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And now we were flying to France. Maybe that was it; he had travel nerves?
Tour buses were more Iain’s thing. You could stop and get out every couple of hours if needed and walk around. But a nine-hour flight was different. Even on a private jet.
Instead of worrying about my primary, I browsed the emails that Regan had sent me last night.
All the hotels and venues in Paris had been security approved. I reviewed the layouts of the buildings and preparedour entry and exit plans while the cabin crew was moving about, getting the plane ready for departure.
My team—Lennie, Petyr, Xavier, Valen, Geoff, Will, and Quinn—sat in the back of the plane with me, trading notes for the upcoming trip.
Iain and Brodie were sitting two rows ahead of me, side by side, with Ronin and Faise across the aisle. Van was facing Brodie and beside him sat the band’s new manager, Harlow Hines. All the guys were talking, so I guessed everything was all right. Even though Harlow looked stressed, bouncing his knee and tapping the arm of his seat.
I’d be nervous in his position, too.
Brodie had been vocal about the fact that he was unhappy with their current music label, Bandit. The CEO of the label, Greg Haddley, had outed Van when his relationship with Brodie started back in the fall. I’d been witness to many of the arguments after that, and I knew it was only a matter of time until Wayward Lane would be cutting ties. Their contract was up in May.
It made me think about the future of my team. We were hired by Bandit, so I assumed that once Wayward left, we would be assigned to a new band.
I’d probably never see Iain again.
A painful knot formed in my stomach.
Which was hilariously ironic. Iain had pushed me to my limit, yet when he wasn’t around everything seemed dull in comparison.
Fuck.
I kept replaying Bibi’s advice in my head, but I stubbornly refused to listen to it. I’d heard and seen other bodyguards cross that professional line, and it did not end well. Once you lost objectivity, you were fucked. And out of work.
And I couldn’t afford to do that.
Just before take-off, I video-called my son.
My mom was looking after him, as she usually did whenever I had to travel with the band. I also had a nanny, Paige, who helped her out while I was on the road. Back when I shared custody, I got to see Jaxon twice a month, mostly on weekends. But now that it was just me, the long days and longer nights of my schedule were starting to wear. Jaxon saw his grandmother more than me.
“Hey, Jax.”
“Dad! Guess what!”
“What?” I asked as I stared at his earnest little face.
Jaxon was my spitting image, except he had blue eyes instead of green. Oh, and he was good-natured—a sunny chatterbox to my grumpy silence. Despite the grief of losing his mom two years ago, he was doing well in school. So much that he’d skipped a grade and was now in class with nine- and ten-year-olds. I worried it might be difficult for him to navigate, but not Jaxon. He was his mother’s son, making friends wherever he was.
I smiled when I saw he had on his favorite PJs—the ones with stars and planets on them—and was sitting up in bed with my mom.
“I’m reading a story to Nana!” Jaxon yelled out, and I lowered the volume when everyone on the plane turned to stare at me.
Oops.
“You sound just a little bit excited, bud,” I teased him as I finally felt my tension ease.
“The boy in this book is like me. He loves music and cats, and goes on adventures!”
“Cats, huh?”
He’d been begging me for a cat for months, and my willpower was weakening. His ninth birthday was coming up in April, and I knew I’d be making a trip to the local animal shelter.
“That sounds awesome.” I leaned forward. “We can read it together when I get back from my trip.”
“How long again?”
