Page 20 of Darcy
I’ve just finished my final box and am tugging on my oversized, pastel tie-dye hoodie in preparation to leave when someone bumps into me, almost sending me flying. As it is, the clipboard and a whole bunch of water bottles that they were carrying drop to the floor.
“Sorry! Sorry!” my unintentional assailant cries, putting a hand under my elbow to steady me.
“It’s okay,” I return, automatically dropping to my knees to help gather the lost stuff. I manage to grab two of the bottles before they roll away, but when I look up to give them back, I freeze.
Miguel’s assistant looks a lot worse for wear than she did earlier. Her hair is wild, and there are huge bags under her bloodshot eyes.
“Thank you!” She blushes beneath her long bangs. “Sorry, I know we haven’t met. You’re Darcy, right? The new hire? I’m Gabrielle.”
“Hi,” I reply, handing her the water. “You look—” Stressed. Run off her feet. “Tired. Are you okay?”
She hums, grabbing her clipboard. “Mr. Rosales keeps me busy, but I’m used to it. Promise. I just have to get this water to the band, inspect the trucks before they depart, and call ahead to the next venue to confirm set-up times for tomorrow… Sorry, I know you don’t want my to do list.”
Damn, she still has to do all that? It’s almost two in the morning already. Against my better judgement—sheismy mark’s assistant, after all—I find myself nodding in sympathy.
“Can I help?” I ask, without meaning to.
She looks up, sharply, her bright brown eyes wide with shock. “You mean it? Really?”
She looks so hopeful that I can’t find it in me to take my offer back. “Yeah, I mean, I’m pretty much done for the night. I could do one of the smaller things—”
Gabrielle loads the water bottles into my arms without giving me a second to back out. “Ohmygoodness! Thank you so much!” she gushes. “The band are in the VIP suite still, just getting the last photos taken before they go back to their hotel. It’s easy to find, I promise. If you could just sneak the bottles inside, that would be so great! I won’t forget this. Thank you!”
My stomach sinks as I realise what I’ve just signed myself up for, but Gabrielle is already racing away, heading for the loading bay doors with single-minded determination.
I glance at the water bottles with annoyance.
“So much for keeping out of their way,” I mutter to myself.
Putting the bottles down for the second I need to secure my last few boxes of gear, I take a deep breath, complete the last few pesky check boxes, and then, when there’s absolutely nothing left for me to procrastinate with, I finally head down the corridor towards the dressing rooms and the VIP suite.
Gabrielle was right. It’s not hard to find—which destroys my plan of getting lost on purpose. Even if I struggled, the huge bear of a man guarding the room would be a dead giveaway. From behind the door, with its obnoxiously large sign, I can still hear those high-pitched giggles, and I grimace.
Watching the band flirt with groupies was not what I signed up for.
The security guy takes a look at me, my lanyard, and the bottles of water, then admits me. Taking a deep breath—and grimacing at the amount of perfume that hits me even from this side of the door—I shoulder my way inside.
Just put the bottles down and get out as fast as you can, I console myself.Don’t even look—
Too late.
Damn it. I should’ve known I’d never have the strength to not look.
The band is lounging around on overstuffed couches as the VIPs chatter away excitedly. Dodger still hasn’t managed to find a shirt, and this close, his tattoos are magnificent. I pick out a familiar pair of crossed short blades stretched out across his collarbones. The two knives are linked with chains and edged with flames, but the view is obscured by a set of long, feminine fingers tracing the ink.
I force my gaze up to his face.
Mistake.
His eyes might be empty, but he’s giving the woman who’s claimed his lap an easy, charming smile that says he doesn’t mind her attention. Her hands are all over his chest as she kisses him, tracing the lines of his tattoos, lingering on the small hazard symbol tattooed over his heart.
As I watch, the groupie leans back, then drops her head and presses a soft kiss over the band’s symbol, then darts her tongue out to lick the skin.
That should not hurt as much as it does.
We’re not exclusive,I remind myself sternly.We’re just friends with phone sex benefits. I said I didn’t want to see him at the same time as I was seeing other people, but he never said the same. He’s allowed hook ups with other women.
No matter how much I reason with myself, the irrational pang in my chest isn’t getting any less painful, and I yank my gaze away to find a safer target.
