Because of You (Playing with Fire #2)
Page 9I don’t reply right away, taking some time to process what he's just told me. He had checked things out before I got here to make sure I’d be safe. It's a sweet thing to do, and I want to tell him I appreciated it, but I can’t. I’m a job to him. That’s it. He’s not doing anything out of the kindness of his heart. He’s doing what he was told and what he’s being paid to do.
“So, tell me about your mother.”
My steps falter a little as I turn my head in his direction. He doesn’t look my way, just continues to stare straight ahead at the trail in front of us. I pull my gaze away from his profile and grit my teeth.
“I’m sure you already know everything there is about Eve. Just like you already know everything about me. You probably had a team of people digging into our lives weeks before you even showed up in the conference room the other day.”
He doesn’t reply and I know I’m right. Being right about something like that doesn’t make me feel victorious; it just makes me feel sad. Yet another person to add to the list of those who think they know everything about me.
“I know what the public knows. That she was a secretary for Hummingbird Records, met your father, fell in love, and had you. When your father died, she went through with his life-long dream of making you a star, showing off the talents he recognized in you from an early age,” Brady states easily, like he's reading the information from a children’s fairytale book.
I can’t hide the unattractive snort that comes out when he lists my mother’s bio—the one she’s painstakingly fabricated and has spread through the media over the years.
“Eve Carlysle: the perfect wife, the perfect mother, and the perfect business owner.”
I can’t hide the contempt in my voice, and I mentally scold myself. Brady Marshall may seem like an okay guy when he isn’t acting like a pompous jerk, but I don’t know the first thing about him. Finn is the only person I have ever confided in about what my mother is really like or what she’s done to me, and I’m not about to change that now. Brady is a military man, just like Finn, but that’s where the similarities end. Just after a few days, I can already tell that Brady is all about the job. He’s focused and single-minded, and he will listen to the orders that have been given to him. God only knows what Eve must have said to him about me. I trust Finn with my life, my secrets, and my heart. I know he would never betray me and go back to my mother and tell her anything that I've said in confidence. I don’t know the first thing about Brady. For all I know he lives alone in a hovel sharpening his knives and cleaning his guns until someone hires him for another job.
“Care to elaborate?” Brady asks.
“Nope.”
If he thinks I’m just going to spill my guts to him after only knowing him for a few days, he’s insane.
“You know, I was hired to help you. I can’t do that if you aren’t honest with me.”
Another laugh escapes my lips before I can catch it.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t hire you. If there’s something you need to know, ask Eve.”
I realize suddenly that he’s no longer running beside me, and I stop and turn to find him standing in the middle of the trail with his hands on his hips.
“I did ask Eve. I got the whole run down about you and her and how you’ve let fame get to your head and you’ll probably be difficult to work with. You’re definitely a pain in my ass, but I know for a fact you are nothing like she portrays you. And I’m guessing if I asked her why she felt the need to belittle you and make you feel like you were nothing in the middle of your sound check the other day, she wouldn’t be honest with me.”
My jaw drops and even though we’ve run roughly two miles and my heart is beating fast, it’s about ready to jump out of my chest when I realize he was in the arena when Eve had gone postal on me about changing the set list.
“Every word,” he replies softly, bringing his hand up and brushing a few stray pieces of hair out of my face to look me in the eyes. The skin of my forehead where his fingers graze me feels warm, and I hold back a shiver even though it’s seventy degrees this morning and I’m sweating from the run. “I also watched your performance. It was good...if you like that sort of music. The crowd loves you and it’s easy to see that you were made to do something like that. But you aren’t enjoying one single second of your time up on that stage and I want to know why. Why the hell do you do it if you hate it?”
He’s so close to me that our feet are almost touching. I can smell his soap and a small hint of sweaty man, and it makes me want to slide my hands under the T-shirt that clings to his chest from sweat. My fingers tingle with the need to glide up the front of him so I can feel the definition of his abs under my palms. I shake the thoughts from my mind and take a step back from him. His close proximity is doing crazy things to me, things I don’t understand or have time for. The only thing I can think about right now is that he actually stayed to watch the concert even when I was a total bitch to him out in the hallway beforehand. He had stayed and saw a piece of the real me, even though I’ve done everything I can to keep her hidden.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I love what I do,” I reply in a monotone voice. There’s no conviction in what I tell him, and I can immediately see by the way he raises on eye brow and stares me down that he doesn’t believe me.
“You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?” he asks angrily.
“I don’t even KNOW you!” I shout back, trying to rein in my own anger.
I shouldn’t be yelling at him. I know that. He’s just trying to help. But he needs to know that he has to leave this alone. This has nothing to do with some guy sending me notes. Whether I love what I do or not, it has no bearing on the job he was hired to do. Period. Just because I actually find myself wanting to tell him everything doesn’t mean I will. His good looks and his strong nature are messing with my mind, making me think that he could be one of the good ones. I’ve been burned too many times to just throw my trust out there for anyone.
Brady starts to open his mouth, probably to say something cliché like, “You can trust me,” when the ringing of his cell phone breaks through the silence in the woods that surround us.
Without taking his eyes off of me, he reaches into the back pocket of his shorts and answers the call without bothering to see who it is.
“Brady.”
He closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. His face immediately relaxes and loses the look of anger that was all over it a moment before.
“What’s up, Gwen?”
A prickle of jealousy shoots through me when he says another woman’s name, and I immediately tamp it down.
What the hell is that? What do I care if he gets a phone call from one or a thousand other women? I don’t know anything about this guy, remember?
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Possibly.”
I listen to his one-sided conversation, wondering what this Gwen person is calling him for when he’s supposedly in the middle of a job.
Something she says causes his eyes to shoot to mine. I watch as they grow wide, and he turns away from me a little, cupping his hand over his mouth and the phone and lowering his voice when he replies.
“No. Absolutely not. I am NOT asking her for an autograph. I’m on a job, Gwen.”
I cover my mouth to try and stifle a laugh, but he whips his head around when he hears me.
“Sorry. My sister Gwen is a huge fan. She’s another giant pain in my ass. She wants to know if you would sign her CD case.”
His sister? He has a sister? Why the hell does this make me happy knowing that Gwen isn’t just some slut who’s calling him at work?
I smile, nodding my head at him. “That’s no problem. I’ll sign whatever she wants. You should invite her to the cabin one of these nights for dinner, and I can sign things for her then.”
Halfway through my sentence, Brady starts shaking his head frantically, but it’s too late from the sound of things on his end. Gwen must have heard me. Suddenly, he’s holding the phone a few inches away from his ear, and I can hear high-pitched screaming coming through the speaker.
I laugh and he just gives me a look of annoyance, his lips pressing tightly together in a thin line and his eyes narrowing at me.
After a few seconds, the screaming stops and he puts the phone back to his ear.
“No. No, do NOT put her on. Gwen, I’m working I don’t have time to—”
His voice instantly goes from loud and irritated to soft and happy. I’m completely taken aback by the sudden change, and I can do nothing but stand there and stare at what's taking place right in front of me. Brady Marshall, bad ass private investigator, just turned into a marshmallow.
“Hi, sweetie! Yes, I’m still at work. How was school? You did? That’s so good! I’m so proud of you! Yes, Uncle Brady will buy you something for your good report card. Um, ah, I don’t think that’s a good idea, pumpkin.”
His eyes flash to mine again, and there’s a look of panic in them.
“Well, because I’m working. I know I always sing with you, but now isn’t a good time.”
Oh my gosh, he sings with his niece? This just keeps getting better and better.
“Oh come on, Uncle Brady. I think you should sing with the girl,” I say loud enough for my voice to carry through the line to the little girl he’s talking to.
I’ll get you for this, he mouths silently. I just shrug in response and place my hands on my hips. If he wants to know so much about me, then he better start doing some sharing of his own. Listening to him sing on the phone with his niece is an excellent start.
“No! Not that song. Anything but that song. Emma, please? How about that awesome Nirvana song I taught you last week? No, it does NOT suck. Where are your priorities?”
Brady lets out a huge sigh, rolls his eyes and then turns his back to me.
“Fine. But this is the last time,” I hear him say softly to her.
So quietly I have to strain to hear him, I make out the first few words to a song I am quite familiar with.
It’s absolutely impossible to contain my laughter at this point. Clutching my sides, I laugh harder than I have in a really long time as Brady practically whispers a few more bars of the song before stopping abruptly and telling Emma he loves her before hanging up.
He turns around, stuffing his cell phone back in his pocket and refusing to look at me.
I quiet my laughter and put a serious look on my face.
“Just so I’m clear, was that Waiting for the Weekend? You know, one of MY songs that you were just singing?” I ask innocently.
He crosses his arms in front of him and glares at me.
“That’s what I thought. Just one more question,” I tell him as he rolls his eyes at me. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful singing voice?”
I can’t hide the grin that takes over my face, and before I know it, Brady is picking me up by the legs and flinging me over his shoulder so the top half of my body hangs down his back. Once again, I have a clear view of his sculpted ass.
“Oh my gosh, put me down!” I yell in between laughs as he turns towards the trail and heads back the way we came.
“Nope, sorry. Straight to the showers for you so you can wash away every bit of what you just heard,” he tells me before smacking his hand on my ass and tightening his arms around my legs.
As I watch the ground fly by while I dangle over Brady’s strong shoulder, trying not to think about what his warm hands feel like wrapped around the bare skin of my legs, I wonder if there just might be more to him that I originally thought.
Chapter 7
“So, what’s she like?! Is she as gorgeous in person as she is on TV? Is she totally cool and approachable? I bet she’s totally cool. Oh my God this is so awesome! I can’t believe you get to spend every day with THE Layla Carlysle!”
Gwen’s been gushing and throwing questions at me nonstop since I walked into the office this morning, still sweaty from my morning run with Layla and still focused on how warm her breath felt against my back as it seeped through my T-shirt while she hung over my shoulder.
She hadn’t been happy when I tried digging into her mother, and that makes me even more curious about the type of person Layla is. Who just lets someone walk all over them like that, even if it is their mother? She has spunk and doesn’t mind telling me where to go, but when it comes to Eve, she just shuts down.
“Okay, enough already with the twenty questions. She’s a normal human being, not some science experiment you stare at through a cage,” I tell Gwen as she bounces up and down on her feet, waiting for me to tell her everything about her favorite singer.
“Well, well, well. Will wonders never cease? Just last week you were calling her a 'no-talent drama queen,'” Gwen reminds me. “And for your information, she is NOT a normal human being, Brady. She is Layla Carlysle. One of the best recording artists and entertainers of the twenty-first century. She is a pop icon.” Judging by her foot tapping and the scowl on her face, clearly she's agitated that I don’t share her same excitement.
How could I? Everything I read about her in the tabloids is false. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise to me since the tabloids also write about movie stars buying land on Mars and a country singer finding a bat child in a cave. It shouldn’t have shocked me that she has a sense of humor or that she's more beautiful that humanly possible when she doesn’t have all that make-up on her face or shellacked hair. What amazes me, though, is the fact that she's allowed a woman that should have been her number one supporter to verbally abuse her.