Wicked Bad Boys (76 page)

I
barely got
any sleep overnight. I ordered takeout on the way home, and when we got in, the two of us ate quietly in the kitchen. We were both worn out from the action-packed concert. Amanda insisted on not crossing the line, so we went our separate ways and called it a night. I went to bed, still electrified from the feel of her firm body under my hands. I had gotten so close to taking her in my dressing room. My body was on fire; my cock throbbed with need for her.

I don’t know if she got any sleep, but for me, last night was when some realities hit me hard. The fan on stage incident took on a life of its own. It consumed my guilt-ridden thoughts. This was all my fault. I had been selfish and naïve. I did not get this far ahead. My move to bring Amanda on this security assignment had been to get close to her. I did not stop to think it could actually hurt her. It did hurt her. Twice. First, I caused her to be subjected to Kevin’s insensitivity and mistreatment. And now, here we were, only on the second leg of the tour, and she had already been stabbed with a pair of scissors—stabbed while protecting me from a crazed fan.

She may not have been badly hurt, but she could have been. It was the overriding thought that had me tossing and turning in my bed. Putting her in harm’s way to get close to her? That ill-conceived brainchild of mine was no longer a smart idea. On the contrary, it was foolish, irresponsible and reckless, not to mention dangerous to Amanda. There were one or two times overnight where I was tempted to go across the hall to her room, tell her everything, and ask her to stay with me—for us, not the gig or to protect me. I did not. That move would probably be dumber than hiring her in the first place, and I was pretty sure it would drive her away.

This morning, with the lack of sleep, I needed coffee. I threw on some clothes and headed down to the kitchen. Kevin was perched on a bar stool. When he saw me taking my dazed, pre-caffeine shuffle across the room, he went from zero to full meltdown mode in less than a second.

“Johnny!”

I groaned, not wanting to engage him. I went for the coffeepot, barely acknowledging his anxiety-filled greeting.

“The press is having a field day with all the shit from last night. I’ve had over a hundred phone calls overnight, Johnny! And publicist is swimming in inquiries. They’re all asking what the hell happened up on that stage. They’re demanding to know who Rachel Preston really is, and don’t expect them to relent either. ‘No comment’ isn’t going to work. We need to come up with a story, and fast.”

“That’s why we pay the publicist the big bucks,” I said flatly. “Get Marty to take care of it.”

“I have. He’s on it.”

“Problem solved, then.”

“And did you realize at least a dozen TV, radio and online media crews have set up camp outside your front gate overnight?” he asked, pointing at my front door.

“That’s a pretty standard turnout when they know I’m in town. Why is it all such a big deal now, Kevin? This is the kind of media attention performing artists crave, especially during a tour. Now relax, and let them work their magic.”

“Shit. Well don’t leave the house until Marty and I figure out how to spin this.”

I nodded in agreement, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. I’m used to being cooped up in here, remember?”

“I don’t want any reporters or paps heckling you or trying to dig up any dirt on our cover story about Amanda. Not yet.”

Fred walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted us. “As you’re already discussing next steps from last night’s incident, we might as well speak now.”

I nodded and continued filling my coffee cup. When I turned to get a seat for our meeting. Amanda walked into the room.

“Good morning,” I said to her. Fred and Kevin turned when they heard me.

“Amanda,” Kevin said. “First of all, I wanted to say good work last night.”

A facsimile of my own shock from his compliment was displayed on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, darting a confused glance back to me.

“Yes. Excellent work,” Fred agreed. “And good timing. We’re about to come up with some messaging to explain the incident to the media, keeping in mind that it’s not just for public consumption, but to indirectly communicate with the stalker as well.”

“And we have to move fast,” Kevin added.

Fred continued. “It’s crucial that we stick to our original story. We can’t let any details of this investigation get out. Amanda…aka Rachel…
is
Johnny’s girlfriend. Her reasons for being on stage, and for taking the girl down need to be simple.”

“Sounds good to me,” Amanda agreed.

“On the question of why she performed, we can explain that Johnny was instrumental in giving her a shot at singing backup, and she will continue to do so for the rest of the tour.”

“That’s pretty straightforward,” I said. “I like it.”

“Good. And on the issue of why she blocked the fan, I would suggest simply telling the media she ‘got jealous of the girl trying to grab at her man’.”

I snorted into my coffee. Fred’s use of the term ‘her man’ was entirely out of character. Also, in this line of business we were used to spinning stories for the media, but this piece of fiction was outlandish. I doubted the public would believe it. Even I didn’t—but then again, I knew Amanda.

“Is there something about it that concerns you?” Fred asked.

“I don’t know. To me, it just seems ridiculous. Wouldn’t it be easier on all of us if we came clean?” All three of them stared at me, and I had to fight back another weak laugh at the looks on their faces. “What? This whole thing doesn’t seem crazy to either of you?”

Kevin was clearly displeased with my suggestion. “Johnny, we are all trying to find the best way to protect you. I know you don’t take any of this seriously, but the least you could do would be to have some respect for those of us working on your behalf.”

Amanda said nothing, but Fred piped in. “You have to remember, Johnny. Much of this messaging is intended for the stalker. If we came clean, as you suggest, it could enrage the unsub, or deter her from her current plans. The problem with that scenario is she could become erratic, or feel forced to lash out in a more extreme way. Or worse, wait it out until the FBI can no longer offer resources to investigate. None of us want that.”

“I didn’t think about that, and this is why you are here, Fred. I’m out of my element when it comes to stalker baiting strategies. I’ll leave you three to handle it.”

I got up and took my coffee through the living room and out the glass doors that opened to the back deck. It was warm and sunny, typical California weather. I sat in my favorite lounge chair to soak it in. I set my coffee down and stripped off my shirt to get some rays. Reclining back, I kicked my feet up, tipped my face skyward, and closed my eyes. I had said my piece, and Fred had a point. It was time to let them figure it out.

“
J
ohnny
?” It was Amanda. “Can I sit with you?”

“Sure. Grab a chair.”

“Thanks.”

“How’s the arm?” I had to ask. I pulled my arms up under my neck and turned to look at her.

“It’s fine.”

“Good to hear,” I said, still debating whether I should follow my own righteous advice and come clean to her. My mental deliberation continued to be met with a resounding ‘don’t do it, Johnny’ from my inner voice, so I let the moment pass. “Did they get all that media messaging figured out?”

“Yes. Kevin said the publicist will do a press release sometime today.”

“Good. He’s smart. It’s better to let the media stew for a while.”

“Probably. So I’m the jealous girlfriend. I got carried away in a fit of rage, and attacked an overexcited fan.” She said it so deadpan, it was almost comical.

“And do you have to go to anger management now?” I asked, retreating back to humor, where things felt safer between us.

“No, but only because she cut me,” she said with a laugh. “She drew blood, so I’ve suffered enough.”

“Don’t remind me,” I told her, more serious from the recollection.

After a pause, she said, “I was a bit worried about you when we got in last night.”

“Why is that?”

“I just didn’t want you to be upset, you know…about making the effort to keep things professional between us. What happened after the show…I should not have let that happen.”

I looked over at her. “I don’t hold it against you. You may have indulged me, but I was the one who came on to you. It’s fine.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded anyway. She was silent, still watching me. She licked her lips thoughtfully, and my cock started to twitch inside my loose shorts as I watched the tip of her tongue moisten her full, luscious, soft lips.

“I’m sorry, Johnny. I don’t mean to keep leading you on.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

I shrugged it off. “Forget it. I can’t change how you feel.”

I turned my face into the sun and closed my eyes again. I was not about to give up so easily. I would give her space, some time to come around. I was silent for a while, and heard her get up and return inside. I sucked in a long, slow breath. I waited three long years for this chance. Waiting was not a problem.

My mind continued to replay what happened the night before. I held on to a vivid image of her straddling me on the chair in my dressing room. The way she had felt on top of me, grinding up against my stiff cock. Her lips on mine, her hair falling around her face, the silky feel of her stocking-clad thighs under that skintight dress. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, well aware of my aroused cock straining against the fabric of my athletic shorts. Staying out on the deck was not going to work. I stood up, threw my shirt back on, and headed inside.

Kevin was in the living room waiting for me. “Don’t forget we start in two hours, Johnny.”

“Start what?”

“This is one of the reasons I’m on you all the time, you know that? We talked about this a few times. My assistant put together those alerts for your phone, and event prints out your schedule so you know what’s coming.”

“Lay off me, Kevin. Just tell me what’s on for today.”

He let out a long breath. “We’ll be in town a couple of days before the next event. Terry and his sound crew, and your band members are coming by to record a few songs with you. They’ll be here for part of today, and tomorrow we’ll all head down to use the label’s studio.”

I wanted to argue. After all the chaos and travel, my body deserved a good old-fashioned day off. But he was right. He
had
mentioned it a few times. At least today would not be as big a hassle as driving through town to use one of the label’s studios. This was why we had gone ahead and invested in building a state-of-the-art studio in my basement two years ago.

“Great,” I answered. “Yes I remember now.”

He shook his head. “Anyway, you need to start thinking ahead, to your next album. If we’re lucky, we can get some things lined up early, and get you performing one of them at the Disk Spinner Awards. You do remember that’s in two days, right?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Everyone will be here in about two hours,” Kevin concluded, and left the kitchen.

I went back up to my room to get ready. I showered and dressed, and packed up my lucky guitar. It was still in its case from the concert last night. It was a well-worn acoustic guitar, and lucky because my parents had given it to me as a Christmas gift the year before they were killed. I traveled to every show with it, and used it whenever I was recording a new song for the first time.

I opened the case and looked down at it, letting the familiarity sink in. There was a pocket inside the top of the case. That’s where I kept the small notebook with my song ideas. Over the last few months, I had been writing new lyrics whenever they came to me. Some of it was really good, and although Kevin rarely let me have full creative license, I was used to having some concepts on hand to help the songwriters’ work feel more like my own.

In the past, whenever I had brought up taking over the songwriting, Kevin would tell me that as soon as I was a megastar, I could get away with experimenting and playing my own stuff. In his mind, we were close. Until then, there was a formula—his formula—that had to be followed if I was ever going to climb what he saw as the final rung to musical greatness. The way I saw it, complete creative independence was the imminent next step, whether Kevin agreed or not.

I spent the rest of the time strumming some chords and writing down a few lyrics that inspired me. After a while, I closed the guitar case and slung it over my back. I left the room this time to head downstairs, and halfway down the hall, a strange question hit me. How long would Amanda make me wait?

K
evin poked
his head out of the main room of the recording studio in the basement. A small army of band members, producers, directors, sound engineers and a songwriter had been in there for hours, dropping tracks for Johnny’s next album. I was asked to stay close for his protection. Fred and Larry were upstairs. I was stationed in the small waiting area since early afternoon, when not running errands that would be more fitting for Kevin’s personal assistant. She had the flu or some other ailment, and had not pre-ordered any catered food. Fulfilling the coffee and food requests fell to me somehow.

If I was not sitting in the leather couch, I was flipping through old rock magazines, or accompanying Johnny’s driver to get coffee runs in the valley. It was now past dinner-hour, so I could just guess what he wanted.

“Rachel, would you mind going out with the driver to get us more coffees?” he asked.

I nodded, still not used to switching between names, and heaved myself off the leather couch to collect their orders. I stepped into the room where the sound equipment was housed. Kevin was sitting at the enormous soundboard, elbow to elbow with their producer named Terry. The other staff in that outer room lounged in plush-looking chairs and monitored the screens in front of them. Johnny and his band were in the recording booth, visible on the other side of the sound-proof glass wall that divided the large room in half. He seemed so exhausted, and had a dull, dreary look in his eyes. I had only seen him a handful of times throughout the day, and had not gotten a chance to speak to him. Each time I did pop in the studio, though, he looked less energized. They had been recording a couple of pop-style rock songs about drinking and living it up. His demeanor didn’t correspond with the lyrics or the beats.

Maybe it had to do with what did
not
happen last night in the dressing room, or when we got to his place. Whatever it was, I chose to let it be. Johnny was an adult. He would have to figure out how to keep things platonic—as would I. It was difficult for me too, having to put the brakes on last night, but it was for the best.

“Three black coffees, two with milk, no sugar, four with two sugars, and one with one milk and a sweetener. And then two iced teas?” I repeated back what I had keyed into my phone, feeling like a barista again.

I closed out my phone and left the room, but not before Kevin flashed what seemed like a triumphant smile at me. I had no idea what made him so happy all of a sudden. To everyone else, he probably appeared jovial and grateful for my assistance, but I felt there was more to it. Maybe after last night, Kevin was starting to realize I took the job seriously. For him, it would be the ideal outcome to keep Johnny focused on his career.

I shook off the over-analysis and went upstairs to find Charles, the driver. He had been waiting out front, so we quickly left and descended the Hollywood Hills. Soon we were in front of the specialty coffee shop again. I went inside the now familiar space to make the order. The lineup was short, so I got to the cashier quickly. There was a different barista working the counter this time, and after I rattled off the order and paid with cash, she looked at me intently.

“Can I ask you a question?” She finally said after handing me change.

“Sure.”

“Are you Johnny Q Venom’s girlfriend?”

I should have prepared myself for this, but I did not believe people would recognize me this quickly. I was unsure what to say.

“Sorry, I know I’m totally being rude,” she said. “We’re not supposed to single out celebrities who come in or anything, but I just got this, and I couldn’t help myself.” She bent under the counter and produced a paper copy of
Guess Who
tabloid magazine, turning it to face me. “This girl in the pictures from his concert last night…well she looks a lot like you.”

‘JQV’s Jealous New GF Takes Out Teenage Fan’
was the headline over a picture of me straddling the girl on the ground. It was clear the photo had been taken from someone’s camera phone. I flipped to the next page and gasped in utter horror at the picture plastered across the page. It was a picture of Johnny and me backstage at the concert. We were in his dressing room making out. It was an awkward angle and made my ass look huge with the dress halfway up to my waist. And Christ! The damned shapewear was peeking out underneath. The end result was beyond humiliating.

“But how did they—” I caught myself and stared up at the girl. “Can I have this? I’ll bring it back.”

She shrugged. I tucked the gossip rag into my purse and grabbed the trays of drinks off the end of the bar. I tried to play it cool until I exited the shop, and half-raced over to the limo to get back to Johnny’s place. The driver could not get there fast enough. As embarrassing as those photos were, all I could think about was whether it was the stalker who planted the hidden camera, and how we could have missed it when we did the sweep of Johnny’s dressing room.