Chapter Five
Oliver
Lemon Perkins sits on the far side of the room, legs crossed beneath short, red fabric and plastered to some young roadie’s side. My jaw clenches as he envelops her body like plastic wrap, needy and toxic, clung to what was just mine.
There’s a gauche tonguing of her neck, and I suppress a groan at his immaturity.
She moans my way, but I maintain her stare with unaffected eyes, until she returns her attention to the accosting of her neck, surrounded by all to see.
It’s all fake.
She wants my attention. To punish me for what we didn’t do. It’s more than apparent when her eyes cut to mine between each breath for reactions, ones I haven’t the slightest intention of giving her.
Not this time, Sour Patch.
Even if my cock has yet to get the memo, I’m not playing her game. No, in the seclusion of the darkened booth, I slip my hand beneath the table and reposition the perpetual erection she conjures.
She’s invited a friend, Tina, auburn curls and legs for days.
We’ve met before, so I’m no stranger to the casting agent whose father also owns a production company.
She’s fierce and promiscuous, like Lemon, and the pair scream two things with their care-free attitude and blatant entitlement.
Generational wealth and social privilege.
Is that why she’s here? The casting agent?
The word couch slams against my skull, and I fight the urge to stomp across the room and tear them apart.
I want her on nobody’s couch.
But that’s not my business.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know without a doubt it’s Mrs. Kempling’s notice of leave. Another immediate reminder of the boundaries I must respect as an employee of Perkins Global. I’m not part of this world.
Tina? Onyx? They’re her world. I’m serving it.
Like Mrs. Kempling, I’m here to do a job. And if I do well enough, Mr. Perkins will ensure my family thrives, eats, and becomes educated.
They will have what I promised Lauren I’d provide for them.
Tina leans across the roadie’s lap, whispering to Lemon things I can’t make out from our distance.
But I haven’t a care what they’re up to, so it makes no sense why my eyes can’t peel from Lemon’s when she and Tina play suck-and-blow across the man’s lap.
Her eyes dart to my corner. What are you gonna do about it?
I should force my gaze in another direction, any other direction, but I don’t.
I could get up and walk away, sparing myself whatever debauchery is about to come, but we both know I won’t.
I would stalk across the room, yank her from the pile of wanting limbs, and take her in front of them all, how I know she wants, if I were a different man.
In a different life.
But I’m not.
So, I watch.
And her eyes stay fixed on mine.
Your loss, they say.
Tina pushes the roadie back, tongue tangling with none other than Onyx Barringer’s beside her, only Lemon doesn’t notice. She’s too busy taunting me.
I shouldn’t even be looking, yet I can’t turn away, not when the man who isn’t me spreads her over the table and she meets my gaze the whole way down.
We can’t, I say with my eyes.
So down she goes, training her focus to my corner as the man she doesn’t even know tugs open her dress and moves his mouth across her chest.
She swats him away when he gets too low, and I’m on my feet before I’m self-aware, but he complies, moving his mouth back where she was expecting it. Tina joins, too, licking lines of alcohol off her bare skin.
Her dress is still intact above her waist, but her entire top half is exposed, and even in the privacy of the small VIP group, heads are turning to join the fun, and that’s when chaos meets catastrophe.
“Tequila!” the man shouts.
I don’t recognize him.
“This is an exclusive event,” I warn security through my headset. “Check the lists.”
I clench my jaw. Something about the man is familiar. A celebrity, maybe, but I can’t concentrate on his identity like I should when I lift my eyes to find Tina using the CEO’s only daughter as a human-platform on which to take liquor shots.
Lemon smiles, a satisfied, shimmer of a tease, but it fades when members of the band join in…all but Onyx, who watches like me.
My heart jolts as it unfolds before me.
Her demeanor shifts, brow pinches.
She isn’t into this anymore.
It’s my job to shut this down. These women are trashed, three bottles of wine between them in less than an hour, and apparently Tina is as reckless as Lem, lime juice dripping from her exposed breasts as partygoers cheer her on in a one-woman wet T-shirt contest.
I’m irritated at Lemon more than anything, but I’m furious with the band. Not only did she tell them their fling was over, but they haven’t thought twice about how this could affect the company’s investment.
What if the press caught wind? Every one of them is lucky this is private, but a nagging feeling has me searching for the man from before.
“Party is over!” I shove to my feet as Lemon pushes the men away with a swift curse. They comply immediately, offering drunken apologies and stumbling off to corners with groupies on standby.
All but Onyx, who just stares at a half-naked Lemon staring at me.
I’ve toyed with her feelings just like she’s done with his. And still, it’s my eyes she seeks, not the successful young rock star with a future and fortune.
Is she testing whether I want her more?
I could pass that test.
But life isn’t about wants.
I prepare myself to restore order, the need to cover and lead her to safety overriding the systems in my mind so much that I’ve nearly forgotten about the strange yet familiar man until his eyes pierce mine.
Eyes I saw…at last month’s press conference.
The smug man winks, tucking his phone away just as the door to the VIP lounge swings open and a series of bright flashes precedes a painfully smug, “No. Effing. Way,” from one person who could mess everything up, Shelia Goldblum of the East Coast Press.
Fuck.