Managed: A VIP Novel Part 8

"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 b.u.t.tons his suit jacket. Giving me a short nod, he leaves the room without a backward glance.

"s.h.i.t," 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 chance 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 a.s.s.

"f.u.c.k 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 f.u.c.king 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.

"f.u.c.king s.h.i.t!" 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 s.h.i.t 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 amus.e.m.e.nt. "I'm not allowed to return to the hotel until I'm ready to apologize to the pap."

"Her name is Sophie." Don't think of her. Don't f.u.c.king do it. But it's impossible to blot out what I've said to her. Rage flows through me again. I grind my teeth and count to ten. Slowly.

Lesson three: Act on behalf of your client, not yourself. I handled the situation like I've always done-decided what was best for the band. Protected them first and foremost, putting aside personal needs.

Bulls.h.i.t. Everything is personal.

Oh, how I know it now, chatty girl.

It should have been a simple thing, dealing with this issue. I barely know the woman. The lines of risk are clear. She could easily upset the balance we've struggled to restore.

That didn't explain why each word out of my mouth to her felt like f.u.c.king acid on my tongue. Or the way the hurt in her eyes had nearly made me physically ill. I'd barely managed to get through that interview from h.e.l.l without punching a wall.

And then I'd simply left her. Walked away without a backward glance, leaving her feeling like sc.u.m, as though she were unworthy of any of us.

"c.o.c.kless git," I mutter, fighting the urge to kick something again.

"You have to find a way to forgive Jax." Killian takes a sip of coffee. "That's what Libby told me. I thought I had. But he keeps finding ways to p.i.s.s me off."

Hands low on my hips, I study the scuff on my shoe. I don't bother correcting Killian's a.s.sumption. I'm not angry at Jax for arranging that Sophie arrive on the scene. I understand him. He wanted a testament to what he'd done. Or perhaps he didn't really want to die at all, but for someone to find him before it was too late.

I can't be sure, but I'm not going to rail at him for being human. A sigh escapes me, and I run a hand over my face. I haven't had a proper sleep in weeks, and exhaustion is catching up on me. Around us, Londoners make their way down the street toward the nearby Tube station. It's already overcast and chilly.

A mother pushes her child along in a gray pram, and stops at a bookstore window. There used to be a picture of my mother kneeling beside me in my pram. I was probably two, and even then I had a surly expression. But my mother beamed at me as though I were her world.

I rub a hand across my aching chest.

Jax, Killian, Whip, and Rye gave me friendship when I had none, a family when mine had gone. They gave my life purpose-a job I love and experiences few people on Earth ever have. In return, I vowed that I'd always protect their interests. I've done a s.h.i.t job the last few years. I can do better. I must do better.

I don't want to think about Sophie Darling. But she's infected my brain. The sound of her teasing laugh haunts me. The pained shimmer in her brown eyes as I called her "a mistake" guts me.

She'd been responsible for exposing Jax's most private moment and the lowest point in his life. Countless times I've cursed the bottom-feeding sc.u.m who took those photos. To realize it had been Sophie, the woman I let hold me and ease my fears in a way I hadn't allowed since my mum died, is more than disappointing. She'd knocked me on my a.r.s.e in that interview.

I start to pace, unable to stand still.

Killian watches me, his head swiveling back and forth as he tracks my movements. "You're not going to need us to set up a fight, are you?"

I cut him a glare. "I'm not as bad off as all that."

He holds up a hand. "I was only asking."

When Kill John first started, I paid for my suits by winning underground fights. A bit of an oxymoron, granted, being a brawler in order to dress like a gentleman. As the years went on, I fought when I was so tense only the sweet release found in s.e.x or pummeling the s.h.i.t out of another person would do. In truth, s.e.x has never cut it for me the way raw pain does.

"I'm fine," I say, waving him off.

"Brenna gonna hire her?" Killian asks me.

"Of course. She put Ms. Darling in first cla.s.s. Brenna wouldn't have bothered if she wasn't planning to hire the her."

At this, Killian grins. "Bet that p.i.s.sed you off, having to sit beside someone."

I grunt, unable to tell him the truth. Best f.u.c.king flight of my life.

He starts to laugh. "d.a.m.n, Brenna is evil."

I think of all the s.h.i.t Sophie gave me. A smile tugs at my mouth but promptly dies when my brain reminds me that I just broke any hope of her wanting to be near me again.

"f.u.c.king h.e.l.l." I pin Killian with a glare. "She's hired. We both know this. Regardless of her past, I've seen her portfolio and her social media work. She's good. And the rest of the boys want her along as well."

"s.h.i.t." Killian looks off.

"You'll be working closely with her." Something stirs in my chest at the thought of seeing Sophie day in and day out. I push it down deep. "Which means you will treat her with the b.l.o.o.d.y respect a trained professional deserves."

"Yes, sir." Killian gives me a salute.

I'm already turning back toward the hotel. "We have a FaceTime meeting with a new sponsor at four."

"What sponsor?" he calls back.

"Some guitar pick company," I say over my shoulder.

"d.a.m.n it, Scottie, ten years and you still can't remember which picks I prefer? Details, man."

I know which one, but it's just too easy to aggravate Killian. "A sponsor is a sponsor. Don't be late."

Halfway back to the hotel, I text Brenna.

GS: I a.s.sume Ms. Darling is staying on?

She answers quick enough: Yes. No thanks to you. Next time, discuss your concerns about my staff in private.

I bypa.s.s a man with two poodles who sniff at my ankles.

GS: Understood. Where is she now?

Brenna: Why?

My jaw muscles pulse.

GS: I want to welcome her aboard to show no hard feelings.

Brenna: You can text her for that.

I really loathe when Brenna is p.i.s.sed at me. Life becomes that much harder, and she is an expert at making me work for my transgressions.

GS: Did I happen to mention I'm meeting Ned later tonight?

Ned is a local promoter and a sc.u.mmy little s.h.i.t who has a propensity to hit on Brenna. Unfortunately, the man is also in charge of the best venues, and I have to deal with him whenever we tour London. Brenna doesn't.

GS: I was thinking of inviting him out with us instead.

I almost smile, imagining Brenna fuming right now. Little dots appear and then her answer.

Brenna: a.s.shole. Jules took her out to lunch at that gastropub down the street.

GS: A little early for lunch, isn't it?

Brenna: Seriously? Translation: she took her to have a much needed drink on account of you and Killian acting like d.i.c.ks.

Ah, guilt. I had become unacquainted with the emotion over the past decade. Experiencing it now, I cannot say I enjoy the sensation. At all. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I pivot and head back down the street.

It isn't hard to locate Sophie and Jules in the pub. They're bright spots of color in a sea of old wood paneling. Tucked away at a corner table, the two women have their heads close together, Sophie's white blond hair like moonbeams besides the full flower of Jules's tight fuchsia curls.

Their backs are to me as they nurse pints of Guinness-the breakfast of champions, as Rye often lovingly refers to the rich stout.

"I'm not gonna lie," Jules is saying. "If you're expecting praise or kind words from him, it'll never happen. He's just not that kind of boss."

"He isn't going to be my boss at all," Sophie mutters, taking a long drink. Creamy white foam lingers on the soft curve of her upper lip before she licks it away, and my c.o.c.k grows heavy.

h.e.l.l.

"Don't kid yourself," Jules says. "He's everyone's boss. Even the guys. What Scottie says goes. But don't worry. He's not a tyrant. He's just..."

I can't help but lean in a little, wondering what she'll say. They haven't seen me yet, and I'm not about to make my presence known now.

"Exacting," Jules settles on.

Sophie snorts inelegantly. "He's an arrogant a.s.smunch."