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“I’m not offering you a vodka IV drip. I’ve got soda and coffee and tea.” He opened the refrigerator where I saw a shelf of his favorite orange soda.
“Water is fine.”
He opened the cupboard where neatly placed glasses lined the shelves. He pointed to the table next to the window. “Have a seat.”
I did as he asked. “Seems we might have gotten off to a rough start. Would you like to begin over?”
He handed me a glass of ice water and sat across from me. The hiss of carbonation escaped his newly opened can. He stared at me for a long time. “You’re not who I would have expected them to send.”
I wasn’t sure if that was bad or good. “You mean long legged, anorexic, and preserved?” I tossed my hair over my shoulders. He may have propositioned me, but it wasn’t because he found me hot. It was probably because I was there.
His strong jaw tensed. “No, you look smart.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, that might be the nicest compliment I can expect from you so I’ll take it.”
He sipped his soda and leaned back in his chair. The soft cotton of his shirt hugged his chest like a desperate lover, showing every ripple of muscle. My insides twisted with lust. If I’d been in a different situation, I would have taken him up on his good time offer, but I needed this job more than a roll in what would no doubt be high-thread-count, Egyptian cotton sheets.
“You know, I really don’t need a sitter.”
After a talk with his manager, I knew this conversation was coming, so on the drive over here I’d formulated a plan to be honest and tell him he may not need me, but I needed him. Hopefully he was like most men and needed to have his ego stroked.
“I know, but I really need this job. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay and earn my keep. I’m good at many things. I’m organized. I’m quiet. I won’t be in your way. You’ll hardly know I’m around unless you need me or want me.”
He lifted his right brow, and I thought he might smile, but his lips never made it that far. “Oh, I want you, but I imagine what I want is off the table.” His gaze lingered on my lips, then dropped to my breasts.
My damn traitorous nipples hardened into stone. Without looking, I knew they were pointing at him like the Uncle Sam poster that read, “I Want YOU.”
I lifted my shoulders. “Sorry, those services aren’t for sale.”
“No?” He pulled his lower lip between his teeth. I wished it were my lip he was biting. Something told me that Abel would be able. Able to make my body squirm. Able to make me scream his name. Able to break my heart.
“Speaking of your proposition, I imagine you’re sitting there wondering how to apologize to me for being so inappropriate.” The only way to set the tone was to set the boundaries. “No need. I’m sure it’s a workplace hazard for you to have so many women throwing themselves at you, but don’t worry, I don’t find you the least bit attractive.” I swallowed the lie. It stuck in my throat like dried toast.
His eyes focused on my chest. He nodded and smiled. “I can see that.”
I nearly fell off my seat. I’d succeeded in my goal of making him smile within the first hour. I needed to up my game with Abel Kincaid. Maybe my goal should be to keep him smiling.
I crossed my hands over my chest. “What can I do to help make life easier for you while you’re on the tour?”
A confused look crossed his face. “That’s a first for me. Normally, it’s me trying to make life easier for everyone else.”
I never considered that he would be a giver and not a taker. My experience with Arm Candy was always that the celebrity was used to getting whatever they wanted all the time. We dealt with spoiled, entitled rich men and women who needed a dose of real
ity. What I read about Abel, however, was that he’d had a large dose of reality when his friend Deb overdosed. Though he seemed to spiral out of control, the news reports always overstated things.
“How about I take that off your plate? Are we talking about everything from food to clothes?”
There was that smile again. “I can feed myself, but if you’re offering to dress me I’ll sign up for that.”
I reached over and pinched him. Actually pinched my client and it shocked the hell out of him. “I’m talking about making sure your stage clothes are ready, your favorite foods are available, and your personal time is respected.”
“Well, damn it. You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
This time I laughed. “I appreciate the ego boost but let’s be honest. I’m not really the groupie type. Like you said, I’m smart. Smarter than to get involved with a rock god.”
I pulled a notebook out of my bag and jotted down a few items. While we spoke I glanced around his place and noticed the bags of cheese puffs on the counter. There was an open box of protein bars on the table. I made a note of the brand and flavor. Plugged into the wall was a lavender air freshener. These were the things that made life on the road more bearable.
“You’re lucky day then. I’d never be considered a rock god. I’ve been likened to James Arthur, Sam Smith, even Ed Sheeran, but never a rock god.”
