Page 67 of Protect Your Queen

We hung up after a few more minutes, where she talked about the Julliard dorm costs versus getting her own apartment. She was going to find work, so that she could have a little income coming in. I really wanted her to just concentrate on her studies, but my little sister was all grown up. She was going to make her choices, and I had to respect them.

After we hung up, I grabbed the papers and wove through the chaotic LA traffic to Malibu. I didn’t listen to music this time, but kept the windows open, letting the breezehit my face. Fuck this heat. I really wanted it to be autumn – or at least what passed for autumn in this state.

I got back to her house with the sheet music in hand. I was eager to show it to her tonight. Maybe we could have another late night jam session at the piano. Then I could kiss her right. The way she deserved to be kissed.

“She’s not going anywhere tomorrow,” Leo said from the office as I stepped into the foyer, my music in hand. “But she’ll need us in the evening.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I walked into the living room, not thinking much of anything.

She wasn’t there and her door was firmly shut. Maybe she was asleep. If that was the case, I wouldn’t disturb her. She needed her rest. But I was excited at the prospect of seeing her face when she got a look at this. Oh well.

I opened the top of the piano bench and put it inside with all her other music. I could pull it out later. Or maybe she’d see it by chance and be delighted.

“I said,” Leo called from the doorway. “She’s going out tomorrow night.”

“I heard you.”

“Okay,” the guy said, turning around and walking back to the office. “Just watch yourself, okay? We’re not supposed to get attached.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

I wouldn’t understand his ominous warning until the next day when I was told to wear a suit and dress business casual. Because she had a date. A fucking date.

That was a real kick in the nuts. I had been dreaming about that kiss. Hell, I had written her an entire fucking song, and this was what was around the corner? A date with some rom com movie star? Jesus Christ…

I had todrive themto their date.

I watched them through the rearview mirror. He was a bleached-blonde Kiwi with that whole lazy, smarmy, smiling charm. He had his arm across the backrest, and even though the middle seat was empty between them, his fingers still touched the ends of her long, gently curling hair.

“I’m happy to finally meet ya,” he said, leaning in towards her, his seatbelt extending to its maximum length. “I’ve loved you since you took the damn stage at Miss World! You are a rock star!”

Love? Fucking asshole.

She giggled.Giggled.I fucking hated the sound. It was too shrill, too superficial, too empty for my Songbird.

I changed lanes, turning my head to the side to look at the blind spot. I saw his bodyguard in the front passenger seat. He had his phone out, scrolling through social media like a fucking amateur. Great. His bullshit security meant that I would be pulling double duty, doing his job as well.

“I mean, who hasn’t heard of Phoenix Asher?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and I fucking hated it.

I was glad that I had to pay attention to the road and couldn’t just stare them down in the stupid mirror.

If I did, I’d wring his skinny neck. Was he wearing eyeliner? Jesus…

“Well, I’m just a pretty face.” He ran his hand through his hair, flipping it to the side like a fucking shampoo commercial. “Yours, on the other hand, is too gorgeous for words to do it justice!”

The entire ride, they were just schmoozing and complimenting each other. It was so sweet, it made me want to puke. His finger, twirling the end of her long hair, even if he didn’t touch her skin, made me want to break his weak, little hands.

I dropped them off on the curb, and that no-good bodyguard ofhisfinally got off his phone long enough to open their door.

Phoenix Asher stepped out, buttoning his blazer as he gallantly held his hand out to her. Cameras flashed like a strobe, taking photos of the two of them together, holding hands as they walked into the restaurant. I valeted the car, and watched it get taken away. I walked in after the photographers stopped taking photos and were scrolling through their little screens to see what they had captured.

Fucking vultures.

“You’re with the Phoenix-Jestiny group, yes?” A bright eyed, star-struck hostess said, with a huge smile.

“Yeah,” I said, sticking my hand in my blazer, feeling the gun hidden near my left rib.

“Please step this way,” she said, bringing me through the restaurant.

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