the city. In the morning, the view of the mountains would be spectacular.
The large bed made me nervous, so I focused instead on the large arrangement of red roses.
“So lovely.”
“You like them?” Archer took my laptop bag from me and set it on the bureau. “I ordered them for you.”
“You didn’t!”
“Of course I did. I told you I was going to apologize. I think you said you liked white wine? Have a seat.”
His seduction was practiced—and very effective. I sat on the sofa, relaxing because we’d apparently delayed the bed portion of the evening.
He pulled the cork from a bottle (points for that; this wasn’t a screw-top or whatever was in the minibar) and poured two glasses. Then he sat next to me, but not too close.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against mine. The wine was dry and cold. It would go down very easily. That would prove useful. “All right, here it is.”
“Here what is?” I asked.
He shifted to face me more closely. “Here is my actual apology. I keep saying I’m going to, so now I’m actually going to do it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.”
“I do,” he said firmly. “It’s been brought to my attention that Nicky is more than someone to sleep with.” Brought to his attention? By whom? “Nicky has become extremely important to Aftermath in just, wow, less than a month.” He clinked glasses with me again. Mine was half empty. “Kudos to you.”
“Thank you.”
“My point is, I wasn’t seeing you correctly, and that made me stupid.”
“Stupid?”
He got off the sofa in a move so instinctively graceful that I had to smother a quiet gasp. “Stupid.” He leaned over the back of the sofa to refill my glass. The bottle came with him when he sat again, beads of condensation trickling down to the marble coffee table. “I mistook you for someone less important. The other night in St. Louis, I made a mistake.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did. I thought you were just any woman, and that it was your responsibility to take care of me. Of me,” he clarified, pointing to his crotch with a wink. The embarrassing heat of a blush tightened the skin on my cheeks.
“Got it,” I said dryly.
“But you’re not just any woman. You’re Nicky. So, when I got pouty and went to find someone who would see to me—you know, me.” Again the point to his crotch. I nodded. “Well, I insulted you. Because you’re Nicky. If you need flowers and wine and fine bed linens, then it’s my pleasure to get that for you.”
“Huh.” There was something off-center about that line of reasoning, but I couldn’t take the time to figure out what it was. Something about . . . maybe . . . all women deserve decent treatment? If they wanted it?
“I’m offering you my sincere apology for insulting you. You deserved better, and I intend to see that you get it. And not just tonight either.”
Well, since he brought it up . . .
“What does that mean? Not just for tonight? Are you talking about a—a real relationship?”
“I certainly am,” he said stoutly. I blinked, astonished. This was not the Archer I’d been told to expect.
“That’s not like you, is it?” I asked as gently as I could. It’s a delicate thing to tell a guy he’s a man-slut.
“Well, I’ve never met anyone like you.” He took my glass and set it with his on the table. “And I think you like me too.” He eased forward, his hand cradling my cheek. “We can be together for the rest of the tour. You and me.”
He kissed my cheek. The corner of my mouth. He’d just turned my head to get to my mouth when I stupidly opened it. “Just for the rest of the tour?”
He sat back. “Well . . . yeah. Do you want more than that? I mean, I’m going to be in the music business, and I guess you’re going back to college in . . . Maryland?”
“Pennsylvania. And it’s graduate school.”
“Right.” He tugged the holder from my ponytail and stroked the fall of hair. “Separate lives. We’ll have the rest of the tour.” He kissed my chin.
“We could make it work for longer,” I said.
“Absolutely,” he murmured. Then he kissed me.
Two thoughts came to me. The first was that he was lying—possibly about having any relationship at all, but certainly about extending the relationship past the tour.
The second thought was that no one had ever taught Archer to kiss without so very much teeth.
This was going to be less of a seduction and more of an instructional opportunity.
I pulled back to get him to lessen the pressure, but he took it as a desire to end the kiss. He sat back and smiled at me. “Do you accept my apology?”
I thought about it. “I absolutely do. I think you’re sincere in your intentions, and I appreciate that you’re willing to consider a relationship of even a few weeks.” I’d intended to continue and explain to him that I didn’t want to add expectations to our encounter; if it lasted for one night, I at least knew what I was getting into.
But he stopped me. “You can change out of those clothes, if you want to.”
I was in jeans and a Sheree T-shirt. Did he want lingerie-model underwear? “Into what?” I asked coyly.
“Whatever you want.” He leaned back expansively. “Your suitcase is in the bathroom.”
That stopped me. “My suitcase? Is in your bathroom? How did it get there?”
He grinned, and I felt the zing again. God, he was handsome.
“The bell captain turns out to be a woman. And a fan. She agreed to help me on a little Romeo-and-Juliet mission. She broke into your room and got me your bag.”
I frowned. “She could get fired.”
“She could. But she won’t. You’re not mad, are you?” His sudden concern was sort of charming.
“No. That’s okay.”
“Good. You won’t need anything, though, not for the next three days. You and I are going to stay right here in hotel bathrobes. Or nothing.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, which I would have appreciated more if I hadn’t been thrust once again into confusion.
“Not three days,” I said. “We leave tomorrow for the spa in Sedona.”
Sheree’s thank-you gift to the tour: two nights at a luxurious spa where we could rest and refresh at the halfway point of the North American tour. I’d been looking forward to it.
“Not you and me. I told them we’d meet them in Phoenix in time for sound check.”
“You like to do that, don’t you? Leave the tour and come back when you’re ready?”
“Ah, but this time I’m leaving the tour to spend time with you. Do you want to change now? Get out of these clothes?” He leaned in again, and I found myself abruptly on my feet. “Oh, you do want to change.”
I shook my head. “I was looking forward to the spa,” I said.
He stood and joined me, holding my waist in his hands. “I can give you a massage,” he assured me. Then he leaned in to whisper in my ear, his golden head bent close to mine. “And depending on what you’re into, I can also give you a facial, if you know what I mean.”
He wanted to come on my face.
I stepped backward.
“The roses are lovely,” I said. “And the wine was delicious. I have to go now.”
“What?”
I had wheeled my bag out of the bathroom before his eyebrows had climbed back down from his hairline. I stopped, knowing I owed him more.
“Archer.” I stopped, inhaling to collect my thoughts. “I’m not saying this is impossible. But I need a little more time. Can I call you tomorrow morning?”
“Call me? Tomorrow morning?” Archer was on unsteady land. He gestured to the roses, the bed, and then to me. “Nicky, I really am sorry?—”
“I know. I accept your apology. I just have some thinking to do. I need time. And if you need to pick up . . . a groupie in the meantime, I guess I understand that.” Maybe he could seek relief from the lady bell captain.
“I’m not going to—I really don’t get this. What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. Seriously. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Not knowing what else to do, I kissed his cheek and walked out.
I was overwhelmed with relief when the door clicked closed behind me.
I stood in the hallway and realized I was listening to see if I could hear someone playing scales on the guitar.
I shook myself and took my bag back to my far-less-opulent room on the third floor. My roommate was snoring in her bed, which was fine with me, since I was unable to explain why I’d disappeared and then come back again.
I sat on the bed fully dressed with my arms crossed over a pillow and tried to sort out the tangle of my emotions.
I was unsuccessful.
But I did fall asleep deeply enough that when the lighting technician told me it was time to go to the buses, I promised I was right behind her and then fell asleep again.
Bus eight left for Sedona without me.
Still, the sleep did me some good because when I woke up, the mists had cleared, and I knew what I wanted without a single reservation.
I called Archer.
“Nicky?” He answered right away, which I thought probably meant he hadn’t picked up a quick lay somewhere.
“Archer, want to split the cost of a rental car with me?”
“Where are we going?’
“Sedona.”
“Um, they won’t have hotel rooms for us. I told them we weren’t coming.”
“Then you’ll have to bunk with Mal. I’m going to be with Ian.”
His pause told me he was working through the thought. “Ian? You want Ian and not me?”
I sighed in glad relief. “I want Ian bad. I can’t wait any longer.”
“And you don’t want Mal,” he clarified. “Because Mal’s got a thing for you.”
“No, he doesn’t. He thinks I’m his sister. And I’m pretty sure he knows I want Ian.”
Archer was silent, and I realized I’d only been thinking of myself. Who was vain now? “Is that okay? Are you mad?”
“Ian is the best man I know,” he said slowly. “He’s lucky as hell that you’re interested. And if he doesn’t treat you right, you let me know. I’ll kick him into shape.”
I couldn’t keep my smile down. “Thanks. How soon can you be ready to leave?”