Page 79 of Perfect Order
“I can’t say I blame her, Keene. She went to someone she can trust.” Caleb nods in my direction. “We just can’t sacrifice Beckett’s protection for Erzulie’s.”
It takes everything in me not to correct him and call her by her proper name, but I manage to refrain. “So, what do we do?”
Caleb and Keene stare at each other, lost in thought. That’s when we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. “Enter!” Keene barks.
Tony pops his head in. “Kristoffer Wilde on line two. He wants to go over some last-minute security questions for LA.” He ducks back out.
The two men don’t move. In fact, their stillness is starting to alarm me. “Um, hello? Do you need me to take the call?” I start to press the flashing button.
Caleb brushes my hand aside and addresses Keene. “She could stay with Kris.”
“She could. He’s already made the offer,” Keene concurs.
“That place is like a fortress.”
“It is.”
“Plus, she couldn’t bitch about security—it’s a part of his entourage.”
“That’s so.”
“Would either of you mind letting me know what the hell is going on?” I demand.
“Go ahead.” Keene jerks his chin at Caleb, who presses the flashing button.
Within minutes, my heart settles down to a normal arhythmic rhythm as the shorthand between the two men segues into a brilliant plan—Erzulie will stay at the estate of Kristoffer Wilde during her stay in Los Angeles.
“Except when she elects not to—with the proper bodyguard,” Caleb adds smoothly, raising a brow in my direction. I catch his meaning immediately and nod. He ducks his head but not before I catch the smile on his face.
Her body will be guarded from all angles, except when she’s with someone who will give up his life for her. Me.
Celebrity stylist Dee, whose credentials include stints at Gucci and Stella McCartney, was spotted leaving Beckett Miller’s estate in Beverly Hills. The exclusive women’s designer was mum when contacted about what she delivered. But it leaves us all to ask, who could he be escorting to this year’s Grammys?
— Eva Henn, Fashion Blogger
Right now I’m so grateful Kris knows who I am because I’m fairly certain the jig would be up about fifteen minutes into the Grammy rehearsal at the Staples Center.
We’ve just stepped into the middle of a well-executed project plan that has me frozen in awe. I mutter to him quietly, “If I still have a company when this is over, I’m stealing their project manager. I don’t care how much they cost.”
He coughs to hide his laugh around the milling people before pulling me aside to allow a forklift to pass. We step over miles of carefully laid cable that is bundled together before it enters into a receiver that will broadcast this week's performance all over the world. I hide my fear as we step into the wings just as lights are being flicked on and off, and that’s when I catch sight of the cameras.
Today is one of the final dress rehearsals for the performance. No one has been surprised Kris has been glued to my side as I’ve been in off-site rehearsals, but this is the first full run-through—the moment every act will get on the stage and perform as if every seat is filled with bodies.
I’ve been practicing the song I’m going to sing for weeks. There’s been speculation in the media whether or not “Erzulie” is going to perform something old or new? Will she be able to make it through the performance? And, as I shared with Kris in the limo on the way over from the villa we’re sharing with his family and enough armed guards to make a president feel comfortable, “I refuse to let anyone else down.”
Now, as I stand center stage, I close my eyes and pretend the noise around me is the thousands of people who will be in the seats. I tip my head back and begin to sing my sister’s number one song, “Inner Peace,” without thinking.
I was never afraid
Our souls grew as we lay
In our thicket of grass
Holding hands.
I charge through life
With you right by my side.
