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“Of course, sir,” she says, staring at me like a love-sick puppy.
The sincerity in her look drags me back to the past.Carter, bleeding out, and his final words, “Tell my wife I love her.”Three medals don’t make up for the massacre on my team.
Fucking chunks of metal will never bring back my best friend or the other five men in my unit I lost that day.Anger builds inside me like a raging tornado.
I’m relieved when the attendant returns quickly, and I take the drink from her, downing it in one sitting.I meet her patronizing gaze head-on and hand her the empty glass.“One more, please,” I request, and she grins and hurries away.
Another twenty-two hours until I touch down in Sydney.Plenty of time to get drunk, then sober up before my meeting.
2
Victoria
“At eight, you have three press calls, back-to-back, followed by interviews from various media outlets in the penthouse here.That should take you up to one, and then you have a brief thirty-minute window for lunch.”
Lexy’s words echo in my ears, but I’m still lost in the fog of exhaustion, remnants of applause from Sydney’s entertainment precinct lingering in my mind.Four months on tour, and the exhaustion is no longer a sensation.It’s a constant companion.
I take a slow, contemplative sip of green juice, an unfamiliar but supposedly healthy trend I’m trying to embrace, and force myself to focus on Lexy, my loyal assistant.She’s rattling off the day’s schedule, and I can’t help but marvel at how this is considered a light day.
“Tomorrow,” she continues, unfazed by my obvious distraction, “After your third show in Sydney, we have two more days of press and interviews, all lined up by the record company.”
“Oh, I get to have lunch today?”I interject, my voice dripping with sarcasm.Lexy offers a sly grin, clearly accustomed to my sarcasm.
“We have a soundcheck at two,” Michael, my tour manager, adds, his eyes fixed on his tablet, orchestrating the whirlwind that is Viki Slate—a worldwide jazz-pop sensation.Or, as theNew York Postrecently called me, “the new Amy Winehouse” orTMZ’s viral article, “Jazz Pop Star’s Journey from Ordeal to Stardom.”A compliment but also a comparison that sends a chill down my spine.
Memories of the kidnapping rush back, and I can almost feel the kidnappers’ hands on my body.Nausea stirs within me, an unwelcome reminder of what could have been my fate.
“Viki?”Lexy’s concerned voice pulls me back to reality, and I look up to find both her and Michael studying me with worried eyes.
“I said your new bodyguard will be here at one,” she repeats, concerned.
“For heaven’s sake.Another one?”I groan, not bothering to hide my frustration.
“Well, you drove the others away,” Lexy replies, her hand on her hip.
“They were all incompetent, dim-witted idiots!”I snap, and Michael lets out a strained chuckle, wisely choosing to stay out of our debate.
Lexy shoots him a warning glance before looking down at her clipboard, the symbol of her organized control over my chaotic life.
“His name is Kingsley,” she says, pausing for effect.“Vincent hired him through an agency.”
“My brother?”I raise an eyebrow, intrigued and a bit unsettled.
My family’s involvement in my life is a double-edged sword.I love my two brothers to a fault, but our strained relationship with our father continues to weigh on me, even if he’s the one to blame for all this.
“Yes, both Julius and Vincent have vetted several agencies since the…incident.In the end, it was this particular bodyguard they wanted,” Lexy explains, her voice softening.
“I see,” I grumble, bitterness seeping into my words.
Lexy simply nods, understanding without judgment.
“What kind of name is Kingsley anyway?”I mutter, trying to lighten the mood.
“No idea.”Lexy laughs.“But let’s just hope you don’t scare him away, huh?”
I roll my eyes, and Michael lets out another chuckle before excusing himself to take a call.
Lexy stays, though.She’s become more than an assistant lately, more like a friend.Often, she’s there when I can’t bear to be alone, especially at night when fear threatens to overwhelm me.I never tell her the real reason, pretending it’s all about the schedule.But somehow, I think she knows.
