“Next time, call him up here,” I growl.
But I look at him closer—his broad shoulders, the buzz cut, the sharp awareness in his posture. “Were you law enforcement?”
“Military,” Jimmy says, and that makes me nod. A lot of drivers for high-profile musicians have a military or law enforcement background, adding an extra layer of protection for the star. I’m glad Manny had the sense to hire this guy, but I’m gonna throw that useless bodyguard out the window.
“Good,” I say. “I don’t want to see fans that close again.”
Then I feel Lou’s slim hand touch my shoulder, and my anger cools. I didn’t realize she was here in the narrow entrance, waiting for me. A smile plays on her lips.
“Didn’t you say last night I need to remember who I’m performing for and not shut ‘em out?”
“I was wrong,” I say with a hard laugh. “Shut ‘em all out. They’re crazy.”
Lou’s playful smile stretches into a grin. “They’re not crazy. They’re over-eager.”
“Tomato, tom-ah-to.”
“But aren’t you afraid their adoration will turn my head? That I’ll get addicted to being worshipped by my fans?” She pokes my pec.
I grumble, but a wry smile finds its way to my mouth. “Don’t use my wisdom against me.”
She pokes me again, this time in my stomach, and I suddenly wish I were in better shape. Not like I’m some schlub who’s let himself go, but my brother’s a professional athlete. It’s hard to feel good about your body when you know that guy.
I grab her hand and peer down at her. Her boots give her a couple of inches, and I’m not as burly as Sean, but I still tower over her.
“We’re leaving. You should sit down,” Jimmy says, putting the bus into drive.
We shift when the bus lurches forward, and Lou plants her hands against the walls as she passes through the entry, wherea couple of trucker hats, a jean jacket, and a bomber jacket are hanging.
The bus opens into a U-shaped lounge area, where a leather sofa wraps around a sleek, custom wood coffee table. A huge flat-screen dominates the wall opposite the sofa, framed by built-in shelves holding books, vinyl records, and mementos. Past that is a kitchenette that looks well stocked, but I’m not looking past the lounge—because the lounge is where Manny, Lou’s assistant Alicia, and the bodyguard are.
Manny and Alicia are working on their laptops.
The bodyguard is on his phone.
“Hey, Rambo,” I bark, and the guy’s dark eyes snap up to meet mine. “We got rushed by fans out there. Next time, keep your eyes on the star, not your fantasy football scores.”
Lou puts her hand on my forearm, and in a single minute, we’ve already established a pattern. I get all huffed up and defensive on her behalf. She brings me back down with a single touch.
“Unless your QB is Duke Ogden,” she teases. “I love that guy.”
And this tells me something I didn’t know about Lou: she’s diplomatic. Rusty told me she’s a cutthroat attorney no one messes with. Duke told me how she came in swinging when Millie was wrongfully detained in an airport when they were dating. Even Sean told me how she got the best of the Sugar Maple town council during some drama earlier this year.
During every interaction we’ve had, she’s been like a shot of hot sauce in my coffee—plain Tabasco—but now I’m sensing a hint of sweetness to the spice I didn’t pick up on before. She’s more like sriracha: spicy, but sweet and tangy, too. A fuller profile.
She’s making the effort to deescalate the situation, so the least I can do is comply.
“You have to like Duke. He’s married to one of your best friends.”
“Pfft,” she says, waving her hand in my face. “Don’t dismiss my football cred.”
She crosses through the lounge to the kitchenette and comes back with two bottles of water. She hands me one and then drops onto the couch next to her assistant.
“Y’all got a sec to participate in a security meeting?” Lou asks.
Manny and the security guard both nod. I sit on Lou’s other side, glaring at the bodyguard.
“Ron,” Lou says to the security guard. “I was surrounded by fans outside, and one of them got pushy. You need to be more diligent when you’re on call.”
