The screaming in the dressing room takes on a whole new level of crazy and I wince in that direction, then turn back to Abelli. “I gotta go, man, OK? Let me know if you need any help, any help at all. We gotta put that sick f**k behind bars for a long, long time, right?”
I clap him on the back of the shoulder and walk off towards the dressing room. I turn the corner, out of Abelli’s sight and then start yelling in French as Clare slips past me to go make sure Abelli is gone. Inside the dressing room Josie is throwing a fit by herself. Screaming about drugs, and dieting, and the scale, and the clothes, and f**k all else. Pretty much everything she can think of. I try to calm her loudly until Clare comes back in and closes the dressing room doors.
“He’s gone.”
Josie skips past me, planting a kiss on my cheek as she goes, and then calls out, “You owe me a fat bonus for that performance, brother.”
“Is it serious?” Clare asks as soon as Josie’s gone.
I let out a long slow breath. “Maybe. He never got past hello, but he’ll be back.”
Clare and I go back out into the studio. She does her job herding the girls for their test shoots, me hassling Roger and generally being an ass**le, like they expect me to. No one mentions my visitor, no one mentions the fact that Josie threw a fit and then came back to work like nothing happened. The day just moves on.
I’m not really avoiding the FBI, just laying a foundation on which I can build. I don’t call Spencer or Ford because this has absolutely nothing to do with them. If Ford were to get pulled in for hacking he’d never tell me about it. So maybe he’s already been questioned, I have no idea. And Spencer really has no tangible role in this latest job, not like the others. Rook filled in for him in this case, and she’s clearly the victim, so I doubt they’re hassling her.
But me, I’m the face. The front man. Which means they come to me first because I’m the one who’s acting all in the know, right? I’m the talker, the amicable participant, the one who answers every question without fail.
That’s the only job I have. To clean the shit up after the fan throws it all over the f**king place.
I’m not one hundred percent sure why Abelli was here, but I can take a good guess.
I suddenly want a cigarette very badly. I don’t really smoke, but there are times when I want to. This is one of those times.
But I don’t smoke. Because that’s an indicator that I’m nervous about something.
And I cannot—can-fucking-not—afford to deviate from normal now.
Chapter Twenty-One - ROOK
I smile the whole way down to Ronin’s. Even though I absolutely did fail that math test last night and that f**ker Gage did tell me my boyfriend and two of my besties all got away with murder, it doesn’t touch me today because I know in my heart that these guys would never do that. Sure, they did some illegal things, but they did those things for me. Not to hurt people. They stole Jon’s money because he tried to steal mine. They set him up with kiddie p**n because he took advantage of me as a young adult.
And even though I am ultimately responsible for my own decisions and actions, there really was a point in my relationship with Jon when things stopped being my fault. I need to stop feeling responsible for what happened and Jon needs to accept the fact of what he did, what he made me do, and what I became.
Because there really was a point where I was stripped of all my choices.
And I think that it’s OK to put all the blame on Jon for those parts.
So f**k it. I love Ronin. Ford and Spencer are my friends. And that’s how it’s gonna stay unless I get information that requires a one-eighty.
I ease the Shrike Bikes truck off the freeway and take Park down to the stadium, then turn onto Blake and pull into our garage. Ronin is kicking back on one of his motorcycles, talking on the phone as he waits for me. He’s wearing old jeans, a black t-shirt, and his favorite black biker jacket. He waves as I pull in a few spaces down and then walks over to me as he ends the call. My eyes linger on his body as he approaches and I let out a sigh. God. This man is like my smile button. He appears and I smile.
I’m smiling right now.
I giggle a little at that and throw my arms around him, taking in his scent. He smells like Sexy Man. I’m not sure what that exactly is, but if sexy man smell has a dictionary entry, the picture next to it is Ronin Flynn. “Oh, my God—I missed you so much!”
He hugs me back and hums against the tender skin on my neck. “I think we should stay in the entire weekend.”
I pull back with a serious expression on my face. “And do what?”
He grabs my backpack and purse from the seat, then closes the truck door and takes my hand. “Ah, my schoolgirl needs to learn some patience, I think.” We take the elevator up and then he lets go of my hand and points to the dressing room. “There’s a hanger with your name on it. Meet you upstairs.”
I stand there as the heat creeps up my face, just watching his ass in the moonlight as he goes up the steps. “Chop, chop, Gidget. You’ll be spanked if you’re late.”
My chuckle comes out automatically as I make my way into the dressing room. There’s just one hanger on the rack and yup, sure enough, it’s got my name on it.
I peek inside and smile. Boys and their Catholic schoolgirl fantasies. He went to Catholic school, surely he must’ve gotten his fill?
I unzip the garment bag all the way and start pulling stuff out. There’s a crisp white button-up blouse, a little red tie, a red-and-black tartan skirt, and some very naughty black lingerie that probably came from the GIDGET contract. The whole ensemble is completed with a pair of six-inch stilettos.
I clap him on the back of the shoulder and walk off towards the dressing room. I turn the corner, out of Abelli’s sight and then start yelling in French as Clare slips past me to go make sure Abelli is gone. Inside the dressing room Josie is throwing a fit by herself. Screaming about drugs, and dieting, and the scale, and the clothes, and f**k all else. Pretty much everything she can think of. I try to calm her loudly until Clare comes back in and closes the dressing room doors.
“He’s gone.”
Josie skips past me, planting a kiss on my cheek as she goes, and then calls out, “You owe me a fat bonus for that performance, brother.”
“Is it serious?” Clare asks as soon as Josie’s gone.
I let out a long slow breath. “Maybe. He never got past hello, but he’ll be back.”
Clare and I go back out into the studio. She does her job herding the girls for their test shoots, me hassling Roger and generally being an ass**le, like they expect me to. No one mentions my visitor, no one mentions the fact that Josie threw a fit and then came back to work like nothing happened. The day just moves on.
I’m not really avoiding the FBI, just laying a foundation on which I can build. I don’t call Spencer or Ford because this has absolutely nothing to do with them. If Ford were to get pulled in for hacking he’d never tell me about it. So maybe he’s already been questioned, I have no idea. And Spencer really has no tangible role in this latest job, not like the others. Rook filled in for him in this case, and she’s clearly the victim, so I doubt they’re hassling her.
But me, I’m the face. The front man. Which means they come to me first because I’m the one who’s acting all in the know, right? I’m the talker, the amicable participant, the one who answers every question without fail.
That’s the only job I have. To clean the shit up after the fan throws it all over the f**king place.
I’m not one hundred percent sure why Abelli was here, but I can take a good guess.
I suddenly want a cigarette very badly. I don’t really smoke, but there are times when I want to. This is one of those times.
But I don’t smoke. Because that’s an indicator that I’m nervous about something.
And I cannot—can-fucking-not—afford to deviate from normal now.
Chapter Twenty-One - ROOK
I smile the whole way down to Ronin’s. Even though I absolutely did fail that math test last night and that f**ker Gage did tell me my boyfriend and two of my besties all got away with murder, it doesn’t touch me today because I know in my heart that these guys would never do that. Sure, they did some illegal things, but they did those things for me. Not to hurt people. They stole Jon’s money because he tried to steal mine. They set him up with kiddie p**n because he took advantage of me as a young adult.
And even though I am ultimately responsible for my own decisions and actions, there really was a point in my relationship with Jon when things stopped being my fault. I need to stop feeling responsible for what happened and Jon needs to accept the fact of what he did, what he made me do, and what I became.
Because there really was a point where I was stripped of all my choices.
And I think that it’s OK to put all the blame on Jon for those parts.
So f**k it. I love Ronin. Ford and Spencer are my friends. And that’s how it’s gonna stay unless I get information that requires a one-eighty.
I ease the Shrike Bikes truck off the freeway and take Park down to the stadium, then turn onto Blake and pull into our garage. Ronin is kicking back on one of his motorcycles, talking on the phone as he waits for me. He’s wearing old jeans, a black t-shirt, and his favorite black biker jacket. He waves as I pull in a few spaces down and then walks over to me as he ends the call. My eyes linger on his body as he approaches and I let out a sigh. God. This man is like my smile button. He appears and I smile.
I’m smiling right now.
I giggle a little at that and throw my arms around him, taking in his scent. He smells like Sexy Man. I’m not sure what that exactly is, but if sexy man smell has a dictionary entry, the picture next to it is Ronin Flynn. “Oh, my God—I missed you so much!”
He hugs me back and hums against the tender skin on my neck. “I think we should stay in the entire weekend.”
I pull back with a serious expression on my face. “And do what?”
He grabs my backpack and purse from the seat, then closes the truck door and takes my hand. “Ah, my schoolgirl needs to learn some patience, I think.” We take the elevator up and then he lets go of my hand and points to the dressing room. “There’s a hanger with your name on it. Meet you upstairs.”
I stand there as the heat creeps up my face, just watching his ass in the moonlight as he goes up the steps. “Chop, chop, Gidget. You’ll be spanked if you’re late.”
My chuckle comes out automatically as I make my way into the dressing room. There’s just one hanger on the rack and yup, sure enough, it’s got my name on it.
I peek inside and smile. Boys and their Catholic schoolgirl fantasies. He went to Catholic school, surely he must’ve gotten his fill?
I unzip the garment bag all the way and start pulling stuff out. There’s a crisp white button-up blouse, a little red tie, a red-and-black tartan skirt, and some very naughty black lingerie that probably came from the GIDGET contract. The whole ensemble is completed with a pair of six-inch stilettos.
