Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 168121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 841(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 841(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“What happened?” Nathan’s hand settled on her lower back.
“Jay fucked up. Let me deal with it, okay?” She followed the bend in the hall, veering around techs juggling equipment.
“Does this change—”
“Nothing changes. I’ll have it fixed by morning.” And she would. Jay owed her an orgasm, and dammit, he would give her one. A half-baked plan sprouted, soothing her. He wasn’t going to like it, but fuck him.
The protective team’s familiar faces popped up at every corner, bend, and open doorway as she weaved through the flow of roadies with Nathan’s hand a bolster at her back. They formed a comforting perimeter around her, adjusting their formations to maintain a circle of protection as they moved through the back-of-house.
The exit came into view, and a man in a suit flashed through the bustle of crew members rolling crates through the door. The suit and dark hair were familiar. Too familiar.
She skidded to a halt, her pulse thick and distant in her ears.
Nathan stopped with her, hand pressing against her spine. “Charlee?”
The man in the suit looked up, complexion dark beneath a thick mustache. Not Roy. Relief settled through her shoulders. Until he narrowed his eyes on her.
“That man is looking at me.” Did he know her? What the hell did he want? Oh God, he was walking their way.
Nathan pushed her behind him and held up his hand. “Identify yourself and don’t take another step.”
“Alan Patera. Executive Assistant to the CEO of Oxford Industries.”
She locked her knees and gripped the back of Nathan’s shirt.
“What do you want, Mr. Patera?” Nathan’s clipped tone did not invite idle conversation.
A technician in baggy jeans pushed a cart past her, its wheels screeching with each rotation.
Patera extended a thin hand, holding a crisp white envelope. “Mr. Oxford sends his regards.”
Shooting an arm toward him, Nathan grabbed the envelope, but Patera hung onto it.
Patera narrowed his eyes. “A response is expected.” He released it.
Shifting back with an envelope in hand, Nathan grabbed her wrist and led her around the smiling Craig.
“What was that about?” Her heart pounded an impatient tattoo as she glanced over her shoulder. The Craig was gone.
Outside, Colson opened the door to a waiting SUV.
Nathan’s attention swept left to right as he stuffed the envelope into his breast pocket. “Message from Roy.”
A throb erupted behind her eyes. He wrote her a letter? Was he out there, watching her? In one of the hundreds of cars in the lot? Standing behind one of the windows veneering the building? Waiting for an opportunity, for the millisecond of time when all of her guards might be looking the other way?
“Please, get in the car, Miss Grosky.” Colson waited, eyes on the exit behind her, hand on the door of the car.
She shivered and bolted in, sliding across the bench and bumping into Vanderschoot with a screech. “Oh, hi. Sorry.” Damn her out of control pulse.
The seat bounced with Nathan’s weight beside her. He reached for the door handle and pulled.
A hand shot through the crack of door, gripping it and preventing it from closing.
She gasped, frozen to the seat, as Nathan wrestled to close the door. His free hand stretched for the gun at his hip.
The knuckles around the door frame were grooved with callouses. Callouses from guitar strings.
She clamped down on Nathan’s hand over his holster. “It’s Jay.”
Nathan squinted at the door and let go of the handle.
Jay’s drawn face lowered into view. His gaze moved through the car and stopped on her. A tornado of emotions whipped across his weary expression. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he ducked his head, wedging into the third row behind her. The leather seats creaked as he scooted in, Tony following.
Colson steered them into the concert traffic, and Charlee decided to be the first to break the tense silence. “I said not to follow me.” Sandwiched between Vanderschoot and Nathan, she kept her eyes on the windshield.
“And I said you were not to leave my sight.” His deep, dominating tone caressed her back, the bastard.
“Are you still high?” Good grief, she sounded petulant. Maybe she was. She shifted to look at him.
“I’m coming down.” He studied her face, his own pinched in pain. “I’m so sorry.” A whisper.
She would find out shortly how sorry he was. She turned back and looked into Nathan’s soft blue eyes. Looked at the envelope in his breast pocket.
His fingers were hesitant as he pulled it out and handed it to her. “It’ll be obtuse, you know. Anything in writing will be worded in a way that won’t implicate him for what he’s done or plans to do.”
Flipping the white envelope over in her hands, she nodded. “I know.” She couldn’t stop the resignation from dulling her voice. “I’m expecting a legal-team-approved death threat.”
64
The god-awful regret constricting Jay’s voice snapped when he heard the bleak acceptance in Charlee’s. “What death threat?”