Things that hadn’t come out until later.
The Dom stuff, he knew that early on, in his early twenties.
He couldn’t make himself admit he was bisexual until he was twenty-nine. By that time, he was already married to Kathy and thought he was doing the things he was supposed to be doing to be “successful.”
Not so much, it turned out.
At least he’d managed to maintain his sobriety, never wanting to return to those dark and ugly days when he was a kid thinking that relief and escape would lie in drinking enough, maybe enough so he wouldn’t wake up the next morning.
Until he’d realized how that was only killing his mother’s spirit a little faster than the cancer was.
* * * *
After morning sessions, Doyle headed out to find lunch in Laguna Beach. He could have eaten at The Compound for free, but needed to walk some tension off. His morning clients were all alcoholics, no drug addicts or multiple addictions today. Two whiny college coeds, a depressed housewife, a needy acting coach, and a lawyer having a midlife crisis when, in reality, he had nothing to bitch about except the fact that he substituted alcohol for facing his lack of ambition.
Feeling like this, Doyle knew, meant that he needed out of the office.
ASAP.
He stopped at a local wood-fired pizza place. It’d give him plenty for leftovers later. He’d just received his order when his personal cell rang from a local number he didn’t recognize. He almost let it go to voice mail but decided to answer it in case it was his next lucrative sober companion assignment.
“Hello, Doyle Turner.”
“Is this my psycho Dom buddy?”
Doyle laughed. “Tilly. Where are you? Why are you calling me from a local number?”
“Because I’m sort of local now. Part-time, at least. I came over to the Dark Side.” As he ate, she gave him the short version of the events that had brought her to LA.
“I’m guessing you’re still here in LA?” she asked.
“For right now I am.”
“Goodie. I guessed right.”
“Why do I have a feeling this isn’t a purely social call, my dear?”
“Because it’s not. You still working in the addiction field, correct? Sober companion?”
“I am. Why?” He’d mentioned to very few people—Tilly being one of them—that in addition to his job at the rehab center he took on private sober companion gigs.
“It’s…ah…delicate. Not involving me or Cris or Landry. Client of a business manager friend-slash-associate. Do you still handle…high-profile clients?”
“Depends on what’s needed, the timeframe, and the fee they can pay.”
“Can you meet with us tonight to hear us out? I’m guessing that if you can’t help us, at least you might be able to refer us to someone trustworthy who can.”
He was intrigued. Tilly wasn’t one for unnecessary drama. “Can’t tell me anything more than that, huh?”
“Not without an NDA, sorry. Not by my choice, but that was what was requested by the other party. You know me, I keep a confidence. Please? For me? At least to listen and possibly advise. And we’ll buy you dinner. Sushi. I remember how much you love it.”
He thought about it for a moment. This was Tilly. It’d be nice to see an old friend from Sarasota. “Sure. For you, anything. Give me a time and address.” She did. “So why me?” She had piqued his curiosity, for sure.
“Because I trust you, for starters. Also, from what I know, I suspect your more Domly charms might be needed for this one, if you take the case.”
“I don’t do pro Domming.”
“No, I just meant your Dom ’tude. We’ll talk tonight.”
“Okay.” After ending the call, Doyle tried not to ponder it too deeply. Because the more he thought about it, the more intrigued he was.
Why was Tilly involved, exactly?
This could be interesting.
As he sat and ate his lunch, he wondered about that. He hadn’t realized Tilly was working out here part-time, much less what she’d been doing lately. He knew Landry and Cris had an office out here, although he had heard vague details about their family growing on the heels of tragedy. She didn’t discuss her professional life at all on social media.
If nothing else, it’d be good to see her and her men again.
Plus, hello, free dinner. He’d never turn his nose up at that.
Chapter Two
Fortunately, Doyle didn’t have any late afternoon clients. That allowed him plenty of time to swing by home and drop his leftover pizza off in the fridge, shower, change, and get back on the road to make the meeting in time.
He hated LA traffic. Had he thought Sarasota was crazy during snowbird season?
Ha!
What a laugh.
I miss Sarasota.
Not words he ever imagined himself uttering when he first moved to LA, to be honest. When he’d left, he’d seen it as a new start, a challenge.
Then the novelty wore off.
As he slowly made his way toward the office address Tilly gave him, the traffic already growing thick despite it not being rush hour yet, he let his mind wander. If Tilly was calling him in, and she worked for a movie production company with Trevor Nichols, that was…big. He remembered hearing some scuttlebutt a couple of years earlier regarding the guy down in Florida, but he’d never put things together or assumed he knew the other people, even though they’d looked vaguely familiar from the few brief TV clips he’d seen.
Actually, it turned out he had known them, casually, through the Suncoast Society munches, now that Tilly had filled in those blanks.
It’s a really fucking small world.
Hence why he hadn’t tried harder to enter the kink community here in LA. One of the things that allowed him to command such a premium price for his SC services was the fact that nobody knew who the hell he was. Less chance of scuttlebutt about his client’s sobriety reaching the gossip sites if no one knew who he was.
He wanted to keep it that way.
When he finally reached the address nearly thirty minutes early—miracle of miracles—he headed upstairs to the office. When he walked in, even before the receptionist could greet him, Tilly walked out of one of the offices, saw him, and let out a squee before rushing over to engulf him in a hug.
“Dude! It’s so good to see you!”
He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. He remembered all too well the harsh, sad shell of a woman she’d been following Cris’ sudden departure. This was the “old” Tilly, back with a playful vengeance. He’d met Landry and Cris a couple of years ago when Doyle had briefly visited Sarasota between clients. He’d heard all about those events through mutual friends, though.
Fortunately, it seemed everything had worked out, that fate had finally smiled on Tilly.
“Good to see you, too. I know I’m early, but you know the traffic.”
“Ha! Damn sure do. Come on in.” She led him back the way she’d come and closed the door behind them, an office that was pure Tilly, functional and not frilly or fancy.
Except for the play crib in the corner, and the sleeping baby inside.
“Oh! Is this Katie?”
“Yep. She’s our little angel.” She smiled down at the child, softening her features and taking years off her age.
He’d seen her pictures on Tilly’s private Facebook page. It was good to see his friend truly happy again. “How’s Cris doing?”
“Angry, understandably. We all are, but it’s hitting him hard since we’re coming up on the one-year anniversary. Our wrongful death lawsuit is still winding its way through the courts. We’ll put whatever we get in a savings account for her college education.” She patted his shoulder. “Sit.” She pointed at a sofa before retrieving a pen and folder from her desk and bringing them over.
Handing the folder to him, she said, “This is for today. Sorry, not that I don’t trust you, because I do. But Clark insisted on it.”
“That??
?s fine. I’m used to it.” He opened it and scanned the document. It was a standard non-disclosure, a very basic one, but enough for their initial talk. He signed and dated it and returned it to her. “So what’s so super-secret?”
“Clark and the others will be here soon. I’ll give you the basics as I know them, in case you want to say no right off the bat. You’d be a sober companion for the next several months to a guy from the music industry. He’s currently in a private and exclusive rehab center, being discharged tonight. Where and to whose custody remains to be seen. Clark’s his business manager. The guy is due to start touring in a couple of months, and the only way his band will agree to him coming back is him staying sober until the tour starts.”
“That’s odd. What about after the tour starts? That’s usually when people have trouble maintaining sobriety.”
“That’s where I’m kind of hazy on the deets. Apparently, in the past, there never was trouble during the road trips. He was all business. But when his mind and time wasn’t heavily scheduled, he got himself into trouble.”
“Gotcha.”
“The other issue is he needs this tour, because his previous business manager is currently sitting in prison for fraud.”
“Youch. Ripped him off?”
“Big time. He’s verging on bankruptcy. He needs this tour, financially, to dig himself out of the hole. And the band can do it without him. He needs them way more than they need him. Apparently, the binding agreement they signed when they first formed the band allows them to vote him out for a short list of deeds—of which the addiction is one—and he’s done. All he’d keep is the rights to the music he wrote, which they contractually have permission to use.”
“Which would make him a lot less than if he was active with the band and raking in full royalties and concert and digital download sales, et cetera.”
“Bingo.”
So far, Doyle hadn’t heard anything he wasn’t up to tackling. “Here are my requirements. He’s not violent, isn’t up on pending charges, and isn’t a media whore. He’s also going to need to listen to me.”
“I can’t answer for the listening to you part. I think the rest of it’s all okay, but Clark can confirm that. You’ll be dealing with Clark for the negotiations. He’s Nick’s manager, or was. Now he’s sort of a partner/consultant with our production company.”
“Nick?”
“Eh, Trevor.” She smiled. “Nick’s his real name and I’m used to calling him that in private, sorry.”
He indicated the office. “Fill in a few of those gaps again on how this came about, please.”
She giggled. “Fill in gaps. That’s what she said.” She did, giving him the full story.
“Ah. Never would have thought that about him,” he said when she finished. “But it explains a few things I’ve heard floating around from time to time.”
Tilly scowled. “What things?”
“Calm down. Just paparazzi rumors. The kind that I rarely ever pay attention to unless it directly impacts a client I’m dealing with.”
“Gotcha.”
A knock on the door caught their attention.
“Come in,” she called.
Leigh opened the door. “Hey!” She slipped in, closing it behind her and walking over to give him a hug. “Good to see you again.”
“Likewise. I was really surprised when Tilly called me today.”
“Yeah, well, sorry about the short notice. Clark dropped it on us this morning, and leave it to Tilly to get to work and find you.”
“Why such short notice?”
“Clark had lined someone else up, but they dropped out after meeting the guy yesterday.”
There was one of the red flags he’d anticipated seeing sooner. “Why’s that?”
Leigh looked a little unsure. “Eh, apparently the guy is stubborn.”
“Stubborn I can handle.”
“And that’s why I called you, dude,” Tilly said.
“Clark texted me he’s close,” Leigh said. “So we can get started as soon as he’s here.”
“When do I meet the client?”
“After you talk to Clark. You still want to do it, then he’ll arrange everything.”
Fifteen minutes later, Clark Waterford arrived and the four of them, including Leigh, were talking in Tilly’s office. Clark had brought a folder of paperwork with him as well.
“Since Tilly gave you the basics, I’ll fill in the rest. We’re looking for at least a ten-week contract, with the possibility of extending that time into the US concert tour schedule as needed. All expenses paid up front via you having a credit card, no reimbursement necessary. We’d like you to take him out of LA, secretly, and basically stash him somewhere for the next two months, sit on him, work with him, until he’s ready to be brought back the week before the concert for final rehearsals in Chicago. That means you’d escort him to Chicago, stay with him until at least the first concert. Preferably longer.
“Depending on how he does, we might need your services up to two months after the US concert tour starts, when they take their first break for three weeks before flying overseas for the European leg. Maybe even after.”
“That will cost you extra, if I’m traveling overseas.”
“Understood. I did my research on you after Tilly told me you’d agreed to hear us out. You come highly recommended.”
Doyle had a few questions. “He only needs a week to rehearse in Chicago?”
“They’ve had preliminary rehearsals already, before he was finally forced into rehab. Plus they’re doing a lot of greatest hits numbers on this tour. They’re overdue to release a new album, and how he does on this tour will tell the band whether or not they want him to be a part of it. He’s the lead singer and a guitarist, but they have a second guitarist. And this guy wrote most of their songs, even arranged them. But the band has already lined up a fill-in, if needed, if he can’t be kept sober.”
Clark sighed. “And he must be kept sober. Nothing, not a drop. That’s their condition for letting him stay part of the band.”
“Drugs?”
“No. Doesn’t even smoke because of his voice. He was actually doing okay, always ready for the tours and studio sessions, until everything broke about his previous manager last year when their tour ended. That kind of fucked him in the head and he started a fast downward spiral.”
“Aren’t tours usually crazy?”
“Not this band. They have a public image, but in private they’re actually clean and sober, all of them. I mean, recreational drinking on occasion, but they were smart. They all pledged as part of their agreement when they first started that the others could vote someone out for addiction. In fact, this guy is the only one of them who’s ever had any kind of substance abuse problem. You have no idea how freaking rare that is in this industry, but it’s why they’ve been around for years and are so successful. They work their asses off.”
“Now you’ve told me everything except who he is.”
Clark looked at Tilly, as if needing additional assurances from her.
She nodded. “I wouldn’t have called him in if I didn’t trust him.”
That’s when Clark told him.
* * * *
The baby was dozing in her carrier, which was propped in a high chair, while Doyle, Tilly, and Landry sat in a booth at the sushi restaurant. Cris was on his way, delayed in traffic.
Doyle was still processing, still couldn’t believe what he’d heard earlier.
Or the payment Clark had agreed to, presuming they got the client to agree. Which, Clark assured Doyle, the man would because otherwise, he’d literally be ruined financially.
Doyle would potentially make in a couple of months what he’d easily make in a couple of years at The Compound, including bonuses if he had to stay with the tour and go overseas.
Tilly grinned. “You’re still wearing that oh, crap, shell-shocked stare, dude.”
“I know.” He sipped his water. “That’s because I am.”
br /> Landry smiled. “And yet, you still said yes.”
“Because it’s good money, and maybe I can help.”
Tilly sighed, staring at her order list she was filling out. “Well, if anyone can wrangle him, you can. I’ve never met him in person, but I love his music. I have all their albums.”
Doyle would be meeting Clark at Tilly’s office building at ten that evening. Clark was going to swing by the man’s condo and pack clothes and other essentials he would need, and then pick him up from the rehab facility and immediately deliver him to Doyle.
Clark assured Doyle that he would lay down the law to the man.
When Doyle finished dinner with Tilly, he would go home and pack to leave again. One of the benefits to living in a tiny apartment and having no pets or plants. He had a cleaning service who’d bring in any mail—which would likely be junk mail anyway—and who’d clean out the fridge for him.
But Doyle would be driving out of LA with his new client immediately that night. Clark was taking care of renting a vehicle for them.
Their destination wasn’t even finalized yet. Clark had left that up to Doyle. Doyle knew the man needed to be secretly spirited out of LA immediately and was to be kept as far from craziness as possible while Doyle worked with him to help him hold on to his sobriety. The stakes for the guy were extremely high. If the man relapsed, it could mean more than just bankruptcy.
Based on Doyle’s experience and training, he knew failure might possibly drive the guy to self-destruction, intentionally or not.
“Where are you thinking about heading?” Landry asked.
They’d all signed NDAs, so they could discuss it. Plus, Landry would be driving Doyle’s car home later and take care of it for him while he was gone.
“I don’t know,” Doyle admitted. “For tonight, probably as far as Barstow. I want him out of the valley. Then east.”
“Someplace paparazzi proof,” Tilly said as she put the finishing touches on her order slip. “Like a padded cell with no windows.”
An idea hit Doyle and Landry apparently noticed. “What did you just think of?”
Doyle pulled out his phone and scanned his contacts list. “Tilly, do you have Kel’s number?”