Chapter 7
seven
. . .
The air outside LAX was heavy and thick with humidity.
The pickup lane was packed with people dragging luggage and snapping at drivers like everybody’s patience had been left on the plane.
I was frustrated too. There was a whining toddler on the plane, and I barely got any sleep.
I wondered if I had bags under my eyes. I kept my sunglasses on even though the sun was currently lowering, more for the feeling of privacy than anything else.
My phone vibrated in my hand, and I saw a text from Kier.
Mr. Producer:
Hey beautiful. I am in the 3rd black truck with tinted windows. Get in the back on the passenger side.
Glancing around, I found it and headed over with my carry-on and a bigger suitcase rolling behind me.
The closer I got, the more real this felt.
The actual presence of him excited me and the decision to keep moving forward gave me confidence.
The passenger door unlocked before I touched it, and when I climbed inside, the noise from the curb got swallowed instantly, replaced by quiet leather and cool air.
Kier sat behind the driver in a black fitted tee and some black and gray basketball shorts.
He looked me over like he was checking for something,
“That was a long forty-eight hours shorty,” he said steadily.
“Tell me about it,” I answered, trying to keep it light. “I had to tie up loose ends, that's all. And I had to make this work on my end. So, while this might be fun and games to you, I am actually gonna be working this time around.”
His mouth twitched in amusement, but his eyes didn’t soften. “Sibley, you’re not fun and games to me.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I-”
“It’s cool, Sibley, I know what you meant. But I also want you to know a nigga happy you came back. I am happy you kept your promise and I’mma keep mine.”
“Which was what?”
“Taking the summer to show you why being without me isn’t an option.”
Laughing nervously, I swallowed and adjusted my bag at my feet.
“Have you been to LA before?” He asked.
“Yeah, I have.”
“I’m sure you haven’t seen all it has to offer. I’mma take you to a few spots.”
“I look forward to it. But I do have a meeting first thing Tuesday morning. So don’t be trying to interrupt my bag.”
“Okay, Ms. Marketing Manager.” He finally reached over, hooked his fingers carefully around the back of my neck, and pulled me in. His hand stilled at my waist, possessive in a way that made my spine straighten before I could stop it. “Do what you need to do. Just don’t leave again.”
I let out a breath, feeling relieved in his embrace. I hadn’t planned on leaning into him, but my body told on me, anyway. I missed him more than I expected to. It was inconvenient information, and I hated that he could probably feel it in the way I relaxed against his chest.
“I won’t,” I said quietly. “I’m ready to take on the rest of the summer with you.”
“Good, that’s what I wanna hear.”
We rolled forward in the line of cars, creeping toward the exit. I started to relax, and then the flashes hit, startling me completely.
“Kier Stone! Kier! Over here!”
Three photographers stepped off the curb surrounding the truck.
They did a good job of blending in, because to me they looked like regular folks waiting for rides until they started pulling out their equipment.
The cameras had long lenses, and the paparazzi had quick feet.
Their energy was intense and overwhelming.
I looked at Kier, and he gripped my hand.
“Who’s the new girl?”
“Is that your woman, Kier?”
“Is she a new artist or another good time?”
My stomach tensed so fast it felt like I’d missed a step.
I had spent so much time wondering if this thing between Kier and me was real that it never crossed my mind how the outside world might see it.
Another good time. The words stuck out like a sore thumb.
It was an insult, but if I was honest, it was the same question I’d been asking in the back of my mind.
Either Kier noticed the change in my energy, or the comment bothered him just as much.
The truck slowed, attempting not to hit the paparazzi, and that gave him time to react to the moment.
Kier didn’t smile, flinch, or address them.
He just stared at him, calm but intense, and long enough for the photographer to second-guess himself and lower his camera.
Finally, the driver was able to get around them and drove into traffic.
The silence inside the truck felt louder than the flashes had been.
I kept my face turned toward the window, watching the city blur past while my mind did what it always does when I felt exposed.
Ruminating in my thoughts, I ran through scenarios, predicting what I thought all of this meant.
I’d always known Kier’s world came with cameras, and now opinions.
But knowing it and experiencing it were two different things.
Kier’s hand slid onto my thigh, taking me away from my thoughts. “Is that normal?” I asked, keeping my voice as normal as possible.
“It comes with it, Sibley.”
“With what?”
“With fame, or with you being attached to me. I’m not feeding them or whatever story they’ll spin. I’m also not hiding you.”
“Oh, it must be tough for you, living like this. I couldn’t imagine.”
“I’m used to it now.” His fingers flexed once against my leg, applying subtle pressure. “You can be uncomfortable, Sibley. I’m not offended by it. Just don’t let my reaction to the media confuse you. I’m not letting them define what we are.”
I didn’t respond right away. I wasn’t ready to admit how much that last part eased whatever this feeling was that I was experiencing.
I would be crazy to think he should address and correct everything someone said about him, or me even.
That conversation was necessary, because after it, I felt calm and steady.
The driver took us up into the hills, and I watched as the city stretched out in layers of concrete and light.
The air changed as we drove. It became windier, which brought a faint clean scent of ocean air through the cracked windows.
“This is one of my spots when I’m in LA.” He said as we approached a gate that slid open without us even slowing down.
“How many vacation homes do you have, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“You can ask me anything, Sibley. I have four. I tend to purchase in spaces where I do a lot of groundwork. So, Malibu, Miami, and Scottsdale to name a few.”
“Scottsdale, like Arizona? What artist is crazy enough to work in the desert?”
“Don’t sleep on Arizona, baby.” He laughed. “But that’s my chill spot, where I regroup, recenter, and get my creative juices flowing.”
“Only a sociopath finds peace in the middle of the desert, Kier.”
“Says the woman who uses horror movies as comfort.”
We both laughed, then I gasped at the sight before me.
The house came into view, and I marveled at its beauty.
Concrete and glass, and warm wood tones were only the beginning.
The lawn was manicured perfectly, and everything was pristine.
Once the driver parked, Kier exited then came around to open my door.
He gestured for me to leave my luggage in the truck, and I just assumed the driver would get it.
Inside, the air smelled like fresh linen and something citrusy. Out of respect for his home, I took my shoes off, careful not to scuff the marble. The floors were smooth under my feet. The area was open, but not empty. His home was decorated with minimalist art and sleek furniture.
“My goodness, Kier. This is beautiful. If I lived here, I’d never leave.”
“You never have to leave, now. That choice is on you.”
“Kier.” I laughed as I headed to the outdoor area. The home had a beautiful scenic view of miles of ocean. “Wow… breathtaking.”
“When you’re ready, Sibley, I’ll show you to your room.”
“My own room again? You’re spoiling me. Either that or you don’t want a stranger sleeping next to you.”
He grinned a little then turned serious. “Si, don’t confuse my patience and respect for you with uncertainty. I know what I’m doing. The question is, do you?”
I didn’t even have a comeback because I was blushing too hard. “Um.”
“Follow me.” He smiled again, shaking his head.
Kier led me down the hall, showing me a room with one massage table, another room with workout equipment, two guest bedrooms, then a room with an ensuite, which was my room.
It was beautiful, overlooking the ocean.
The bed was made crisp and clean. In the closet, empty wooden hangers lined up neatly; it felt like a hotel room.
Too perfect and had clearly never been used.
For a split second, I imagined moving through a place like this without feeling like I was borrowing somebody else’s life.
“Is this, okay?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Cool. I’mma let you get settled. I gotta hit up the studio, then after the set, we can grab dinner, unless you’re hungry now.”
“Actually, can I come to the studio with you?”
“Word?”
Dramatic or not, I damn near passed out when I got to the studio.
It smelled like smoke layered over cologne and liquor.
The bass thumped through the walls, and that, in conjunction with the smell, immediately overstimulated me.
The room was crowded with women laughing loudly, guys holding cups, and others rolling blunts as if they weren’t already high enough.
Though chaos unfolded before me, the only thing I paid attention to were the women.
I hated my first instinct was comparison.
Between their hair and makeup, they were perfectly put together.
Yes, they were dressed like video girls and they damn near were.
But still, their confidence was intimidating.
They were comfortable in this room, and I wasn’t trying to judge the reasons why.