Managed: a VIP novel Read online

  Brenna’s heels click on the floor as she guides us to a back room. “It’s what everyone in the business calls him. Honestly, I haven’t I’ve heard anyone refer to him as Gabriel for years.”

  I’m glad I didn’t tell her I also called him Sunshine. She’d probably up and die on me. Or maybe I’d lose the job. I decide not to talk about Gabriel aka Scottie any more than necessary from now on.

  We enter a room, and a group of men turn our way en masse. My first thought is that maybe Gabriel and Brenna run a modeling agency, because they’re all gorgeous in their own way. But then I really look at them, and horror hits me with a cold slap. I know these guys. I know them well.

  Kill John. The biggest rock band in the world. My eyes flit over them. Their expressions range from welcoming to mildly curious to sexually interested. Rye Peterson, the bassist, massively muscled and boyishly handsome, gives me an open grin. Whip Dexter, the drummer, nods politely. Jax Blackwood, the infamous guitarist and sometime singer is the curious one, though he doesn’t seem upset.

  I shy away from his green gaze, feeling ill and unsteady on my feet.

  Then there’s Killian James. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression. He stood as we entered, his head cocking as if trying to place me.

  My heart starts to pound. Fuck. I need to get out of here.

  I take a step back and collide with a body. The scent of expensive cologne and fine wool hits my nostrils.

  “Going the wrong way, chatty girl,” Gabriel murmurs in my ear, gently nudging me forward.

  But I need to escape.

  Killian is still staring at me like a nearly solved puzzle. At his side is a pretty woman with dark blond hair—the woman who was eating breakfast earlier. She’s Liberty Bell, I realize with a start. Killian’s wife and a singer in her own right. I should have recognized her sooner. I should have realized that good things do not, in fact, happen to me.

  I glance at Gabriel. He’s wearing his neutral façade, but there’s a small glimmer of encouragement in his eyes. I don’t want to look away from him. He’ll be gone soon enough, and it hurts. Too much for such a short acquaintance.

  Brenna is introducing me. She takes the portfolio from my nerveless fingers and hands it to the guys. “Sophie used to be a photojournalist—”

  Killian makes a strangled sound before exploding. “Oh, fuck no! Now I recognize her. Are you kidding me with this shit?” He takes a step in my direction, anger infusing his cheeks with red. “You have some nerve coming here, lady.”

  I hold my ground, even though my pride is imploding. I don’t know any other way.

  But Gabriel puts himself between us. “Calm yourself,” he snaps at Killian. “Ms. Darling did not come here to be harassed.”

  “Oh, that’s fucking rich,” Killian says with a sneer. His eyes are not kind. “Isn’t that a pap’s job?”

  The other guys look confused.

  “Kills, man,” Rye says. “Ease up. Lots of people are photojournalists without being a sleazy paparazzi.”

  Oh, if only that were true of me.

  “No.” Killian slashes a hand through the air. “She’s not just a pap. She’s the one who took those pics of Jax. Weren’t you, honey? Think I didn’t see you there, with your fucking camera? Shoving it in my face when he was fucking dying on me?”

  Gabriel’s head snaps up. “What?”

  “You heard me. It was her. She was the one who sold those pictures of Jax.”

  “Impossible,” Gabriel spits out. “Martin Shear sold those pictures. I ought to know; I spent the better part of a year having our lawyers go after that tosspot.”

  He lifts a hand as if to say he rests his case. I can’t decide if he’s trying to rationalize my actions or if he’s just that logical. I’m afraid it’s the latter. His cold demeanor hasn’t thawed. And he’s waiting for an answer, his brow quirked in that arrogant, impatient way.

  I take a shallow breath. “Martin was my boyfriend at the time.”

  Gabriel’s head rears back as if I’ve slapped him. The look on his face, the utter disappointment mixed with growing disgust—I’m ruined in his eyes. I can see that clearly. I don’t blame him. I’m disgusted too. It’s amazing how low a person craving love can sink when she thinks she’s found it.

  If the ground could swallow me up now, I’d be grateful. But it wouldn’t change the thick, gritty sludge of regret that fills my insides every time I think about that night, about taking those pictures of Jax Blackwood, unconscious and covered in vomit. I can still hear Killian shout his name as security rushed in. I’d been so blind then, only focused on my next paycheck, egged on by Martin to never think of the subject as human but as potential dollar signs.

  I’d been the ugliest, darkest version of myself. So confused and lost. And now that past is staring me in the face.

  “Martin was—is—a dickbag,” I say. “I know this now. At the time…well, I don’t really have a good excuse. I met him at a low point, and he had a strange sort of charisma. He made his job sound fun: easy money, providing a service for fans.”

  Several annoyed scoffs sound in the room.

  “They were the lies I let myself believe,” I admit. “I wanted to quit, but I hadn’t found anything else to do. And then that night happened. When I got home, I told Martin where I’d been. He was…” I clear my throat. “He was over-the-moon happy, said those pictures would have me set financially for at least a year.”

  I can’t miss the way the guys flinch, or the way Gabriel ducks his head, grinding his teeth as if he’s fighting not to explode. My stomach flips, and my fingers are ice. But I continue.

  “God, I wanted that money. I won’t lie. I’d had a slow year and was living off ramen. I could have quit with that money, taken the time to find a decent job. But I looked at the shots, and they were awful. Painful.”

  It hurts even now to remember them.

  Clearly it hurts these people too. So much more than it ever hurt me. I want to cry.

  “I was hesitant to sell them after that. Martin picked up on it and, when I went to bed, he took them for himself.”

  “He stole them from you?” Gabriel’s voice is flat. He won’t look me in the eye.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “I wanted to fight it. And then I didn’t. Because they were splashed everywhere, and I felt…ashamed.”

  Gabriel makes a noise as if to say I should be.

  Killian isn’t so quiet. “She can’t be here. This is too fucking much, Brenna.”

  “I think it would be good for us,” Brenna says. “We can all close that final door and move on.”

  Killian sneers and looks at Brenna as if he can’t believe her words.

  Somehow I find my voice. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know the interview was for you. I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Oh, sure, that makes it all better. Because we haven’t spent more than a year struggling with the shit you put out in the public eye,” Killian snaps.

  All at once, everyone starts talking, words bleeding together, bombarding me. I wince.

  Jax whistles sharply. “Everyone shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down.”

  I’m guessing he doesn’t often shout, because everyone stops and sits immediately, though Killian gives him a disgruntled glare as he drops down on his chair.

  Jax looks at me. When I first met him, he had a boyish quality about him, like a sun-kissed, all-American jock, which was funny as it’s well-known that he’s half English. Nearly, two years later, all that boyishness is gone, replaced by a hard-baked, rugged handsomeness. Life has battered but not beaten him.

  “You remember that night,” he says. “Before, I mean.”

  I’m extremely aware of Gabriel’s gaze on me, but I answer Jax without looking away. “Yeah.”

  Jax nods, biting his bottom lip as if he’s ashamed. “I figured. I’ve wanted to find you. To apologize.”

  “What?” Killian bursts out, nearly jumping back up.

  “Shut up,” Jax snaps at him, the
n sighs and runs a hand through his spiky hair. “At least until you hear me out.”

  “Ah,” I clear my throat. “I have to agree with Killian’s sentiment here. You have absolutely no reason to apologize to me.”

  Jax’s smile is weary and lopsided as he holds my gaze. I can see the struggle in his eyes. He doesn’t exactly want to say whatever he feels he has to.

  Gabriel breaks the moment. “Get to the point, Jax.” His expression is so fierce, he appears carved from stone. “And start by explaining exactly how you know Ms. Darling.”

  He doesn’t bother with me. It’s as if I’m no longer in the room.

  Jax shrugs and leans against the wall. “We met in the hotel bar the night of ‘The Incident’.”

  Gabriel glares at Jax’s air quotes. A muscle twitches beneath his right eye. “Go. On.”

  “You offered to buy me a drink,” I fill in, because I’m damn tired of being ignored. And I’m not letting Jax do this on his own.

  He smiles. “And you warned me that you were there to steal my face.”

  The heat of Gabriel’s stare burns. But I don’t acknowledge him.

  Whip shakes his head. “You two hooked up. Of course.”

  Killian scoffs. I don’t dare check to see what Gabriel thinks.

  “No,” Jax says. “We had vodka tonics with lime and a few laughs about ridiculous people who would pay thousands for a juicy shot of someone famous.” His soft smile returns. “Sophie didn’t mind that I basically said her job was stupid—”

  “It is,” Killian cuts in.

  We ignore him.

  “She needed money to pay off school loans and rent, and we agreed there were worse ways to get it.”

  “There are?” Killian asks, still disgruntled.

  I don’t blame him. He’s the one who found Jax. The band broke up for a year after Jax’s suicide attempt. I doubt I would feel very charitable toward anyone who’d put my pain out in the world.

  Jax levels him with a look, though. “Of course there are. And you know it.” His eyes find me again. “You remember what I told you then?”

  Oh, hell. A lump fills my throat, and I swallow convulsively. Gabriel’s frowning as if he might soon explode. His gaze pins me to the spot, but he doesn’t speak. None of them do. They’re waiting for my answer.

  My voice is weak and raspy. “You said… You said… Shit…” I look away, my voice breaking.

  “Come to my room tonight,” Jax says for me, “and I’ll give you something big to sell.”

  “Fucking hell,” Rye mutters.

  “God damn it, Jax,” Killian snaps.

  Because they understand. Finally. I do too. But I didn’t then.

  My vision blurs, and I blink rapidly, taking a deep breath. “I thought you were just messing with me, and then you gave me a room key.” A watery laugh escapes me. “And then I thought you wanted to hook up.”

  The scoff of disdain from Gabriel lands like a spear in my side. I can’t look at him now. Maybe not ever again.

  “I know you did, honey,” Jax says gently. “And now you know; I was counting on you to show up.”

  “Why?” I whisper. “Why me?”

  He shrugs. “I figured, she’s a nice girl. Too nice for her shit job. She needs money. And I won’t be here so…why not go out with a good deed?”

  Killian lurches to his feet, knocking over his chair. He stalks out of the room without another word. Libby soon follows with a muttered, “I’ll talk to him.”

  The ensuing silence is heavy, and I want to hunch inward, run away. But I can’t hide from my mistakes. I tried that before. It didn’t work.

  “I’m so sorry,” I rasp. “That night—it was the worst night of my life. Worst thing I’ve ever done.”

  Jax shakes his head. “You were doing your job—”

  “No!” I grit my teeth. “No, I was selling short my humanity and yours. I should have dropped my camera and helped. I should have done anything other than take those pictures and let them get out.”

  “We’ve all done things we regret,” Jax says. “I just want you and everyone else to know I don’t hold it against you. I’m cool with you working with us now.”

  God. I don’t deserve his calm acceptance.

  “Stay.” Whip’s face is pale, but he leans forward and nods as if coming to a decision. “Jax is right. And you’re obviously good at what you do or Brenna wouldn’t have brought you here.”

  “Yeah,” Rye puts in. “It will be good for all of us. And for you too. Cathartic, you know?”

  Who are these guys? Really. I expected to be egged at this point.

  “Look, I’m cool with this.” Rye stands. “I hope you join us. Anything that shakes things up can’t be bad.”

  Whip stands as well. “Killian will come around. Jax will talk to him.”

  They both come shake my hand. “Sorry for the drama,” Whip says with a wink. “But it’s kind of hard to escape around here.”

  Jax makes his way over to me as Whip and Rye leave. His warm hand rests on my shoulder. “I’m glad I got to talk to you. I always meant to track you down and apologize. It was shitty to use you that way.”

  “I’m so glad you made it,” I say in a rush. “That you’re healthy and here.”

  His smile is tight but friendly. “Whatever you decide, come hang out with us later tonight. We’ll have fun, Soph. Trust me.”

  He gives me a kiss on the cheek and Brenna a look I can’t interpret before leaving.

  “This is a mistake,” Gabriel says as soon as the door closes.

  I flinch, and he meets my eyes. Everything I saw in him before is gone. He’s ice now—so solid, so polished, I’m surprised I don’t see my reflection in his skin. His voice is strong but monotone, just another day at the office.

  “You regret your actions. Jax takes responsibility for his part. None of that matters when it comes to this tour.”

  “I’m not following you, Scottie,” Brenna says. Mostly, she’s been quiet, letting everyone talk. But there’s steel in her spine now.

  He sits back in his chair, setting one ankle on his bent knee. Such cool repose, as if he isn’t kicking me to the curb when he promised he wouldn’t interfere.

  “We’ve only just reached the point where the band is a fully functioning unit again. They’re finally burying old wounds. You bring this element of mistrust into the mix, and you’re risking all of that.”

  “I’m a person, not an element.” I shouldn’t let him see that I’m upset, but fucking hell, I am. I thought we had at the very least a small glimmer of mutual…I don’t know, regard. I held him in his darkest hour, and now I’m a fucking element? “And if the guys are cool with it, why should you protest?”

  “Because it is my job to think rationally when they either cannot or will not.” He looks at me as though I’m nothing more than a piece furniture in the room. “This is a matter of business, Ms. Darling. Nothing personal.”

  “Bullshit. Everything is personal. Especially business. You judge a person and decide whether you trust them enough to work with them or not.” A shudder of rage and hurt runs through me. “You’ve made your decision, Mr. Scott. Don’t weaken it by pretending it’s nothing personal.”

  God, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. Just sits there, facing me head on with those eyes the color of glacial ice.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Darling.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I bet you are.”

  If I hadn’t been glaring right back at him, I’d have missed the tremor that flickers along the corner of his mouth. With languid grace, he rises and buttons his suit jacket. Giving me a short nod, he leaves the room without a backward glance.

  “Shit,” Brenna says when he’s gone. “That went well.”

  I stare at the door. “I’m sorry for wasting your—“

  “You’re hired, Sophie.”

  My head whips around, and I’m pretty sure my mouth falls open.

  Brenna gives me a long, hard look. “This is the c
hance of a lifetime. You know it. I know it. Don’t you dare puss out because of a little adversity. Trust me, I speak from experience when I say you’ll regret it.”

  I could answer a dozen different ways, from angry to self-pitying. Outside this jewel box of a room, the famous and powerful are having coffee and plotting their lives. I’m in London, being offered the chance to tour Europe with one of my favorite bands. It will be awkward, and facing Gabriel again will definitely be its own brand of torture.

  Life in New York would be easier. Familiar.

  Not personal, my ass.

  “Fuck it,” I say. “I’m in.”

  Chapter Five

  Gabriel

  * * *

  It takes me two minutes and thirty-six seconds to exit the conference room, leave the hotel, and walk to the end of the block. I know because I count each second. I walk steadily and with purpose.

  And if my hand trembles a little, no one fucking sees it because I’ve tucked it into my pocket. Problem solved.

  Lesson one in business: to every problem there is a solution.

  Lesson two: never get emotional.

  Never get emotional.

  The instant I turn the corner, my control starts to crumble. I bobble a step. A red haze falls over my vision. Another step and I’m panting. I spy a newspaper stand and suddenly I’m kicking it.

  “Fucking shit!” I give the metal stand a rough slap as well before I begin pacing.

  “I had the same reaction, dude.”

  The sound of Killian’s voice stops me cold. He’s lounging against a cheese monger’s shop and drinking a carryout coffee. “I kicked the shit out the garbage bin there.”

  Next to the newsstand there’s a dented bin. I snort, though I can’t truly find the humor in anything. “Of all the garbage bins and newsstands…”

  “You’re the one who walked to my spot,” Killian points out.

  I look down the street. “Where’s Libby?”

  “Giving me time to cool off.” Killian laughs without amusement. “I’m not allowed to return to the hotel until I’m ready to apologize to the pap.”