Managed (VIP 2)
I hate that fate for him. The urge to be with him instead is so strong, I imagine myself leaping from the window and somehow landing on his bus, straight up Super Girl style. No, Wonder Woman. That way I could tie him down with my lasso when he protests my invasion of his Fortress of Solitude.
I’m in the middle of a Clark Kent/Diana Prince cosplay fantasy when Jax shatters my dream by loudly declaring, “‘Son of a Preacher Man’ is a song that can never be replicated.”
Rye leans back in an armchair and idly plucks on a ukulele he unearthed from somewhere. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“Play that song,” Jax says, “and women fucking melt, man.”
“Someone save me from hearing any more of Jax’s seduction routine.” Rye looks around desperately.
“Take notes, son, and learn something,” Jax drawls.
“Etta James singing ‘At Last’,” Killian butts in. “Fucking timeless.”
“Beyoncé did a pretty good version,” Libby says.
“Pretty good,” Killian repeats. “But it didn’t top the original. Etta still rules that song.”
Whip taps on his knees as if he can’t keep still. “Don’t let the Bee Hive hear that. They’ll sting you bad, bro.”
Killian shudders. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Bees,” he shouts to the air. “Don’t slay me! I love Queen Bey!”
“Man, I keep waiting for her to break up with Jay Z. Then I’m all in.”
“Dude, your dream is dead in the water,” Jax says. “You don’t have a chance in hell with her.”
“You’re gonna eat your words,” Whip promises. “Our love is destined. She totally winked at me during that charity concert we all did last month.”
“It was windy,” Killian says with a snort. “She had dust in her eyes.”
“She had me in her eyes.”
Rye shakes his head, and then his blue eyes find me. “What about you, Sophie? Got a song?”
They all turn to me. I’m supposed to play? Fuck. I love music, but my knowledge isn’t encyclopedic like these guys’. I think for a minute. “‘Sabotage’.”
“Beastie Boys?” Rye gives me a high five. “Excellent.”
“Nobody can replicate the Beastie Boys,” Jax agrees, clinking his beer bottle to mine. He’s relaxed, his pretty green gaze slumberous. I know the guys worry over him, and I don’t blame them, but he appears to be taking things easy now. “Hell, I need to get my blood pumping or I’ll fall asleep.” He looks at Killian. “You got ‘Sabotage’ on your phone?”
“You have to ask?” Killian jumps up and plugs his phone into the input set up in the wall. “Hold on to your butts.”
The familiar hard bass riff pounds through the speakers, followed by discordant record scratches and an angry scream of defiance. Killian immediately starts dancing around, grabbing Libby to join him. She laughs and bumps hips with him.
Jax catches my eye. “At the risk of having Scottie hand me my balls later…” He holds out his hand.
Jax has the most to resent me for. I should feel guilty even being in the same room with him. But I’m comfortable in his presence. He looks at me as if he knows exactly how shitty my job was back then, exactly how soulless I’d become, and he’s sorry for it. It’s that more than anything that has me taking his hand.
I dance full out, swinging my head, hopping around like a mad woman—there’s no way to appreciate the song but to go wild. And the guys surround me, jumping and thrashing, and likely making the entire bus rock as it hurtles down the highway. We don’t care. We’re young and free. It’s a beautiful thing. And we dance for many more songs.
I almost forget about the man on the other bus. Only when the guys finally crash for the night, when I’m tucked away in my tiny bunk by the bathroom and can’t sleep at all, do I stare into the darkness and think of Gabriel.
Chapter Nine
Gabriel
* * *
“Everything for France is basically set. But Chrissy called about the final T-shirt numbers in Rome. The vendors are expecting high sales and… Scottie? Scottie? Mr. Scott?”
Jules’s voice buzzes like a fly in my ear and pulls me from the fog that’s taken up residence in my head. I blink, force myself to focus. She peers up at me with a frown.
“Why did you stop speaking?” It’s nearly a snap, but I don’t like what I see in her expression. The boss cannot afford to be worried over. I am the one in control. At all times.
Jules flinches, and I feel it in my gut. Perfect. I’ve upset the girl for no valid reason.
“Sorry, sir. I thought…” She grimaces.
“You thought what?” I have to will myself not to lean farther into the soft embrace of my chair. I shouldn’t have sat down. It’s too tempting to slump, and usually I stand when hearing a progress report. Better to focus.