Ace of Spades (6 page)

Chapter 8

Knights
of the

Round
Table

         
Unsure
what an under qualified -- or over qualified, depending on perspective --
manager to a rock star might wear to her first day of work, Melody donned her
typical professional attire -- a slim-fitting pencil skirt with a tailored
button-down shirt tucked into its high waist and paired with matching heels.
She might be overdressed for fishing skanky panties out of the pool or holding
back Jackson’s hair while he puked, but by damn it, she’d look professional
doing it. Hell, for what he planned to pay her, it was the least she could do.

         
Nervously smoothing her skirt, Mel punched the lock button on her key fob and
headed toward Brewster’s. Two men, looking like bulky-muscled thugs turned
bouncers, thronged either side of the coffee shop’s entrance. They nodded in
greeting as she approached and stepped aside to grant her entrance.
Weird.
Since when did Brewster’s have bouncers?

         
The sign on the door indicated the café was ‘closed for a private event,’
answering her question.
Since Jackson decided it did.
 The men were
probably part of Jackson’s security detail.

         
Shrugging it off, Mel pushed open the door and stepped into the cozy coffee
shop. Several tables had been pushed together to form one large one for Jackson
and his entourage. The wait staff, dressed in all black except for their crisp
white aprons, milled about the room, pouring coffee and answering questions for
the group.

         
Jackson’s team was a mismatched bunch, from the edgy young woman in trendy clothes
to the little old man in a three-piece suit. Yet they chattered amongst
themselves like close friends.

         
Mel scanned the group for Jackson’s familiar face. Her heart took an
involuntary leap in her chest at the sight of him. Pain, pleasure, and
nervousness -- all bundled into one confusing, indefinable emotion.

         
With a charcoal beanie pulled down over his shaggy hair, his tatted arms
resting on the tabletop, and the shadow of a day’s growth on his jaw, he was
the same scruffy, casual bad-boy-next door she remembered from the other day.

         
Except he looked like hell.
 

         
From his sickly, yellowish pallor to his sweat-slicked skin, Jackson looked miserable.
He vibrated with nervous energy, shaking as though ready to jump out of his
skin.

         
Guilt immediately joined in on the roller coaster of emotions.
She
did
that to him. Well, sort of. He did it to himself. But still. Mel didn’t have a
doubt in her mind he’d been true to his word. He was trying to stay clean.
For her.
And he was suffering for it.

         
Pushing aside the pang of guilt, Melody pasted a smile on her face and
approached the group. “Am I late? It looks like the party started without me.”

         
“We wouldn’t dream of starting without you, Mel,” Jackson argued, rising to his
feet and smiling through his misery.       

         
His face had this infuriating habit of lighting up like the New Year’s ball in
Times Square every time he saw her. It made Mel feel like the most important
person in the world. Was that why women the world over fell at his feet?
Because he made them feel beautiful and special?
Yeah
, he needed to stop
looking at her like that. Add that to the list.

         
“Hey, J,” Mel greeted him, deflecting a hug with an awkward handshake.

         
The last thing she needed was to be drawn into his arms. She remembered how
good he’d felt and smelt way back when teenage-Mel had been in those arms. The
idea of hugging him inspired much more unwelcome thoughts of doing other things
with Jackson. It was enough to make adult-Mel a little weak in the knees.

         
Yeah, hugging had to stay off the table. 
Old friend or
not.
He wasn’t that boy anymore. He was a man whore, a recovering drug
addict, and her new boss.
Wow
, now those were words she’d never imagined
in the same sentence before.

         
“You look like hell,” Mel muttered under her breath to him.

         
Jackson shrugged and gave her a pained smile. “I made you a promise. I’m going
to try even if it kills me.”

         
Mel tamped down the rise of guilt again, reminding
herself
that it was for his own good, and beamed at him. “And I’m really proud of you.”

         
Ech-ehm
.
A throat cleared off to Mel’s left. Mel
turned to find the stuffed-shirt, little elderly man in a three-piece-suit and
thick bifocals waiting rather impatiently for their attention. He looked like
he belonged in Jackson’s entourage about as much as a feeble, old goat in a
pack of wolves.

         
“Mr.
Blackner
, would you mind pursuing your personal
interests on your own time? I have appointments this afternoon in Los Angeles,”
the old goat chided.

         
Looking less than properly chastised, Jackson gave the man a recalcitrant grin.
“My apologies,
Grimms
.
Please, let’s begin.”

         
Jackson pulled out the chair next to him and indicated for Melody to sit in it.
She tried to balk that he needn’t do that, that she in fact was there to work
for him, but he quelled her unspoken protest with an arched brow. Melody
obediently took her seat and glanced nervously around the table.

         
“This is Miss Melody Davis,” Jackson announced to the group, indicating Mel
with a sweep of his hand. “She is a long-time friend and a skilled business
manager. Melody has accepted the position as my new manager.”

         
Cheers and grunts of approval followed this news and Melody nodded her thanks.
Without further adieu, Jackson made his way around the table, introducing each
person as it came his or her turn.

         
“Mel, you’ve already met Mr. Harold
Grimms
, my
attorney. He’s a partner at
Grimms
and Ashby, the
firm contracted to handle all my legal matters.”

         
Melody nodded at the man in question, tried not to think about the unsavory
types of legal “matters” Jackson had beyond his business needs, and looked to
the next person down the table.

         
“Next is the illustrious
Daysia
, my stylist.” Jackson
indicated the striking young woman next to
Grimms
.

         
With her spiky purple and black hair, diamond nose stud, and dramatic makeup,
only a grown woman with sheer creative genius could look even half-sane decked
out in such a manner. But
Daysia
worked it and Mel
was impressed. The woman smiled in welcome and the effect was even more
staggering.
Daysia
was stunning.

         
Mel wanted to like her, so she tried not to wonder if Jackson had slept with
her along with the rest of the world. Not that it was her business, anyway.
Jackson could sleep with whomever he pleased. She just didn’t want to think
about it. Yeah, that was it.

         
“And of course, you’ve met Lenny, my head of security.”

         
The big, red-headed bear of a man grinned at her.

         
“Welcome to Ace of Spades, Little Red.”

         
Melody narrowed her eyes at him and he chortled with laughter. Jackson opened
his mouth to introduce the next man, but Melody stopped him with a hand on his
tattoo-sleeved forearm. Every hair on the back of his arm stood on end,
tickling her palm. Mel wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to her touch or just
part of his withdrawals, but it was easier to blame the withdrawals.

         
“Wait,” Melody interjected, eyeing Lenny with an evil grin. “I’m his boss now,
right?”

         
Jackson chuckled. “Yeah, you’re in charge of all my staff, so I guess you are.”

         
“Great,” she said, turning to Lenny. “Don’t call me ‘Little Red’ anymore.”

         
Lenny barked in laughter.
“Whatever you say, Little Red Boss.”

         
The men at the table laughed and Mel’s cheeks burned. She’d been laughed at way
too much in her life and, though it was all in good fun, she still didn’t love
the feeling.

         
The fact didn’t get past Jackson.

         
“
Yo
, Len,” Jackson called down the table to his
friend.

         
“Yeah, Jack?”

         
“Cut the shit,” Jackson said softly, a new edge to his voice. “Miss Davis has
my permission to fire your ass if you so much as look at her wrong. I don’t
care if she asks you to call her Joan of Arc or Cleopatra. You do it.”

         
Chuckling and muttering something under his breath along the lines of ‘pussy-whipped,’
Lenny gave a nod of understanding. 
“My apologies, Miss
Davis.”

         
“Mel is fine,” Melody suggested with a soft smile, trying not to gloat over her
victory-
much.

         
“And this ugly, little bastard is
Shortie
, my bass
player,” Jackson continued as though nothing had happened, nodding to a tiny
man with a huge green Mohawk and multiple facial piercing.

         
The little man grinned at her. “Welcome to Ace of Spades, Ms. Rabbit.”

         
Uncertain, Mel glanced at Jackson. “Dare I ask?”

         
Jackson grinned. “It’s okay. I’ll explain later.” His smile flattened out when
he turned back to
Shortie
. “You heard what I said to
Lenny. Same goes for you,
Shortie
.”

         
“Hey, I wouldn’t dream of pissing off the lovely new boss,”
Shortie
protested.

         
“
Mmhmm
,” Jackson murmured, clearly unconvinced. “Next
to
Shortie
is Tommy, my drummer.”

         
Tall as
Shortie
was short, Tommy was apparently the
big, silent type. Maybe he was shy. Or maybe he’d fried his brain with drugs.
Either way, Tommy grunted something that might have been a greeting. Mel
assumed his drumming skills surpassed his social skills and waved in
acknowledgement.

         
“Then, there’s Dodger, my guitarist,” Jackson pressed on, indicating the
handsome blonde man across the table.    

         
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davis,” Dodger purred, flashing a sexy,
lady-killer smile full of perfect white teeth in a perfect tanned face.
Trouble
.
Melody filed him away under ‘things to
avoid.’

         
His flirtation didn’t go unnoticed by Jackson either. “
You
have a
completely different set of rules, Dodge. Hands off,” Jackson growled at the man.

         
Dodger chuckled. “I hear you loud and clear, man. You couldn’t have staked your
claim any more clearly if you’d started pissing circles around her.”

         
Mel ruffled slightly at the statement. She didn’t belong to Jackson.  Nor
did she intend to. Sure, they were old friends and now he was her boss, but
that was it. He was just setting down some ground rules. That was all. Well, at
least if she had her way.

         
“Whatever,” Jackson muttered. “Just keep your hands to yourself. It’s a lot
harder to play guitar with all your fingers broken.”

         
Mel wondered if Jackson would take his own advice. He’d made it perfectly clear
he had more than a professional interest in her. Hopefully, he could keep his
head on straight and not complicate things between them. She wanted to help
him, not get dragged down with him.

         
Jackson cleared his throat and rushed through the remainder of the
introductions. “Next is Zane, my driver.
Then, Kip, my stage
director, and Sheila, my publicist.
Next to her is Tracie, my personal
assistant, and next to Tracie is Miles, my agent. You’ll be working quite a bit
with Sheila, Tracie, and Miles, so you’ll want to get to know them well. “

         
The remaining members of Jackson’s team offered their greetings and Melody
nodded in thanks. 

         
“Alright, alright.
Now everyone has met,”
Grimms
grumbled. “Let’s take care of her paperwork, so I
can get back to Los Angeles.”

         
Grimms
slid a thick manila envelope filled with
papers in front of Melody.  “The first page is your acceptance of the
position, including the salary you have discussed with Mr.
Blackner
.
The next page is a nondisclosure agreement. The next several provide an
in-depth description of your duties…”

         
The old man rambled on and on, detailing each document in Melody’s new hire
paperwork. Melody dutifully listened and wondered if it was possible to fall
asleep with her eyes open.