Page 5 of Naughty Dreams
“So scrap the song.” DJ didn’t mask his annoyance. He wanted to vent, throw it out there with his frustration.
“Table it,” Roy corrected. “It’s a powerful song. Releasing it right after he’s caught will guarantee you a hit, capitalizing on the issue for your benefit.”
Coldness entered the gaze DJ leveled on Roy. “This asshole sent me poisoned candy that could have killed people who take care of us day in and day out, Mr. Bloodwell. Or a member of their families, including kids. We don’t give a shit about spiking sales. I’ve made enough money to quit tomorrow and ride in a limo every day until it’s carrying me to my grave.”
“Technically, even if you were of average means, a limo would probably carry you to your grave.”
Though Roy didn’t smile, DJ felt a spurt of humor, “Noted. I’ll change my will so it’s a donkey pulling an apple cart. I don’t want to be a cliché, any more than I already am.”
He settled back in the chair. “Okay. If I hire you, what are the next few weeks going to look like?”
As Roy laid out comprehensive changes to his personal security, DJ stayed in a deceptively relaxed pose, fingers templed, long legs in snug denim stretched out and spread, heels dug into the carpet to anchor him as he rocked back and forth in his chair. His shoes were ratty sneakers with no laces. While he’d donned a dark blue button down for the meeting, he hadn’t buttoned it.
On one wrist, he wore a trio of parachute cord bracelets strung with semi-precious gemstone beads. Tiger eye, lava stone, and amethyst were three Roy recognized. The conference room lights reflected off a black platinum ichthys on a chain he wore around his neck. The pendant rested between his pectorals.
The Christian fish symbol was something he always wore on stage and seemed to be wearing most of the time when he wasn’t. Though he didn’t claim a particular religion himself, he’d said in multiple interviews it was a gift he’d been given in his teens. Some stories weren’t in Roy’s paperwork.
While the brown eyes under the unruly hair were intent, and he listened well, Moss looked tense. It reinforced what Roy already detected, that things weren’t as placid as they seemed.
“Are there any questions?” Roy’s gaze brushed over Moss to be polite before returning to DJ.
“Yeah.” DJ straightened, lacing his hands on the table, squaring himself with Roy. “I need to be sure there’s not going to be any Kevin Costner, Whitney Houston, crushing-on-the-client nonsense from you, Roy. Because I’m pretty irresistible.”
Moss swallowed a noise that could have been a laugh or a horrified squeak. Roy ignored him. The kid had really compelling eyes, and his mouth was made for…a lot of things.
“Your fans’ opinion of you doesn’t make it true or real,” Roy said evenly. “Most of my clients are insecure assholes with pretty faces and talents the public erroneously worships.”
“So who can these sad clients trust for a real or true opinion?” DJ didn’t seemed riled by Roy’s answer.
“The people who matter.”
A light smile touched DJ’s mouth. Hell, the kid was testing him, seeing what he was made of. It made Roy kind of like him. And want to give as good as he’d been given.
“It’s actually more common for the client to crush on the bodyguard, because there’s an inevitable fondness for the person keeping the monsters out from under your bed.”
“Just so you check every night. Thoroughly.”
“Jesus, DJ,” Moss muttered. “Roy, he’s?—”
“Moss, you know how I feel about being handled.” DJ held up a hand and gave Roy an unsmiling look. “Fear isn’t my thing. I’m not going to run and hide, but I am concerned about my people.”
“Then you’ll need to pack up the tour and shut down everything until he’s caught, because this stalker is going to keep coming until something changes his mind or someone stops him.” Roy gave it to him straight. “Anyone between him and that goal will be seen as an obstacle to eliminate.”
Moss made a concerned mutter at the shut down comment, but Roy pressed onward. “With this type of personality, you don’t know who that will be. It could be the makeup girl who laughs at one of your jokes, or your tech putting a friendly arm around your shoulders. He resents anyone being closer to you than he is, and that’s everyone, physically.
“In the messages he’s sent you, he’s framing you as soulmates, spiritually close, meeting in the ether where heunderstands you and no one else does. This guy wants you in his basement, Mr. James.”
DJ’s gaze hadn’t wavered, but he’d had the sense to pale a little. “You sound familiar with the type.”
“Stalkers aren’t terribly original in their psychological profile, but they are unique in how they pursue their fantasy and goal. While the authorities try to find him, thwarting that pursuit is the challenge my team and I will handle.”
“Is there an option other than shutting down the tour? Not just because my bandmates won’t go for it, and we’re equal partners. A lot of people depend on us for their livelihoods. Also, hiding is a strategy I’ve never seen work when someone wanted to hurt me.”
Roy thought of the foster records they’d pulled, and his gut tightened with anger on behalf of the innocent. “What did work?” he asked.
“Enduring.” DJ’s jaw flexed. “Saying I will be what I am, no matter what. Even if it puts me in an early grave. I just don’t want to take anyone else with me.”
“All right. Then let me do my job. None of the people working for you threw up any flags on our background dive. I’ll work with Henry to augment what he’s already doing to protect the band, butyouare my priority. I’m sure as hell not here to protect your self-destructive drummer.”
