Page 9 of Chasin’s Surrender

Vivi.

No flinch when her friend used the same nickname he’d called her that night.

“Genevieve’s the client?” Chasin asked.

“Yes. She uses the name Vivi Rush though,” Bobby explained.

An unnatural amount of bitterness crept in. Genevieve hadn’t mentioned she was a singer. No, not a singer—Alec said country music star.

What in the actual hell?

He didn’t know shit about country music. He’d never had any interest in listening to a song about a man losing his dog, his woman, and his truck all in the same day. That shit sounded depressing. So not knowing a damn thing, he had no idea who Vivi Rush was.

“Let’s get to the country music star part,” Chasin said. Genevieve flinched, the same way she did when he’d called her Vivi, which meant she didn’t miss the bite in his tone.

“Chasin—”

He didn’t allow her to finish and asked, “And why does Genevieve need protection?”

Chasin felt it, all eyes were on him. Nixon and Alec were alert, Bobby was confused, and fuck him, Genevieve looked scared.

“A fan has an unhealthy obsession with Vivi. At this point, we feel—”

“Unhealthy?” Chasin cut Bobby off. “Is there another kind of obsession?”

“Of course there is,” Bobby snapped. “The kind where fans can’t get enough of her music. The kind that leads them to buy it, talk about it, fill venues, buy merchandise.”

Chasin’s lips curled in disgust. Christ, the woman was talking about Genevieve like she was a product instead of a person.

“I can see this was a mistake,” Bobby started. “The label gave us a few options, including using her regular bodyguards. I thought coming here was best, since you’re close. But I was wrong.”

“Bobby.” Genevieve grabbed the woman’s hand. “Let’s sit down.”

“No, Vivi, no. I understand you’re not taking this seriously. You don’t want to believe it. I get it, I do. You like to live with your head in the clouds, writing your music.” Chasin’s eyes were glued to Genevieve so he didn’t miss her face twitch at the insult. “What you have to understand is, it’s my job to make it safe for you to do that. This is serious, Vivi. He’s escalating.”

Chasin wanted to know what escalating meant but he couldn’t get past the rush of anger. Someone was obviously stalking Genevieve, yet she’d invited a stranger into her home, made him dinner, talked openly to him, drank a bottle of wine with him, and allowed him to fuck her. All within hours of meeting him. Then she’d let him spend the night, and they’d spent the second day much like they’d spent the first, only there was a little more conversation. But it was worth noting that at no fucking time had she told him she was a goddamn country music star.

What the fuck?

An irritated rumble built deep in his gut, burning his lungs, and when he could no longer keep it contained, it rushed out in a snarl, “Jesus fuck, Genevieve.”

Both women jolted at his outburst but it was Genevieve who paled. Fuck him, just like the night he’d laid into her and left. Except this time, it wasn’t only hurt that flashed—a liberal amount of panic shone in her golden eyes.

“Chasin,” she whispered.

His name was not an answer.

“Outside,” he barked.

“Wait. What?” Bobby stepped in front of Genevieve.

Chasin would’ve thought the protective gesture was amusing if he wasn’t so pissed off. Genevieve had at least three inches on the petite blonde, and thirty pounds. Thirty pounds that gave Genevieve her sexy curves. Tits and ass that were both abundant and soft. A body that was built to take a man like him.

Perfect in every way.

“Chasin, let’s all sit down and—”

“Out. Side.”