Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (4 page)

“Elly,” my mother warns.

“You two have obviously met before,” I say, pointing between my mom and Connor. He nods, but my mom just looks stiff and miserable.

“So… cool. This is nice, huh? Everyone hangs out together in L.A. And you all just dropped in on me at once, as a surprise,” I say, finishing the last sip of my wine.

“I’m here on business, actually…” Connor starts. “This isn’t really how I wanted to introduce myself, but—”

“Oh my god,” I say, cutting him off. “Please, please don’t tell me that you two,” I point to him and his father, “the entertainment lawyer and the… whatever you are, guy, you two have cooked up some kind of plan to ride the Elly Parsons train?”

Both men give me a genuinely horrified, offended expression, but I can’t stop now. I’ve been on edge since I stepped foot in this restaurant, and everyone is being so
fucking weird
and I’m just done with it.

“Did she come up with the plan and put you up to it?” I ask, pointing at my mother. I’m not even trying to keep my voice down now, I’m way too far gone for that.

“Did you run out of wannabe starlets to manage the way you managed me, Mom? Or maybe they got tired of you putting them on endless diets, constantly telling them that they don’t measure up. God knows I did.”

“Elly, you are embarrassing me,” my mom says, her cheeks flushing with anger.

“You’ve got this all wrong,” Craig says, shaking his head. “Let’s just all calm down and talk this through. This is supposed to be a big night for your mom and I, announcing—”

He cuts himself off, and it takes a second for things to click in my head.

Announcing that they’re getting married
.

I glance at Connor, and even he looks a little surprised at that part. Still, he seems unruffled, and for some reason that’s the last straw for me. I’m getting more and more worked up. Bombshells dropping on me left and right, and here’s this fucking asshole sitting here like all’s well in his little world.

Fuck
Connor Gray. He can take all that macho calm bullshit and stick it up his ass for all I care!

“Okay. Cool. You know what? I actually can’t do this right now,” I say, pushing back my chair and standing up. “I’ll have my assistant pay for the meal. Sorry you guys came all the way out here for nothing, but I’m done.”

“Elly,” my mom and Craig say as one. Everyone is on their feet, trying to keep me from leaving, but I’m already way ahead of them.

I head toward the hostess stand and snag the cute girl that brought me to the table earlier, curling my fingers around her wrist.

“Can you take me out the private exit?” I ask in a whisper.

Eyes wide, she nods, glancing at the table of people I’ve left behind.

“Let’s go,” I urge her, and we flee the dining room.

Through the kitchen, then a back storage room, out into a darkened alley.

“Thanks,” I say. “Do me a favor, please don’t tell the paparazzi about this?”

“Sure, okay,” she says, stopping at the back door.

“All right. Have a good night,” I say, making a mental note to have one of the Ravens send her a goody bag with some personalized Elly swag.

I leave her behind, following the alley out to a side street. I glance toward Le Forêt’s front door, see a couple of paps waiting with their cameras. I whirl and head the other direction, heedless of my uncomfortable heels and the fact that all I have on me is my black Amex card and a photo ID.

After a few blocks I hail a cab, giving a tired smile when the driver recognizes me and asks for an autograph for his niece.

“Can we just… drive around for a while?” I say when he asks for my destination. “Maybe go over the bridge and back? I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“Of course, of course,” he says, pulling out.

A tear slides down my cheek, though I don’t really feel sad. I don’t feel anything at all right now, actually. Maybe that’s the worst part.

I stare out the window, watching the New York City lights slip by as we pass, enjoying the idea that I’m just one more face in a city of millions. Alone, but not alone. It’s a relief, even though I know I have to go back to my life soon enough.

I know I’m fortunate. I know my life is mostly awesome, that I should be grateful. Tonight, I just want to be anonymous. No shitty family dinners, no surprises, no diets or workouts or tour plans.

For just this one hour, I can be free. I can just be
me
.

B
am bam bam
bam bam bam bam
. The knocking on my door is loud and persistent, and it’s absolutely
killing
my head.

Bam bam bam bam bam bam bam
.

I groan and shove back the comforter of my hotel bed, then force myself into an upright position. After my little taxi jaunt last night, I bought a bottle of cabernet at the hotel bar and brought it back up to my room. Where, of course, I proceeded to drink it all by myself.

The pounding on the door continues, matching the pounding in my head, and I propel myself up and toward the front door of my suite in an effort to just make it
stop
.

I fling the door open, a smart remark already out of my mouth before I bother to see who’s on the other side.

“Today is my
one day
off,” I grouse, thinking I’m complaining to Brad, or maybe one of the Jennifers.

Then I freeze in place, unable to do anything but stare at the person filling my hotel room doorframe.

Of all the people in the world to be standing there on the other side of the door…

“Connor Gray,” I blurt out, scrunching my face up before I can hide my reaction.

He quirks a brow, seeming amused by how put off I am. I eye him as he eyes me, a good old fashioned sizing-up on both sides.

He’s dressed down today in dark jeans, heavy boots, and a sinfully tight charcoal black t-shirt, but he’s every bit as devastating to the senses. Damn, from this close I can actually smell his aftershave, and it smells
good
. Crisp and clean, with the hint of masculine leather and engine oil underneath, like maybe he rode a motorcycle here.

What a ridiculous thought
, I scold myself.

“What… why are you here? How did you know where I’m staying?” I ask, starting to feel a little creeped out. Even my mom doesn’t know where I’m staying, as far as I know.

“You just open the door like this for anybody?” Connor growls, taking a step toward me.

“No!” I say. I try to close the door on him, but his hand snaps out forcefully, slamming it back open.

“You sure about that? You didn’t even look through the peep hole,” he insists.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get the hell out of my hotel room!” I cry, tensing for a fight.

He looks at my posture, at the way I bring my hands up, preparing to defend myself.

“Krav maga?” he asks.

I give him a long glance, then nod and relax a little.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Uhhh…” I say, glancing down. I’m wearing skin-tight white sleep shorts and a clingy white tank top… and nothing underneath.

I feel so naked right now
. Sure, I wear ridiculously revealing outfits all the time, especially when I’m performing onstage. But being in the close quarters of my hotel suite with this guy makes me feel risqué for some reason, even if we’re just standing in the living room.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “I don’t fucking care what you’re wearing. This is business, Elly.”

I take a couple steps back, shaking my head. His mention of business has a host of presumptions bubbling up in my mind, most of them to do with my mom.
Did she manipulate Connor into coming to… you know what? It doesn’t really matter.

Either way, I need to be a little more presentable.

“Hold on just a second. I mean, come in and close the door, but let me throw a robe on.”

I step into the bedroom area of my suite and close the door. Initially I’m just going to throw something on over my tank top and shorts, but after a moment’s thought I change into jeans and a long-sleeved blue plaid shirt, soft and comforting. I pull a brush through my dark hair and throw it up in a bun, then slip on a pair of flats.

With a single quick glance at my reflection, I assure myself that I’m ready to tackle whatever bullshit my
mom’s new boyfriend’s son
is about to throw at me. Just thinking that phrase to myself makes me roll my eyes, it’s so ridiculous.

When I stalk back out into the living room, ready to take Connor Gray on, I find him standing with my manager, Artisan. Artisan is dressed in black from head to toe, looking for all the world like an aging punk rocker with his artfully ripped jeans, leather jacket, and graying faux-hawk.

“Hey, chickadee,” Artisan says, his soft British voice a welcome bit of familiarity in what is shaping up to be an odd morning.

“You didn’t say you were coming in! I thought you had to deal with some Adele crisis or something,” I say, flinging my arms around Artisan when he opens his and beckons for a hug. He’s a giant, well over six and a half feet, and he dwarfs me the second I’m within five feet of him.

“Surprise!” he chuckles.

Artisan gives great hugs, hard and tight and long, like he really
means
it. I let myself sink into the embrace for a few seconds, my head resting on his chest, eyes closing for a second. Artisan has been with me since the beginning, and although he’s delegated most of his daily duties to my entourage, he’s still here when I need him.

“God, it’s been such a week,” I mutter.

“I’m so sorry, darling. I swear I’ve been frantically trying to take care of things on my end,” Artisan promises, pulling back a bit and then releasing me. “The first new addition being Connor, obviously.”

“I— what??” I say, stepping back again and goggling at the two of them.

“Well… yeah. Why else would you have let a stranger into your hotel room?” Artisan asked, arching a brow and crossing his arms.

“We know each other previously,” Connor said, wading in at last.

“I would not say that,” I snap, heat rising in my cheeks.

“Oh god, you two didn’t bang, did you?” Artisan moaned, pressing a hand to his eyes. “You have no idea how difficult it was to find someone with the right experience and qualifications, who’d agree to this madness.”

I pause for a long beat, then purse my lips and stare Artisan down.

“What madness do you mean?” I ask.

“Wait, just to be clear… no fucking, right?” Artisan asked, pointing to Connor.

“Jesus, Artisan! No!” I say, growing more aggravated by the moment.

“Whew! Okay. Well… just hear me out, darling. I’ve been quite worried about you ever since your attack,” Artisan said, his expression cautious.

“Really, now? Funny, because you weren’t
here
,” I point out.

“We can agree that Adele giving birth was a big enough event that I needed to be there, can’t we?” Artisan said, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know, who’s grossing more this week?” I ask.

“That is… hurtful,” Artisan growls. “Stop being snappish and let me talk.”

I raise my hands and shrug, trying to calm myself down a little bit. Connor being here, the way he’s watching me with those intense green eyes of his, it’s making me so damn
nervous
. Shaky, even.

“I’ve hired you a personal, round-the-clock bodyguard,” Artisan said.

My mouth opens and closes, and I emit an unladylike squawk of displeasure.

“You
didn’t
,” I manage after a second.

“Well… I picked him. The company backing your tour is responsible for asking for a constant bodyguard,” Artisan said. “Actually, I negotiated them down from an eight-person team to three, and only one of them has to be in line of sight at all times. Trust me when I say they want to keep the millions they’ve invested in you safe and sound.”

I narrowed my eyes at my manager, feeling something bad coming.

“Why do I feel like you’re trying to butter me up?” I ask.

The way Artisan pauses for the barest moment makes me nervous.

“Well, they want Connor to be native security. To play a close member of your entourage, so that you aren’t seen to be stepping up your security. We don’t want to warn any would-be attackers that a former Navy SEAL is going to do the Vulcan Nerve Pinch on them or whatever.”

“A close member of my entourage,” I repeat.

“Well… we’re going to spin it as a new relationship,” Artisan says with a shrug. “We won’t specify what kind, but the papers are going to be bursting at the seams. I mean… look at him.”

Artisan jerks his thumb at Connor, who rolls his eyes but otherwise remains motionless. I notice now that Connor’s standing with his feet spread a little apart, hands clasped behind his back.

Put him in a suit, and he’s the classic, clean-cut Secret Service guy straight out of the movies
.

“Are you trying to tell me you just signed me up for a fake boyfriend?” I say, turning back to Artisan. “Because… no. I veto the hell out of this.”

“You’d rather have eight guards at all times, including someone sleeping in your room with you?” Artisan asked.

“No, of course not!” I say, flinching at the idea of it. “I barely get any privacy on tour as it is, I won’t give any of it up.”

“Well, here’s your alternative.” Artisan thrusts a finger at Connor, whose attention seems to be elsewhere. He’s not distracted, exactly. Merely… not engaging.

“Hey,” I say to Connor, snapping my fingers to pull him back in. “Did you not tell him who you are, dude?”

Those green eyes focus on me like a laser, his mouth pulling into a scowl.

“Do not snap your fingers in my face,” he says. The tone of his words is threatening enough that I let my hand fall, turning back to Artisan.

“I am not dealing with…
this
,” I say, waving my hand to indicate Connor. “For a single day, much less a leg of my tour.”

Artisan’s eyes narrow a little, and I can feel him winding up for a lecture.
Greaaaat, just what I need right now
. He starts ticking facts off on his fingers, which is a habit of his that I absolutely loathe.

“One, you’re getting him for the whole tour. Two, you don’t have a choice in the matter, unless you want the production company to pull the plug. They decided that promoting a pop star being possibly stalked by a deranged fan was a gamble, and this was the only way it was going to happen,” he hardly stops to take a breath as he raises his third finger.

“Three, I’ve worked very hard to help make this tour happen for you, so don’t yell at me for shit that’s beyond my control.” Okay, I feel a little guilty about that.
A little
.

Artisan takes a deep breath, “And
four
, you got attacked in the street a couple of days ago by a
pyscho
.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath and gives me a hard look.

“He could have really hurt you, and I can’t let that happen. You’re not just a client, you’re my friend. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, okay?”

I soften immediately in the face of his anger, giving him a slow nod.

“Yeah, okay,” I say.

“In order for you to be protected, I need you to let Connor be all up in your business, all the time. I need you to take his direction in all matters of your safety, and not be a jackass about it.”

I open my mouth to respond to his ‘jackass’ comment, but he barrels forward.

“Like I said before, he’s the best and most experienced bodyguard around. If he says jump, you’d better ask how high,” Artisan commands me.

I know I’m pouting, blatantly so, but this is just so
stupid
.

Worse, Connor gives me this look, sort of a wink and a smirk. He’s
playing
with me,
teasing
me, and Artisan has no idea.

“I want to hear it,” Artisan demands when I don’t speak. “Connor, tell her to jump.”

Connor sucks in a big breath, giving me an amused look.

“Jump,” he says.

I glare at Artisan, who elbows me.

“Say it,” he orders.

“
Fiiiiiine
. How high?” I mumble the last bit.

“Good. Great,” Artisan says with a bit of forced enthusiasm. His phone chimes in his pocket, and he pulls it out with a reluctant wince.

“Look, I’ve got to take this. It’s an A&R rep. I have to jet, but I’ll be back on your second or third stop. We’ll have time to sit down and hash out whatever needs fixing, okay?”

I give him an uncertain frown as response. He returns a stern glance and a brief half-hug. On his way out the door, he tosses back, “I’m sending over some last minute security-related contract riders from the production company. The courier will drop them off tonight or tomorrow. I need you to sign them ASAP so we can get you on the road!”

I glare at his retreating back until he’s out the door, then turn to Connor. I should probably be nice, give him the benefit of the doubt, but I am 100% sure he’s up to no good.

“Whatever it is that you’ve cooked up with my mom, whatever hare-brained moneymaking scheme she’s onto now, I don’t want that shit on my tour. This is my tour, my experience. My security, actually.”

I pause and bite my lip for a second before I ask the question that’s burning in my brain.

“Are you really an ex-Navy SEAL? If you’re all that’s standing between me and the guy who
stole my hair
…”

The fury in Connor’s eyes stops me mid-sentence. He takes a step toward me, then another.

And another.

Backing me toward the wall, raising goosebumps on every inch of my skin.

Those eyes, I’ve never seen anything so green… just the color of a jungle cat’s, I bet.

“You have a foul mouth,” he says, surprising me. His eyes drop to my lips briefly, and I let out a nervous giggle.

“Yeah? And?” I ask, knowing my tone is just going to piss him off more.
Let’s just see where your boundaries are, macho man
.

“And you’re disrespectful,” he says.

I step back and stumble when the backs of my knees hit one of the suite’s low couches.

Connor moves forward another step and I drop down to sit, looking up at him. He comes to stand almost directly in front of me, staring down at me with those blazing eyes, and our positions feel strangely weighted.

I’m definitely the submissive in this moment
, pops into my head unbidden, and I feel my face flushing with blood.

“I need this job. You need protection,” Connor says, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I got this job on my own, and I don’t appreciate your assumptions. If you question my military service record aloud again, I will make you regret it. Look it up for yourself if you’re so dubious.”