My phone buzzes.
Shelby: Miss you. Driver says we’ll be there around one a.m.
Shit, that’s later than I expected.
Me: I’ll be there.
Shelby: You don’t have to. It’s so late.
Me: I’m not exactly an early-to-bed guy. Send me the address.
She doesn’t answer right away, so I assume she’s finding the info for me. Greg’s probably planning to have them sleep in the van. I’ll either take Shelby back to the clubhouse or go to a hotel.
“So, you’re into the bad boys?” one of the interviewers asks.
I snap my head up.
Anya lets out a flirty giggle. “Of course.”
The other interviewer leers at her. “You ever give nice guys a chance?”
I snort. Nice guy. That’s usually code for a passive-aggressive dude who feels entitled to a woman’s attention—or more—because he’s so “nice.” This guy has jerk written all over him.
“I mean, it depends.” Anya giggles again. A fake, bubbly sound that’s more grating than cute. “A truly nice guy, sure. But someone who’s pretending to be nice just to get in my panties? Hell no.”
Good answer, Anya. I chuckle and go back to my phone.
“—biker boyfriend?”
What now?
I narrow my eyes. The jerk interviewer’s watching me with a smirk that’s about to get punched off his face.
“No, that’s my bodyguard,” Anya says.
Jerk opens his mouth and the other interviewer cuts him off. Guess he carries the common sense for the pair.
“That’s all we have time for today. Anya, you want to give out your website or any other info?” the sensible one asks.
“Sure.” She rattles off the website and a code for people to use that will rope them into a recurring subscription.
“Tune in tomorrow morning. We’ll be interviewing country music’s newest sweetheart, Shelby Morgan.”
Wait, what?
“Oh, she’s hot,” Jerk interviewer groans into the microphone. “Now there’s a girl who should be in porn.”
Motherfucker. I stand up, ready to crack open his skull.
My phone buzzes again and I check to find an address from Shelby.
Me: Are you doing some radio interview tomorrow?
No response.
She’s mentioned Greg setting her up on surprise interviews before. Maybe she doesn’t even know about it yet.
Anya’s interview seems to be over. Some pop tune floats over the speakers. Sounds like someone dropped a bunch of soup cans over a piano with a sack full of cats screaming in the background. But what do I know?
My gaze zeroes in on Anya’s uncomfortable smile as she inches her way toward freedom.
That’s what I’m here for.
Not giving one absolute fuck, I open the door to the studio.
“You sure I can’t take you out tonight, sweetheart?” Jerk says to her.
“Sorry, I have plans.” Anya’s nervous gaze darts to me.
“We need to get some promotional photos,” the sensible guy says.
Fuck.
I drop back into my chair and wait for someone at the station to pop in with a camera and snap some shots of the three of them standing in front of a wall with a full-color painting of the station’s tacky logo.
Jerk keeps asking her questions, trying to convince her to go out with him.
“We done?” I interrupt the conversation. She’s too nice to cut them off and I have no problem playing the bad guy here.
I curl my hand at Anya. “Come on. Time to go.”
Anya wiggles her fingers. “Bye. Thanks so much for having me.” She skirts away from the two men while I stare the jerk down.
“Thanks, Mr. Bodyguard.” He smirks at me.
I don’t bother responding, just shut the door behind us.
In the elevator downstairs, Anya shivers and rolls her eyes. “Yuck, that guy was so gross.”
“Yeah, he sounded like a dick.”
“Did I do okay? I didn’t sound like an airhead, did I?”
Shit, I barely even listened. “The parts I caught sounded good to me.”
Once we’re in the truck, I pull out my phone.
Shelby: Yup. Two shock jock D-bags.
My mouth curls up. Fuck, I miss Shelby’s sassy mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Anya asks.
“Nothing.” I toss my phone in the middle console.
Guess I’ll be paying the radio station another visit tomorrow.
And you bet your ass I’ll be listening to every word of that interview.Chapter Forty-EightRooster
Sure, now the clubhouse is full with awake and functioning brothers.
Ice greets Anya and me in the common area. “How’d it go, princess?”
“Good,” she coos and curls her hair around finger, rocking her hips from side to side. All she needs is a schoolgirl outfit and some bubble gum and the two of them could go film a video right now. Jesus, this is Sway and Stella all over again. Starting to wonder if that president’s patch makes your brain leak out through your dick or something.
Jigsaw wanders in, bleary-eyed and hanging onto a small, dark-haired girl. Even in her five-inch fuck-me pumps, she barely clears his shoulder.
He lifts his chin at me. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I would’ve come with you.”
“It’s fine.”
Anya squeezes my arm. “Rooster was so badass. That fucker Scotty kept hassling me to go out with him tonight, and Rooster scared the piss out of him.”