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“Sorry. Um, I just ... well, my name is Addy. Call me Addy.”
I brazened things out. I was stuck in my current situation, and Martin’s bodyguard was part of that situation. If I could somehow manage it, I wanted him on my side or at least sympathetic.
“My mother died last night, and I just broke up with my boyfriend.” Saying the words to describe my life was like swallowing shards of glass. “I need to go back to work. This job is all I have. Please don’t tell Martin anything about this. I was just taking a little break.”
A break to break up with my boyfriend. Permanently.
My control teetering on the edge, hysteria threatened. I think the bodyguard saw it in my eyes, because his warmed, or at least they thawed somewhat.
“My name is Arturo,” he said, and I nodded to acknowledge him. “Boss would like to have a word.” He stepped back and gestured.
“Okay, Arturo.” I blew out a shaky exhale. As I walked away, I could feel Collin’s gaze burning between my shoulder blades.
Pretending his anger didn’t bother me, I retraced my previous path. With Arturo escorting me, I wound my way around tables that were rapidly filling. It got busy early on Saturdays with ABCR performing. Fans were already claiming prime spots below the stage. Even at sound check, the band drew them in.
Arturo marched ahead of me. Reaching Martin’s office first, he rapped on the door.
“Come in,” Martin said. His voice rattled the wood, because even it yielded to his authority.
Arturo turned the knob and pushed open the door. Shocked, it took me a moment to absorb what I was seeing.
My gaze stalled on a candlelit table, white linen flowing over it nearly to the floor. The chairs that usually sat in front of his desk had been placed on opposite sides of the table. Two places were set, food apparently keeping warm beneath silver domes as if delivered by room service. Not that I’d ever stayed in a hotel or had room service, but I’d seen it in movies.
“That will be all, Arturo,” Martin told his bodyguard. “Thank you.”
“What is this?” I asked, my wide eyes meeting Martin’s dark ones.
“Dinner,” he said with a levity in his tone that I’d never heard before. “Have a seat, Addy.” He moved around his desk and gestured to the table.
“Okay.”
Before I could pull out a chair, Martin drew it back for me.
“My dear.”
He took the linen napkin from beside the domed plate on my side and draped it across my lap. Stunned speechless, I watched as he went to the other side of the table. He sat and reached for his napkin, and his gaze met mine.
“I hope you like your steak medium rare.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had steak.”
Martin blinked at me several times, his long lashes shadowing his angular cheekbones. “Truly?” His chin dipped.
“Truly,” I said, then let out a breath. “I was born and raised here in Southside.”
I didn’t say more than that because I didn’t need to. That said it all.
“Right. I knew that.” He arranged his napkin on his lap before looking at me again.
“You know that because ...” I let that hang, curious about his answer. I’d been his companion during ABCR’s performances as ordered to for the past five months. But Martin and I didn’t talk. Not really. It was too loud to carry on a conversation during performances, and I didn’t trust him.
“You’re my sister’s best friend,” he said.
“Miranda told you about me ... why?” I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the desperate rumble of my stomach as the aroma of expensive, well-seasoned beef escaped from beneath the domes to tantalize me.
“I asked.” His voice lowered. “And what she didn’t know, I made a point to find out.”
“I don’t know why.” I twisted the napkin in my lap. Martin made me nervous. He always had.
