Page 64 of Darcy
I run a hand through my hair. Her concern is touching, but inconvenient. I understand too well where she’s coming from, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to sit through her inquisition.
“I’m not using them. I’m here to do a damn job. I wasn’t even going to tell them who I was until my damned phone outed me.” Sighing, I start walking again. “Come on, if you’re going to keep this up, I need coffee.”
I push blindly into the nearest coffee place, getting a mocha to go. Emma eyes me warily, like she expects me to continue our argument at any second. When we make it back out of the shop without either of us starting up again, yet the frosty silence remains, I groan.
I know I don’t owe her answers, but I selfishly want her to like me. It’s not just because Arlo is her brother and I want her approval. The Emma I’ve heard stories about seemed like a good, if headstrong, kid. In a lot of ways, she reminds me of some of my youngest sisters—prickly, but ride or die for the people she loves.
“I don’t blame you for being suspicious,” I admit, defeated. “So let’s get your concerns out of the way. Fame? I’m not interested. Tabloids? I have nothing to do with them. Money? I have enough to keep all five of us comfortable until the end of our natural lives.”
She rolls her eyes, scoffing in disbelief. “No roadie is that well off.”
“I’m a nerd,” I correct. “When I bought my first bitcoin, it was worth less than a dollar. A virtual currency based on math? The very idea of it was too cool to pass up.” Not to mention it’s completely decentralised and anonymously distributed via the blockchain, making it perfect for discreet payments over the dark web, but I’m not going to tell her that part.
I am fed up with the band and those close to them thinking I’m a stupid blonde gold digger who can’t work for her own money. I dug my own gold, damn it! Well, crypto-mined-slash-stole-from-bad-guys, butwhatever.
Emma’s sour expression has gone slack in disbelief. “Why work at all?”
I look her in the eye and give her the honest truth. “I really, really like blowing shit up. Now. Are we shopping, or can I go back to the hotel and order myself a pizza?”
Screw it, I could use the cheesy goodness right now. Maybe it will help chase away the icky feeling this conversation has left me with.
Emma’s hand on my arm stops me before I can take my first step.
“I’m sorry.” Her face is pinched, like the admission physically pains her. A tiny blush paints her cheekbones, giving away her embarrassment “Imighthave misjudged you, and I’m still happy to go to the mall with you if you want or hang out, or whatever.” She pauses, shuffling on her feet. “Butif you hurt my brother or the band, I’ll crush you.”
I pause, swallowing back my natural response and the ire from before.
“Netflix and Dominos?” I offer, cautiously.
She swallows, collecting herself, and raises a single brow. “What are we watching?”
That’s how, several hours later, the band traipses into their hotel suite to find the two of us throwing popcorn at yet another rerun ofSay Yes To The Dress.
“That mother-in-law is eeevil!” Emma crows at the screen. “Thatthingwasn’t a dress. It was a pair of lacy curtains!”
“Randy will save her,” I swear, earnestly. “Look, here he comes.”
“Is it… safe?” Dodger whispers.
“I don’t know,” Arlo replies. “This could be a trick. There’s no way they’re both still alive.”
Slate strolls up to the back of the couch, leans over to ruffle Emma’s hair, then presses a kiss to my cheek. “Have a fun time shopping,cariño?”
“Don’t let him fool you with all the swoony Spanish,” Emma warns. “Most of his vocabulary is swear words.”
“Don’t you think it’s past your bedtime,hermanita?” Slate asks and gets a handful of popcorn to the face for his troubles.
“To answer your question,” I say, interrupting Emma before she can tell him what she thinks of his bedtime. “We didn’t go shopping, and there’s extra pizza in the boxes behind you, because Emma said they don’t feed you at those PR stunts.”
“Fuck, you’re the best,” Dodger says, heading straight for the food and passing slices out to the others. “I’ve been starving for hours.”
“Of course I am. But that’s my cue to go,” Emma says. “I have no desire to see you all making sappy faces at one another.” She stands, grabbing her jacket as she exchanges hugs with the band before heading to the door. “Laters.”
She gives her brother a last, long squeeze, and mumbles something too low for the rest of us to hear, and then she’s gone.
“So… you managed to survive Hurricane Em,” Arlo begins, hopping into the space his sister left, slice of pizza in hand.
“Yeah, thanks for warning me that she wasthatEmma.” I mock-punch him. “She’s so protective of you.”
