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“Oh.” I start biting my thumbnail again, my stomach churning with acid.
“El? You alright?”
I look up and see Liam frowning, the stack of papers in his large hands forgotten as he fixes his molten brown eyes on mine.
I yank my thumb out of my mouth and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I-I’m fine,” I can hardly speak from the nerves. “I just really need to reach Dax so I can talk to Adam and…” Crap. I use the sleeve of my T-shirt to wipe the tears from my eyes and sniff. “Sorry.”
Liam clenches his square jaw and nods stiffly. “Let me get that number for you.” He unlocks a drawer in an old battered file cabinet and pulls out a deteriorating spiral notebook. I can’t help the nervous giggle that bursts from my throat at the sight of it.
“What?” he asks innocently, clearly amused by my reaction. “I don’t want to keep his number in my phone in case it’s stolen. I mean, it’s in my phone somewhere in a protected file, but I can’t ever remember the bloody code to get into it. Shaun put it there and…”
I can’t stop laughing, having to cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the sound. “Sorry, Liam. Really, I am. It’s just… you… and the notebook… and the password… and you’re so huge and scary…” the giggles take over again and I drop into a rickety chair and sigh when they finally subside.
“Better?” He’s standing in front of me and leaning back on his desk, clearly amused by my laughter.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m just so tired and sad all the time.” What is it about Liam Davies that makes me want to spill my guts?
“Well, here’s his number. No selling it on the internet,” he jokes. I take the scrap of paper that he offers and immediately put the number into my cellphone and tuck the slip into my pocket.
“In case I lose the paper. Wouldn’t want to bother you again.” The prickly heat of a blush fills my cheeks. I really do lose all control over my verbal filter around Dax’s kind brother.
“Ellie, it’s no bother when it’s for you.” He pushes off of the desk and holds out a hand. “I’ll call you a cab and walk you out, okay?”
Smiling, I accept his offer and thread my fingers through his, taking comfort in the warmth of his large hand. “Thanks Liam. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
We wait just outside for the cab and when it shows up, Liam pulls me in for another hug lowering his head so I can hear him. “El, I’ve heard the songs. I’ve talked to my brother. Hell, I’ve even been to L.A. to visit the band. Call Adam, he needs you. He’s just as miserable as you if not more.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and squeeze Liam one last time before releasing him and stepping back. He lifts his hand to my face and swipes a stray tear away with his thumb.
“Go… be happy.” A grin takes over his normally serious face and his eyes light up with satisfaction. “Just remember me when you’re making the guest list for your wedding,” he calls out as I open the door to the cab.
Grinning, I call back. “I won’t forget, Liam. That’s one thing I can’t ever seem to do.” I slide across the tattered back seat and pull the door closed. As the cab pulls away and I watch the derelict old buildings pass by, I think that maybe Hackney isn’t such a bad area after all.
chapter 39
Adam
This is the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some insane shit. The tabloids managed to catch me doing most of it so they could print it up for the entire world to see. Every fuck up documented. Not this time, though. Dax’s assistant, Zane, managed to set this up without a single reporter catching on.
“This way
, Adam.” He gestures toward an alcove. “We don’t want the airport paparazzi to see you.” Zane takes my elbow as we leave our plane and walk across the terminal until we’re standing in front of an unmarked door in the tiny alcove that wasn’t visible from the main area. “3-3-4-2,” he mutters as he punches in a code that unlocks the door.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Staff rooms,” he answers curtly. “We’re getting a backstage tour to baggage claim so we don’t have to pass through the rabid pack of photographers.”
Heathrow is widely known to have a permanent, and quite aggressive, contingent of paparazzi. They lie in wait at the end of the secure area and pounce on any face they recognize as they emerge, exhausted, jet-lagged, and looking like crap. I’ve been the victim of their attentions before, and it’s not fun. Plus, I still have a massive bruise on my face from where that fucker Forrester decked me for kissing Sydney. I deserved it, so I didn’t hit back, but God it was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. I wanted to unleash on that bastard.
“Great, how come we’ve never done this before?” I ask grumpily.
Zane rolls his eyes as if the answer is obvious. “Because you’ve always been coming here for a tour or a promotion. You want to get snapped by the paparazzi when you’re on a working trip. It’s all part of the game to sell albums.”
Of course. How stupid of me to not realize that I should be pimping myself out at all times. Certainly those are Ross’ words. He loves it when we show up in the red tops, embarrassing or not, it makes no difference to him.
The door opens behind us and an airport employee enters with a baggage cart. “Here are your bags, Mr. Reynolds, Mr. Bailey.” He holds out his hand to introduce himself. “I’m Stu Bennett, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you out of here and in your car in a jiffy.”
Stu starts off down a long hallway, pulling our luggage along. Zane and I obediently follow through several turns until we reach another door.
