5. Eli
five
Eli
Oh fuck.
The music starts and Callie bends over. She shakes her ass and then touches the ground with her palms before dropping into what I can only describe as a come-fuck-me squat. One at a time, her knees pop wide open to the beat, and my dick jerks to life.
Why the fuck is she wearing nothing but nude leggings and a fucking sparkly leotard?
I rip my eyes away and take a few deep breaths. As casually as I can, I button my suit jacket and adjust my slacks, alleviating the tightness that seems to grow with every second of this dance rehearsal.
For the past week, it has been impossible to accomplish any work. I’m going to kill Hudson for forcing me to sit through this torture. I can feel my control slowly slipping away with each day I’m here.
Hell, my control almost snapped when I watched Callie that day in her dressing room, as she lay on the couch singing. Her angelic voice hits me like a fist through the ribs, reaching in and gripping my heart with a squeeze. When the tear slipped down her cheek, it took everything in me not to pull her into my arms and hold her.
There’s this deep-seated need in me to learn everything about her. I’m desperate to crack her head open to find out what made her so sad and fix it. I’ve never heard someone sing Somewhere over the Rainbow with such pain and sadness before. I thought it was a hopeful song, but now I’m not so sure.
It’s been days, and her beautiful voice still rings in my ears like a singing little bluebird on my shoulder. I knew she was talented, but experiencing the sound of her raw, emotion-fueled voice in person stirred something inside me. I’d be a liar if I said it was the song, but it wasn’t. It was her.
I could kick myself for telling her she sounded beautiful and should sing like that more often. The way her eyes popped out of her head in surprise made my stomach ache with regret. Have I really been that much of a dick to her all these years?
Yes, my inner asshole declares.
The music stops, and I watch as the choreographer calls Callie over, instructing her on a certain move. One of the backup dancers approaches and places his hand on her lower back, dangerously close to her ass. Unexplainable, one-hundred-percent unwelcomed anger bubbles in my chest, and the urge to rip that guy’s fucking hand off consumes me.
My phone rings, and I answer the call without looking, “What?” I bark.
“Don’t shout at me, fucker,” Mason growls on the other line. “You’re the one who asked for my help.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take another deep breath. My feelings are all over the place, and my dickishness is showing. “Sorry, Mase. I-I… Never mind. Is everything set?”
“Yep. My contact at the security company says everything is online. His crew finished last night, and he sent me the link for the camera feeds. I’ll send it to you now. Can I ask why you need surveillance at the rehearsal space?”
“No.” Something about the way Callie looked off into space when I asked about the accident with her shoe had me digging. I only got more suspicious when the shoe that broke mysteriously disappeared.
I also investigated the incident where Callie got locked in the changing closet under the stage. According to the stagehand I talked to, the temperatures below the stage are dangerously hot. With all the lights and equipment above creating heat, the air conditioner can’t do its job. If Hud hadn’t been keeping a close eye on Callie, there’s no telling how long she would have stayed missing and… I don’t even want to think about what could have happened to her in that hot closet.
Mason sighs, but he respects my need for discretion and doesn’t push for more information. He trusts I’ll talk to him when it’s necessary. “It’s ten cameras, and since it’s temporary, he said you only have to pay for the labor and, of course, any damages that might occur.”
“Got it. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“Like I had a choice. I owed you for the ticket last year,” he says, making me chuckle.
“True. One down, one to go.”
“Don’t remind me. You better not let Emery know I owe you another favor. She thinks it was just the one.”
“Aww, how precious. You don’t want your wife to know the hotel you got married in was open because your brother pulled strings and not because of magical love fate?”
“You’re an asshole,” he grunts, acting like he’s mad at me. “But yes. So keep your mouth shut, or I’ll dip into your account and make some very large donations to the animal shelter in your name.”
I bark a laugh. He would do that. Not that I’d mind. I like animals. “Love you too, little bro.”
“Yeah, yeah. When are you coming to visit? It’s been a while.”
It really hasn’t. I was just in Pine Hills, Oregon, a few weeks ago for my niece Sariah’s first birthday. She’s the cutest little girl in the world and the spitting image of her momma, Rylann.
“Don’t know. I’m covering for Hudson while he’s gone.”
“How’s that going for him?”
“Good. Talked to him yesterday. He said Penny likes the new place and seems really happy about the move.”
“Any word on Harold?” he asks.
“Still nothing.”
“Well, if you want me to look into it, I can.”
Mason has offered to help before, but Hudson said he’d rather the authorities take care of the problem, so I will continue to respect his wishes. “Nah, let’s leave this to the authorities, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Anytime, E.” I hear small yappy barks in the background. Mason hushes his dog, and I can’t help but chuckle. My grumpy brother loves that tiny little Yorkie. “I’ll catch you later. It seems like my wife’s dog thinks the delivery guy is robbing the joint.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love the little furry guy.”
“Fuck off,” Mason growls. He’s a sucker for that dog, and Emery; he just doesn’t like anyone knowing about it. “One day, E, you’ll understand.”
I glance over at Callie as she looks over her shoulder. Her chestnut-brown eyes find mine, sending a shock through me. She breaks the connection between us and steps away from the dancer with a tight smile.
The uncomfortable tightness in my chest loosens. “Yeah, maybe.”
Mason and I say our goodbyes as my phone buzzes with a new email notification. I open the message and click on the link. I’m redirected to the same security camera application I use at my house, only this time the cameras I had installed at The Ricochet Lounge open for me to view. I check all the camera feeds, confirming they are streaming, before closing them and shoving my phone in my pants pocket.
Instead of returning to my laptop, like I should, my attention returns to the stage. Callie is back in the spotlight with her dancers surrounding her in a circle. The music starts, and the group begins the first steps of choreography. They move in perfect unison to Callie’s hit song.
She looks amazing, moving to the beat as she lip syncs. The sheen of sweat covering her chest sparkles under the spotlight, making her look like the shining star she truly is.
As I follow Callie from rehearsals to recording sessions, I realize just how much I underestimated her as a person. She is so much more than a bubblegum popstar. Callie is amazingly talented. She’s hardworking, dedicated, kind, extremely disciplined, and gorgeous.
So fucking gorgeous it hurts.
My chest squeezes uncomfortably again. It’s a feeling I’m becoming all too acquainted with this week. I watch her hit every mark with enthusiasm. She has this aura about her that is completely captivating. It’s no wonder people everywhere love her.
For the past week, I have found myself arriving early to stand outside her dressing room door like a creeper, listening to her sing—I learned from her security guard, Mike, that she does it every morning “without fail”.
I only planned on coming early that first day, but something keeps calling me to come back. Listening to her is quickly becoming an addiction. One I won’t be able to quit.
A flash on the other side of the stage catches my eye. Callie’s manager, Silla, is leaning over an older woman with glasses around her neck, hissing something into the woman’s ear.
A stagehand stops beside me and grabs a bottle of water off the refreshment table.
“Hey.”
“Sup?”
I point towards Silla and the short lady across the stage. “Who’s that talking to the viper with nails?”
He looks over. “That’s Maggie, the seamstress.”
Interesting.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m Tommy. I’ve seen you around, but not the other suit with blond hair.” He grabs a muffin and takes a bite.
I don’t really feel like making small talk, but it’s always better to make friends than enemies. “That was Hudson, my partner. He’s out of town. I’m Eli. Callie’s … other agent.”
“Cool. Watch out for the chick with nails. She’s evil.” Tommy nods in Silla’s direction before rushing off, leaving me to watch the encounter between the two women.
Evil . Interesting and yet not a surprising description.
But the way Tommy describes Silla sticks with me. Hudson was right. There is more to the story here. From afar, I’ve watched Silla Treymonde all week. She comes in here acting like she’s the star of the show, and her dressing room reflects it. I’ve also noticed the way Silla watches Callie as she performs. It gives me chills. Silla’s blue eyes gleam with this weird mix of emotions I can’t quite figure out, but it’s definitely not love.
I continue to observe Silla and Maggie, who appears to be in her fifties. She winces and nods, a look of fear on her face. Silla stands tall and then waves the woman away with her talons. Maggie rushes off, and I step back out of view, hiding behind the curtain, anticipating Silla’s next move. Silla watches Callie for a minute, her lip curling, before she struts off out of sight.
Something about that whole scene has my hackles up.
What the fuck was all that about? Why was she …
My thoughts fall off as Callie walks up and stops in front of me, leaving only a mere few inches between us. Her chest is heaving, and strands of her hair stick to the side of her damp face. I shove the urge to brush the soft curling locks behind her ear deep down, forcing the dangerous feelings into a box and locking it.
With four-inch heels on, the top of her head reaches my chin, allowing her sweet, vanilla-floral fragrance to flood my senses. My mouth waters at the delicious scent. How the fuck does she smell so good after dancing for the past three hours?
She reaches to the left of me and grabs a bottle of water off the table. I watch her twist the cap and take a slow sip.
I’m caught in her web as she stares up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeat, swallowing the lump in my throat. This is the first time I’ve spoken to her all week. Like an ass, I have avoided her. “You look good out there.”
What the fuck is wrong with you? Shut up.
Callie smirks at me while she takes another sip of her water. “Hmm. I’m surprised you’re talking to me,” she says, calling me out.
Is it hot in here?
I unbutton my jacket, shrugging it off and placing it over the folding chair before tucking my hands into my pockets. “I talk to you.”
“No, you usually growl at me or find a way to insult me. Well, except for…” She looks away, embarrassed at bringing up what I told her the other day.
Shit. Hudson was right. I am a dick to her.
“I stand by what I said.” I really do. Callie’s amazing.
Her dark-brown eyes find mine again, punching down a piece of the wall I’ve erected around myself where she’s concerned. A wall I put in place to protect me. Her. Us. But I can’t help myself. Spending this past week around her, watching her and learning about her, I find myself drawn to her. I want to immerse myself in her life.
And there’s the problem. I need to take a step back before I get in any deeper with her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Well, I need to go through this routine some more and then get cleaned up before heading to the studio to lay tracks.”
Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Do you want to ride with me to the studio later?”
What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re supposed to avoid her, not drive her.
The temperature in the room skyrockets, and my back sweats. I idly roll up my cuffs, drawing Callie’s attention. Her cheeks turn pink as she bites her lip.
Don’t like that she’s affected. Don’t like that she’s affected, I chant in my head. My cock twitches and I clear my throat, drawing her attention back to my face—where it should stay. “Callie?”
“Um,” Callie hums, and her eyes bounce between mine as she licks her lips.
Please say no. Save us both, Calliope, I beg her.
A multitude of thoughts cross her face before she says, “Okay.”
Ignoring the way my heart stutters at her agreeing to ride with me, I give her a curt nod. Like an idiot, I point at the main seating area in front of the stage. “Okay. I’ll be over there.”
“Cool.” A slow smile spreads across Callie’s face, revealing a deep dimple on the left side of her cheek.
Holy hell. She’s beautiful, and I am so … fucked .
Before I put my foot in my mouth again, I grab my jacket and laptop bag, then rush to my seat. For the next two hours, I try to concentrate on my work and not on the woman on stage who sparkles and dances like an angel under the lights.