"You idiot! It’s me!" Stud’s voice pierced through the adrenaline. My thrashing faltered. I blinked a few times and realized Stud was carrying me away from danger. The blond guy who had almost punched me was chasing after us. I feared he’d catch up, but Stud was faster. Even with me on his shoulder.
We reached the bus, bounded up the steps, and the doors slammed behind us.
The angry mob charged the bus, slamming their fists against the windows. One of the attackers reared his bat back and took a hard swing at the window in front of me. I screamed and shielded my face with my forearm. The bat shattered, sending splinters flying. But the glass didn’t so much as wobble.
Thank god for this expensive-ass bus and its bullet-proof windows!
"Go, Bernie!" Stud shouted to the bus driver.
The driver stepped on the gas with a loud roar and we drove off, leaving the enraged gang in a cloud of sooty exhaust.
Chapter Six
ON THE BUS
"Put me down!" I demanded, adrenaline still coursing through my body. I was still over Stud’s shoulder, his arms tight around my waist. His body was warm and he smelled good in that same way he did when I first met him, which only made my confusion and irritation worse.
He carried me further into the bus without saying anything, and I noticed a poster on the wall with bold letters that said "The Hitchcocks" with the silhouette of a raven perched above the "o".
So that’s what "HC" stands for. Damn it, the announcer at the bar had used ‘The Cocks’ as shorthand; I should’ve made the connection sooner!
Closing the privacy divider behind us, he gently plopped me down on a leather couch.
"What the hell was that?" I asked as he straightened. "Who were those people?" I looked down at the damage. My blazer had a tear in one sleeve, my favorite skirt was puddle-spattered, and my hair was a wet mess, the tight bun I had earlier long gone. First day on the job—no, first hour on the job—and I was a wreck.
Stud calmly went to the wood-paneled bar a few feet away against the opposite wall and looked through a collection of bottles that would’ve made most bars proud. Picking up a bottle of Stoli, he poured himself a drink with a slight shake in his hand, spilling a few drops on the counter. His chest rose with each breath, silk hair damp against his shoulders. I watched in astonishment as he drank, looking outside at the passing cars, ignoring me, or at least taking his sweet time before answering.
"Hello?" I said, raising my voice to get his attention.
He put the tumblr to his lips again and tossed it back.
He’s drinking vodka instead of answering me? I clenched my hands over my knees in frustration. "Dude, hello??"
He finished a gulp, set the glass down, and turned back to face me. A few damp strands had fallen across his face, and he looked at me from behind inky locks. "The girl I slept with the other night . . . apparently she had a boyfriend," he said casually.
My eyes widened. "Are you saying I almost got beaten to a pulp all because you’re a homewrecker?" I asked. I thought about how I saved him from that scary guy with the dreadlocks and threw my hands up in exasperation. "I can’t believe this! I should’ve left you to get choked out by the Predator."
"Hey if I’d known she had a boyfriend," he said gruffly, "I wouldn’t have done it. She lied to me."
"Oh sure," I said, though it wasn’t hard to imagine a girl lying to get into his pants. Compared to the lengths women went through on Saturday night to be with him—myself included—lying was a small thing.
"I’m serious. Look, I didn’t mean to get you involved," he said, finishing the last of his drink. Then he looked at me carefully. "Wait there for a second."
He reached into a nearby cabinet, pulled out a first aid kit, and came over to the couch where he kneeled in front of me. "You’re hurt. Let me take care of it."
His concern surprised me enough to diminish my irritation. I only had a few bumps and scratches, but I was still shaken after what had happened. I tried putting on a strong face. "I’m fine."
His eyes flicked to my arm. "No, you’re not." He tried raising my right arm to see, but I pulled away when I saw a cut on his bottom lip. He was in much worse shape than I was.
"I’m fine," I repeated stubbornly. "It’s just a scratch. Besides, you should take care of yourself first. I saw you take some hard hits."
"Shut up, Pepper," he said gruffly. "And let me see it." He tried lifting my arm again and, seeing how determined he was to care for my wounds before his own, I grudgingly let him. He touched the skin on my elbow gently and I flinched. "Hold still," he said with a calm but firm tone.
"Fine," I relinquished.
As he unpacked the first aid kit in front of me, I accidentally glanced at his eyebrow scar and then couldn’t stop staring at it. I idly wondered if it came from a fight like the one we’d just had. On another face, it could’ve been a flaw. On Stud’s, it gave him a dangerous, dark edge that made my heart beat faster.
Something touched my elbow. "Ow! Fuck! Motherfu—" He gripped my forearm firmly, holding me steady. I bit my lip, allowing him to finish cleansing the wound with hydrogen peroxide.
He blew softly on my skin, soothing the area before applying a bandage. "You had a pretty bad cut but I cleaned out the dirt. Fortunately, you’re not gonna need stitches."
"Thanks," I said, cheeks heated. I was more surprised by his tenderness than I was about the state of my wound. I didn’t think he had this side to him.
"You helped me back there. It’s the least I can do." Still kneeling, he pulled out some more supplies and began to tend to his own wounds.
"Do you need any help?" I offered.
Shaking the hair from his eyes, he smiled and shot me a curious look. "Do you know why this mess happened in the first place? It’s because I trusted you that night."
My brows knitted together. "What?"
"I wouldn’t have slept with that girl if you hadn’t pulled that fast one on me, Pepper."
He’s blaming me for all of this? My warm fondness for him evaporated quicker than the rubbing alcohol he was applying to his cuts. "Oh my god. Look," I said sternly, "first my name’s not Pepper. It’s Riley. Second, I’m not your boner’s keeper."
His smile widened. "Riley, huh? I like that."
I waited for him to address the second part of my response. When he finished wrapping himself without answering, I realized his accusation had only been intended to push my buttons. That jerk. "Judging from what everyone around here says about you, you must be Jax. The man in charge," I said, using my fingers to make air quotes.
His smile faded. "You didn’t already know?"
"No, I didn’t know your name or even the name of your band until today."
He looked genuinely perplexed. "You’re telling me you showed up here without knowing anything about me or my band?"
"Yes, your label hired us last minute. All the files used the term 'HC' to refer to your band. I only now just figured out it stands for ‘The Hitchcocks’."
"Wait," he said, his eyes widening. "You’re the new tour accountant?"
Now I was the confused one. "What did you think I was?"
A moment passed and a devilish smile appeared on his lips. "Interesting."
Oh no. I knew that look. I’d seen it before, backstage at the Wallabee. It was the same one I remember picturing as I pleasured myself at the tail-end of that night. "Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking about it."
The way his gaze on me intensified began to make me ache in other places. "I’m just thinking about what a pleasure it’ll be working with you . . . " he said, the word pleasure rolled off his tongue like a silk ribbon, sensuous and inviting, ". . . if our first meeting was any indication."
Anxiety returned as more implications sunk in. I recalled Kristen’s advice about not mixing business with pleasure and realized that I already had, even before my first day on the assignment. God. Fuuuck my life.
"Shh!" I hissed, holding my finger to my lips. I
dared to lean closer to that savagely beautiful face and whispered harshly, "I had no idea who you were at the time. Don’t tell anyone that happened. I could be fired if my company finds out."
His devilish smile spread provocatively. "Of course not. We’ll keep it just between us."
I took a deep, calming breath. The way he used the word "us" didn’t sit well with me at all, and I realized that I’d probably need more than breathing techniques to get my heart rate fully back down to normal.
"We might’ve had an . . . unusual introduction, Jax. But from here on out, our relationship’s going to be strictly professional. That means no kissing. No flashing your cock at me. None of that. Capisce?" I said, jabbing my finger into the air for emphasis.
I needed to be forceful with him from the start. I needed to establish distance between us and professional boundaries we wouldn’t cross. Otherwise, I could easily see myself being in more trouble than I could handle.
He gently took my unsteady hand and clasped it between his warm palms. "Everything you’re saying is exactly what I want to hear," he said evenly.
I blinked a few times. Did he just agree with me? I’d mentally prepared a few more responses in case he didn’t get the message, but he seemed strangely agreeable. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," he said, lifting my chin gently so I looked directly into his eyes. "I like a challenge."
Minutes later, I was seated on the edge of the couch, pinching the bridge of my nose, exasperated.
I’d tried talking sense into Jax after he’d made his intentions clear, but it was like talking to a wall. He’d got up, put the medical kit away, and said he was going to have someone give me a tour of the bus while he cleaned up. Then he disappeared upstairs.
Unbelievable. As if almost getting killed a few minutes ago wasn’t bad enough. Now the rock god who I’d given blue balls to was my company’s client—essentially my boss in some ways—and he was determined to finish what he’d started that night backstage. The situation was even worse than I’d imagined.
I could try talking to him again, I thought. But given the track record between us so far, I’d probably sooner convince a pig to fly than convince Jax to find a different "challenge" elsewhere. Feeling awful about the whole situation, I decided cleaning myself up might help calm my nerves.
Searching the first floor, I found my luggage in a small storage area, pulled out a spare skirt and tank top, and went to the bathroom to put them on. Because I was still covered in muddy water, I did a quick rinse of my hair and makeup. And then I reached into my purse for a badly needed lifesaver and ate it. When I finally came out, I was surprised to find a girl waiting for me.
"Hello! I’m Sky," she said with a light, lilting voice. Her figure was slim, and she was wearing black yoga pants with a matching tank top. Her tightly braided bleach blonde hair made her look like she had walked out of a punk video, but her huge, fawn-brown eyes softened the effect. "I heard you’re our new accountant. And that you saved Jax!"
I’d been expecting Chewie to give me a tour since I’d met him earlier, or at least a guy, but I didn’t realize there was a girl in the band. There were a lot of things I didn’t realize because I had been so focused on Jax that night at the bar. Otherwise I would’ve recognized Chewie the moment I met him.
"Hi, I’m Riley," I said. I smiled and extended my hand. "He was exaggerating about the life-saving part. It was just a bit of pepper spray."
She chuckled and shook her head. "Just a typical day in the life of Jax Trenton. Women and men alike love him. But the men that have girlfriends hate him. You get used to it over time."
She made it sound like this was a regular thing for him. I grimaced. "Seems like his good looks are a curse."
"Blessing and a curse, I guess." She shrugged. "Wait a second," she said, squinting. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
An awful thought occurred to me. Did she remember me as the girl Jax picked out from the crowd at the bar? I laughed uneasily. "Probably not. I think I just have one of those faces."
"Hmm . . . I feel like we went to school together or something. Did you go to the Anderson School?"
I shook my head. "No, never." I’d heard of the school before—it was up on the Upper West Side, which was culturally and socially about a million miles from where I grew up on Staten Island.
Sky shrugged. "Ah, okay, my bad. I’m not so good with remembering people and I’ve seen so many faces from doing shows that it’s almost always like: wait, haven’t we met before?" She laughed and I did as well. "So how much of the bus have you gotten a chance to see?"
I gestured to indicate the living area we were in. There was basically the kitchen, bar, bathroom, couch, and a small storage area for luggage. "This, mostly. Stud—I mean, Jax—didn’t get a chance to show me anything upstairs."
One of her high-arched eyebrows rose when I called Jax, "Stud", but she didn’t say anything about it. "We’ll start from the top, then," she said, taking my hand and leading me to the staircase. "So if you’re a tour accountant, I’m guessing you enjoy music. Do play anything?"
My cheeks warmed slightly. I was on a bus full of musical talent, but the truth was, I had almost none. "I mostly play Angry Birds," I said with a laugh. "I like listening to music but every time I’ve tried my hands at playing an instrument, it sounded like a dying cat."
Sky chuckled as we took the stairs. Once we arrived at the top, she opened the door onto a large sundeck. Half-walls made the space open to the air, and I could hear the cars on the highway below us. A table and two chairs stood next to a bar—bigger and better than the one on the first floor—toward the front, and a larger, round table was at the back.
"This is incredible," I said, looking around in awe.
"You haven’t seen the best part of the sundeck. This bus has the only one like it." With that, she stepped to the far side of the deck, and pulled the top off the table. When I saw what it really was—a hot tub easily big enough for four people—my jaw dropped in surprise.
"Are you kidding? A hot tub on a bus?" My mental calculator shifted into overdrive. It wasn’t just the installation of the tub that I found extravagant. It was the chemicals, the electricity, the plumbing . . . It would be expensive to maintain even while operating perfectly. And if it broke . . .
She grinned. "Amazing, right? Use it whenever you want. It gets better." She pressed a button on the deck’s back wall. A noisy hum began, and a shadow fell over the two of us from above.
I looked up to see a cover rolling over the bus, making a ceiling. I gasped. It was a convertible. I couldn’t imagine what it had cost. I knew the details would be in the email from Palmer, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the band was spending their money as fast as they could possibly be making it.
"Now I know I’m dreaming," I said, trying hard to keep the disapproval out of my voice. I didn’t want to get a reputation as the party pooper on my first day—I knew from experience that being too harsh, too soon with a client could lead them to hiding expenses from me. "Want to show me the other floors?"
"Suit yourself, but this is the best one."
She led me down the stairs, to the bus’ second level—a cramped hallway with four narrow doors. "All the bedrooms are here along with another bathroom."
"Only three bedrooms?" I asked.
"Kev and Chewie share," she said, pointing to one of the doors. "Chewie’s my big brother, and a pretty great drummer . . . even if I’ll never say that to his face." She smiled. "Kev is Chewie’s bunkmate, the band’s lead guitarist, and a dead ringer for Ryan Gosling. But if you’re smart, you’ll never tell him that. He’s a little sensitive about being a baby face."
I made a mental note of it—but that wasn’t the only reason I’d asked. "Where will I be sleeping, exactly?"
"Good news is, you’ve got a couple of options. Bad news is, they’re all couches. You can borrow a pillow or two from me if you don’t have any. I’ve got tons."
I was grateful. A pillow hadn’
t been on my packing list. "This, over here, is my room," Sky continued, her words fast and light. "I’ll even open the door. Just ignore the mess, okay?"
She pulled open a door to reveal a bedroom not much larger than a closet. A double bed took up almost the entire floor, leaving a space in front of the mattress edge just wide enough to stand in. Rock concert posters, old and new, covered the walls. On the bed was a bass guitar, along with papers around it. As I looked a little closer, I noticed hand-drawn music notes, some scribbled out, on the papers.
"Wow. Do you write the songs for the band?" I asked, pointing to the papers.
"Me?" She laughed. "I just play bass. This is something I’ve been working on for fun." It struck me how different her life was from mine; I couldn’t have imagined getting home from my job and working with more numbers just for the hell of it.
She closed the door to her room, and pointed to the third door. "That, over there, is Jax’s room, AKA the Fortress of Solitude. He likes to go in there and hole up."
I stared at the door to his bedroom, finding myself curious. What was it like in there? A hot mess like what I’ve seen of him? Or clean like the green room from that night? Why was I even wondering about this?
Sky, seeing my gaze locked on Jax’s bedroom door, raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn’t go in, if I were you."
"Oh, I wasn’t," I said hurriedly, hoping she didn’t think I had a thing for Jax.
She shook her head, giving me a wry half-smile. "I know."
Her smile gave me pause. "Are you and Jax together? I mean, not that it matters, I’m just curious."
"Heh. No. Jax isn’t exactly the ‘together’ type, with anyone," she said, wrinkling her nose. "The length of his relationships can usually be measured with a stopwatch."
From what I knew about Jax already, I wasn’t surprised. "I guess it must be easy to move from girl to girl when you’re a rock star," I said lightheartedly.
"It’s not that," Sky said in a quiet voice. "Believe me. He was like this before he ever wrote his first song. I’ve known him since he was fifteen, and he’s just not wired for real relationships—rock star or not. There’s no soft, mushy core in Jax, and there never has been."