Page 28 of The Devil's Detail
“And,” mutters Bucky, grinning and squirming in between Kasey and his film blogger, “that man”—he points covertly towards Gary at the other side of the restaurant—“said my T-shirts were shit. He needs to go.” He gestures with his thumb out the window, and we both grin like fools at Carter.
He looks bemused, and stares up at Jackson in awe as he arrives at the table.
“You called them for me?” His voice, usually a perfect drawl, sounds weird and squeaky.
Jackson gives him a cursory glance and nod, as his eyes then move systematically around the restaurant. Carter is looking up at him, clear appreciation in his eyes. And not just for his security skills. Oh sweet baby Jesus. The man has a crush the size of Niagara Falls on my uncle.
“We needed to either move you or him. And I prefer to move him quietly if we can.” His voice is soft and calm. But then his voice deepens and becomes more serious. “But we need to talk, Carter. This is not a good situation for you to be in. There are loads of cameras, all waiting for you to lose it. So be prepared to not do a damn thing.”
Jackson turns his intense stare onto Carter. He’s commanding him with his eyes. Carter looks like he might faint. I can’t tell if it’s from fright or love. I wouldn’t dare go against Uncle Jax at this point. And Carter is not stupid, he knows the situation could go south quickly. He clearly trusts Jackson absolutely, as he doesn’t argue at all.
All the cameras are now trained on our booth. Nobody is looking at Gary, and he’s not happy. He starts to create a bit of noise, as if he’s coming over to see us and muscle in on the popularity of this section of the restaurant. I look up at Uncle Jackson and nod slightly. Game on.
A group of girls are crying and hyperventilating trying to get near us. I motion for them to be allowed forward, and Bucky and I ramp up the entertainment. Laughing, talking, flirting—in Bucky’s case, playing around with them—I coerce them into requesting a song.
Lifting one poor fan who has lost the ability to speak, the only noise coming out of her mouth is a screech, I seat her on the edge of the table and kneel down in front of her. Pandemonium breaks out, as if people think I am actually going to propose to a total stranger in a packed restaurant.
Every eye, camera, and phone is trained on me. And as I’m lower than anyone else in the restaurant, everything is focused on me on the floor. People have even pushed forwards and downwards to see what I’m doing. I know this will be the headline tomorrow. ‘Did he propose or not.’ ‘One fan's reaction to being proposed to by James Greystone.’ I can see all the clickbait headlines now. ‘He’s getting married.’ ‘Who’s the lucky lady?’
Uncle Jackson is grinning at me. He’s probably the only one who knows I’ve got down low so everyone is staring at the floor. No one is lifting their heads away and looking around the restaurant.
Bucky joins me on his knees and tries to push me out of the way, as if we’re having an argument over the girl. The screaming decibels have risen higher. Nothing can be heard over this racket. Whatever Uncle Jackson has planned, the time to do it is now.
Jackson and the team move to eliminate the issue. I go for broke, push Bucky over so he’s laid out flat on the floor, and start to sing our latest hit. Bucky jumps up, grabs some cutlery and starts to play the table, encouraging all the diners to join in. The restaurant descends into chaos, of the most amazing sort.
19
Carter
I hearhis voice loud and clear. The hairs rise on the back of my neck. Tears prick my eyes. But I have to blink them back. Even though I know all the cameras will be on James and Bucky, some will inevitably pan to me.
James starts the song, and soon everyone in the restaurant is joining in, the boys egging them on to be louder and more raucous as they get to the chorus.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Zak—James’s security—along with Jackson and Ash, tug Gary out of his chair. Heading in the opposite direction from everyone else in the restaurant, they drag him out behind them. His own camera crew doesn’t even notice.
And why would they? They’ve got a front row seat to the best show in town. There’s no way they’re taking their cameras off James and Bucky. This will go viral, and they have the best footage. James even goes so far as to pull the camera guy into the song, singing directly into the camera.
God, he is so like his mother when he smiles. But any other time, so like Marcus. Today his stance is arrogant, his swagger bringing the full rockstar vibe. Their dads have taught them well, and the energy pouring out of those boys fills the entire space.
No one here knows it’s all staged. They’d have no idea they came because they were asked to. To help get me out of a shitty situation unscathed. A situation I was already trying to figure out on my own.
Before they arrived, my blood was boiling and my brain misfiring as anger took over. I knew I would have been dragged out kicking and screaming, trying to claw that complete asshole into the ground. He needs to take a very long walk off a very short pier.
I wish I’d never laid eyes on the man. He’s not even that interesting. He filled time, and I’m ashamed to say that’s about all. He’s had his quota of fame at my expense. Anything else now, months after I told him to get lost, needs to be on his own time and dime.
But I know he’s on the wane. I’ve watched his shows. They’re lacklustre. Stale. A massive yawnfest. He needs me to bring him back. Needs the connection and bounce on his ratings being seen with me affords him. And so the games go on. But I’m done playing.
We’rein the restaurant the entire night, the diners treated to an impromptu concert, with even Kasey and I getting involved. We sing a couple of classic Rat Pack songs with James. Damn, that boy has a versatile voice. I see a Christmas album of crooner songs in his future.
“I didn’t know you sang so well, Carter.” James raises his eyebrows at me as we all indulge in some whiskey shots—O’Clery’s, obviously.
Zak and Ash—now back from their excursion—work on the line of people still pushing to get at James and Bucky. Talk about an amazing distraction.
James adds, “I’ll get Papa to sign you to the label. A Christmas album for your fans. Songs from Vegas.”
Well, that’s cute. His mind must work along the same lines as mine.
Jackson lands back at the table, his hair slightly dishevelled, but slightly flushed. It’s nice to see he’s amused by all the antics, his and ours. “Anytime you want to leave, let me know. All clear here. No returns for early leavers.” He smirks at us all, and to be honest, I have to admit I swoon.
