Pure Iron (31 page)

“Mick’s going to kill you if he sees this,” Angelo warned.

Kris merely raised an imperious eyebrow. Sonia flinched and drew back in alarm.

“Oh, oh! I’m so sorry, Kris! I don’t mean to get you in trouble,” she babbled.

“Shh,” he soothed, drawing her back against him, stroking her hair and back. Having her on his lap, in his arms, felt so
good
, so damned
right
, that he wanted to stay like that forever. “Mick will understand. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

She sighed and relaxed against his broad chest. Angelo squatted in front of them, his expression showing his concern. He set a hand on her leg.

“Sonia, what happened?”

“I went shopping,” she began haltingly, stating the obvious. “The paparazzi, they followed me. Everywhere. I felt like bloody chum in a shark tank.” She shuddered. Kris’s arms tightened around her.

“It’s okay, Sonia,” he said.

She looked up at him, then at Angelo. “Please stay with me until Mick comes home. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You got it,” Angelo replied and stood. He patted her shoulder. “I’ll make you some tea.” He glared at Kris. “Kris, you’ll have to let her off your lap, sooner rather than later.”

“Mick said he’d take me into work today,” she mumbled, eyelids growing heavy.

“When do you have to be in?” Angelo asked.

“Two.”

He glanced at his watch. “Then he’ll be here soon.”

The garage entrance closed quietly behind them and Mick’s baritone growled behind Angelo, “He’s here now and what the hell are you doing with my wife?”

The door opened. Davis and Jack entered.

Sonia started crying again. Kris’ arms tightened around her again.

“Paparazzi hounded her again. Aggressively,” Kris explained tersely.

Mick rubbed a hand over his face. He approached and knelt down on one knee. He rested a hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed her gently.

“Hey, baby, I’m here. I’m sorry I couldn’t come right when you called.”

Sonia lurched away from Kris and flopped into Mick’s arms. Over her head, Mick sent Kris a silent look of mixed triumph and gratitude: triumph because Sonia had left him for her husband’s embrace and gratitude for taking care of her when he could not. Kris’ nod of acknowledgement was almost imperceptible as he let his arms fall away from her. Showing just how strong he was, Mick rose to his feet with nary a grunt of effort and carried her to the bedroom where he laid her down.

He bent down and kissed her forehead and said, “You rest a moment. I need to talk with the guys for a minute.”

She sniffled and nodded.

He left, gently closing the door behind him. Visibly gathering his composure, he thanked Angelo and Kris for taking care of Sonia. He walked to the window and peered through the curtain. Alert cameramen saw the small movement behind the glass which muffled the loud clicking of cameras and shouted questions.

“This is insane,” he commented.

“Unless we break up the band and fade into obscurity, it’s only going to get worse,” Davis said. He glanced toward the bedroom door. “She’s not equipped to deal with this alone. We leave on tour in a week; Sonia won’t have us around to protect her.”

“I know, but she wants this job.”

“You have to choose, Mick. What’s more important: her job or her wellbeing?”

“I’ll talk to her,” he said.

Jack set his hand on Mick’s stiff shoulder and said sympathetically, “I know you want her to be happy. We all do. But no one can have everything. Would she ask you to sacrifice your career?”

“No, she wouldn’t, which is why I hate asking her to give up hers.”

“You’re not really asking her to give it up,” Angelo said. “You’re just asking her to postpone it for a while.”

“It’s not likely she’ll get another opportunity like she has with Chef Kilrook. The guy’s a big name.”

“Maybe not, but we could chip in to give her a different opportunity,” Kris said, warming up to the idea. “We wouldn’t be the only musicians opening up a restaurant. Jimmy Buffett, Toby Keith, and others have done it. Why not us?”

“I’m not sure she’d want the Iron Falcon name on her restaurant,” Mick hedged.

“No one has to know we financed it; it could have whatever name she wants,” Jack added helpfully.

“I’ll talk to her,” Mick promised again. He glanced at his watch. It was time to get going. He walked to the bedroom where Sonia had fallen into a fitful doze. “Hey, baby, wake up. It’s time to go to work.”

She woke with a start and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mick,” she apologized, her face twisting with the effort not to cry again. “They just overwhelmed me and they kept shouting questions, such rude questions.”

He gathered her in his arms and held her for a minute. “I know, babe. It’s not easy.”

She sighed and relaxed in the assurance that he did not fault her for anything; he wasn’t angry with her. He released her and she rose to her feet.

“How did that meeting with Jay go?” she asked as she began changing into work clothes.

“We’re still hammering out some issues,” he replied. “Advance ticket sales in some of the locations are really low, not nearly enough to cover expenses. Iron Falcon wants to cancel those concerts, Jay and the record label not so much.”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen the itinerary. It’s packed.”

“It is,” he agreed as they walked slowly toward the garage. “That’s one reason we want to cancel those low selling concerts.”

She looked up at the four other men gathered in their living room. “Thanks again, Kris, Angelo. I really appreciate your being there for my little breakdown.”

Angelo approached and kissed her cheek. “Those guys are brutal, sweetheart. We’ll do what we can to protect you.”

She flushed, disliking the very idea that she needed protection just to walk outside her front door. The six of them trooped into the garage. Mick and Sonia climbed into the truck. When the garage door opened, Angelo, Kris, and Davis got into their vehicles. They drove in a sort of vehicular phalanx, surrounding Mick’s truck to keep the media vehicles away from their prey.

They pulled into the rear parking lot of the restaurant and surrounded her, a protective escort as they walked toward the kitchen entrance. Media sharks shouted questions and speculative comments as the group rushed toward the door. The men huddled at the doorway as Sonia slipped inside. Then, because none of them had eaten lunch yet, they walked around to the front entrance. The crowd of cameramen and reporters followed, jostling them and maintaining the harangue. The restaurant’s maitre’d frowned as they entered the restaurant, but found them a table anyway while hungry media crowded around the entrance.

“They’re discouraging customers!” the maitre’d complained. “Those paparazzi must go!”

“It is affecting custom,” Antonin agreed. “She’s a talented young woman. Pity.”

The maitre’d raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Antonin did not enlighten him. Joe Kilrook sighed and said, “I wish you weren’t right about this, Antonin. She’s here and we’ll let her finish her shift. Send her in to see me before she leaves this evening.”

Antonin nodded and returned to the kitchen to impose order upon the chaos. The maitre’d huffed and minced back to the dining room. Kilrook shook his head and returned to his paperwork.

In the kitchen, Sonia found herself bombarded with questions. Glynnis wanted to know if Jack had spoken at all about their “relationship.”

“Glynnis,” she replied as gently as she could without lying, “Jack doesn’t do relationships.”

“But we are so good together!” she screeched and then licked her lips suggestively.

Sonia shook her head and tried to ignore the flurry of questions.

“Back to your stations!” Antonin barked. People scurried. Sonia was never so glad that the others were somewhat frightened of him as she was that moment. His upper lip lifted in a sneer and he called out the first ticket, each syllable sharp as cut crystal. But questions and gossip still flew around the kitchen amid calls for scallops and pork chops, glazed carrots and chocolate lava cake. Distracted by the constant interruptions, Sonia made mistakes. Four times in an hour food was returned to her station, incorrectly seasoned or cooked. Blushing furiously and angry with herself, she compounded her errors by becoming flustered.

Antonin took her aside and his expression was actually somewhat sympathetic.

“Sonia, I know that you are bothered, but you must focus on the food, not on what is happening around you. You are good, very good, at this and I see a brilliant future for you as a chef, but you must learn to deal with distraction.”

She nodded, mouth twisting in an effort not to cry from sheer frustration.

“Go to the break room,” he said, “and take five minutes to compose yourself. Go.”

She obeyed and he took over her station until she returned. She thanked him and said, “I won’t let you down, Antonin.”

“Of course not,” he replied and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder as he turned the station back over to her.

Afternoon turned into evening and brought in the supper crowd. The media drifted away to pursue other prey until it was time for her shift to end. Then they gathered back outside in the hope of capturing unguarded words when she emerged from the kitchen at the end of the day.

“Those fucking paparazzi are blocking access to my restaurant,” Kilrook complained to the police. “I’m losing customers.”

The officer on duty promised to send a patrol car to disperse the media and warn them that their First Amendment rights ended when their actions impinged upon another’s rights. Kilrook slammed the phone down.

Antonin ordered Sonia to Chef Kilrook’s office as she was depositing her soiled jacket in the hamper. Her aching feet protested as she walked the short distance. Knocking on the door, she poked her head in and said, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

He smiled faintly at her and invited her to come in and be seated.

“Antonin’s impressed with your performance this week and, frankly, so am I,” he began with praise. “You’ve demonstrated skill and a good work ethic.”

“But?” she prompted, knowing that bad news was coming.

“But,” he echoed, the smile fading. “But your unwanted entourage is hurting my business.”

“I can’t make them go away, although I wish they would,” she replied bitterly.

“I know.” He reached out and patted her hand. “You’re just the sort of eager young chef that Antonin and I enjoy mentoring, and we regret that it’s not going to work out.”

He handed her a check. She took it, looking from the paper to his face.

“If it weren’t for the paparazzi dogging your every step, I’d be thrilled to keep you here. You’re going to become an outstanding chef one of these days.”

Sonia’s face felt frozen and her tongue thick as she uttered the polite words, “Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

“Feel free to use Antonin or me as a reference, Sonia,” he offered.

She nodded and slowly rose to her feet. Her shoes felt heavy as blocks of lead as she walked back to the break room to collect her purse. She trudged to the kitchen entrance where the five men of Iron Falcon waited for her and ignored a fawning Glynnis who did just about everything short of stripping and dry humping Jack’s leg to get his attention.

Mick’s sharp gaze took in the slow step, the drooping shoulders, and the desolate look in her eyes as his wife approached.

“What happened, babe?” he asked as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her in close to his body. The other four men huddled around them.

“They fired me,” she muttered through stiff, numb lips.

“Come again?”

“They. Fired. Me.”

“Why?”

Because of you
, she wanted to snap with vicious anger, even though she knew that he was not responsible for the media’s actions. She took a deep breath to compose herself, then a couple more. Finally, she spat out one word: “Paparazzi.”

“Their presence turns away customers,” he said perceptively.
And they’re following you because of me.
Guilt weighed heavily upon him.

She nodded and turned her face away to look out the passenger window. A flash made her blink. Some damned journalist in the vehicle rolling alongside theirs had just taken her picture.

“Fucking morons,” he muttered, seeing Sonia flinch and look down at her lap where her hands twisted together. “I need to get you back to Monterrey.”

“It was good there, wasn’t it?” she said, her voice thin and reedy.

He reached one hand over to pat her leg. “Yeah, babe, it was good.” He took a deep breath, thinking hard. “I’ll call Jay tomorrow morning about finding a better place to live, someplace quiet, someplace not Las Vegas.”

She nodded and did not comment.

He pulled into the driveway, paused while the garage door opened, then pulled into the garage. They stayed in the vehicle until the garage door closed completely. Once inside the house, Mick led Sonia to the bathroom.