July Flames Page 3

  “Yeah,” Finn said, chiming in after a long silence. “Not going to lie. I wanted to be best friends with iCarly, make out with Hannah Montana, but my dream was to marry Jenny Sweet.”

  “Are you sure it was your sisters who made you watch those shows?” Fergus teased.

  Finn laughed.

  “So, what do you think?” Hunter asked after a few quiet moments.

  Fergus slid a notepad and pen across his brand-spanking-new desk. “Write down the bottom line. How much are they willing to pay?”

  Hunter jotted down the number and slid it back.

  Fergus’s brow rose, his reaction prompting Finn to rise and look.

  “Holy shit, man,” his cousin mumbled.

  “They’re going to pay me that much money to protect a pop star for six weeks and find a stalker?” Fergus felt the need to clarify the conditions. Although there was no way he was refusing. It was an inordinate amount of money. More than he’d expected them to make in their first entire year as a business. He could pay his dads and Pop Pop back earlier than he’d expected.

  “That’s actually just for bodyguard service. Your number-one objective is to keep Aubrey safe. There will be a finder’s fee on top of that if you discover who’s stalking her, but…well…the producers are more concerned about their star making it to all the sold-out concerts intact rather than catching some crazy super-fan who may or may not have tossed an illegal firework and tampered with a rental car. So?”

  “So, I guess I’m going home and packing a bag. Looks like I’m heading back to D.C. with you.”

  Chapter Two

  “I don’t give a shit what he’s saying. He’s a fucking liar, and I’m not giving him one penny!”

  Aubrey’s lawyer started to speak again, but if she had to hear his condescending voice for one more second, she was going to reach through the phone and strangle the man.

  “Goddammit, Ross, stop trying to feed me all that legalese bullshit. I’ve told you my final answer. I’m not cutting a deal with the prick.”

  The door to her bus opened, and her latest personal assistant, Blair, walked in with someone behind her.

  Great.

  Aubrey shot her an impatient look, hoping Blair would get the point, would understand it wasn’t a good time to talk, before looking away. She didn’t even bother to look at the other person.

  Aubrey’s focus returned to her computer as she looked again at the ridiculous settlement her lawyer had emailed her this morning.

  There was something wrong with a world where a woman was inappropriately groped by an asshole, then had to pay for punching the dickhead’s lights out.

  “Ross. I’m going to say this one more time, very, veeeery slowly, since you aren’t getting it. I’m not signing this settlement. I’m taking the asshole to court and you’re going to work overtime between now and then to make certain Jesse Richards gets fuck-all for his harassment. He slid his hand up my shirt and grabbed my tit. If anyone should be paying someone off here, it’s him. Do you understand that, or do I need to find a lawyer who has a pair of balls?”

  Ross’s response was terse. “I understand.”

  Finally.

  “Good.” Aubrey ended the call without a word of goodbye. She began typing, responding to her lawyer’s email by restating everything they’d just discussed over the phone. She had learned the hard way, a long time ago, to never leave anything as a verbal agreement. Everything needed to be put in writing.

  Blair said her name, but Aubrey didn’t bother to look over.

  “This isn’t a good time,” she said, wishing—just once—that Blair would figure out how to read her body language. Why couldn’t she tell Aubrey was stressed out and busy?

  “I, um, I can see that…but this is important.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Aubrey was ninety-nine percent certain that was the truth. Blair rarely showed up to discuss something that wasn’t stupid or trivial that she could handle on her own. It was time to admit the new PA wasn’t working out and let her go, but Aubrey didn’t have the time to hire and train someone new.

  Blair was quiet for a moment before shocking Aubrey by forging on. “Your new bodyguard is here. I wanted to introduce you.”

  Just the word bodyguard sent Aubrey’s blood pressure into orbit. She continued typing up her email. “Told you. Not important. Give him the drill. Tell the Rottweiler where to stand and make sure he knows to stay the hell out of my way. If he can manage that, he might last longer than the last three guys.”

  Aubrey was aware the other person on the bus was the bodyguard, and he could hear her rude comments, but she didn’t spare the man a glance. Why bother? Now that she knew who he was, there was no point. She went through bodyguards like panties. This faceless moron wouldn’t be here next week.

  She expected to hear the door to the bus close behind them.

  What she didn’t anticipate was the bodyguard moving around Blair, his outstretched hand appearing in her peripheral view.

  “Ms. Summers. I’m Fergus Collins.”

  Aubrey was a singer, extremely aware of pitch and tone and sound.

  Fergus Collins spoke with a beautiful, deep, rich timbre that woke up parts of her that Aubrey had assumed died a painful death.

  Unable to resist, she looked up.

  Then she rolled her eyes. “Jesus,” she groaned, not bothering to hide her outright annoyance. “Seriously, Blair,” Aubrey said, even though she was looking at Fergus. “Did Marcus run out of legitimate options?”

  “What?” Blair asked stupidly.

  Aubrey didn’t have the time or energy to waste on the woman, so she decided to take care of this business herself. She’d thrust the responsibility of finding a new bodyguard on the tour manager, Marcus Webber, but he was an idiot if he thought she’d go for this.

  Fergus’s hand dropped when it became obvious she wasn’t going to shake it.

  “Listen,” she said, hoping Fergus wasn’t as thick as her assistant. “I don’t know if you’re an aspiring model, actor, singer or what, but trust me, you’re not going to get discovered by posing as my bodyguard. So why don’t I save us both a lot of time right out of the gate? This isn’t going to work.”

  She turned back to her computer. Simply because she didn’t think it would help her make her point if she started drooling on the gorgeous man.

  Fergus Collins was next-level hot. She’d been surrounded by sexy men her entire life, so the fact that this guy turned her head, proved as much. His dark brown hair was just a touch too long in a way that made her want to run her fingers through it. He had piercing chocolate-brown eyes framed by perfectly shaped brows, and a five o’clock shadow that drew her attention directly to his full, very kissable lips.

  And his face wasn’t even the best part of the package. It came in second to his broad, muscular shoulders and chest. He wasn’t like the usual juggernaut-type guys either, wearing his T-shirts too tight in an attempt to show off all his muscles. Instead, Fergus was sporting a light blue button-down that fit him just right.

  “I’m not an aspiring anything,” Fergus said, not backing down. “As your assistant said, I’m your new bodyguard.”

  She glanced over impatiently. She really, truly didn’t have time for this song and dance. Her head was aching from the bottle and a half of wine she’d drunk last night…alone.

  “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that, do you?”

  Fergus stuck out his hand again. “I’m Fergus Collins, from Collins Security. And yes, I do expect you to believe that because it’s the truth.”

  Aubrey looked at his hand for a few seconds, then lifted hers, accepting the handshake. She wasn’t sure when she’d lost the ability to perform common niceties, but somewhere along the line, she’d become suspicious of everyone and everything, including a damn handshake.

  How pathetic was that?

  Fergus’s hand was large and calloused and strong. Strangely, it was those facts that convinced her that he really was who h
e said.

  “You’re too pretty to be a bodyguard.” She hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but exhaustion was kicking in—and it was only ten in the morning. She wished even more she hadn’t made the inane comment when Fergus smiled, revealing perfect white teeth and—fuck her—dimples.

  Her heart skipped a beat…actually, several. The man was too stunning to be real. There had to be a catch.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Aubrey.”

  No. Hell no.

  The sound of her name on his lips had her pressing her legs together, trying to still the twitchiness in her very lonely pussy. She needed to dig deep and find the strength to put this whole thing on the right track.

  “Ms. Summers,” she corrected, adopting the bitchy tone she’d perfected in the last six months. Most days, she didn’t even recognize her own voice, but it didn’t matter. Life was a lot easier when people were afraid of you. A lifetime of being a doormat had proven that.

  Fergus’s eyes narrowed for just a second, long enough for her to know she’d achieved her goal.

  He didn’t like her.

  Good.

  “Here’s how this is going to play out,” she continued. “You’ll ride in one of the other buses with the crew. When we’re at the venues, you’ll have two stations. When I’m on the bus, you’ll stand outside the door like a good little guard dog. You’ll speak to no one. When I’m out and about, I expect you to remain behind me, out of sight. There needs to be at least ten feet between us at all times. I don’t want a shadow, Mr. Collins. I want the invisible man. Your number-one goal is to blend in with the background. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  Fergus remained quiet throughout her recitation of his duties, his expression emotionless.

  Rather than give him a chance to respond, she decided it was time to dismiss him and move on. The sooner he was out of her bus, the sooner she could take a couple of Advil and a nap.

  “Now, if that’s all, you—”

  “Are you finished?” Fergus asked.

  She crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

  “Are you finished?”

  Aubrey nodded, taken aback by the question. Most people were desperate to get away from her at this point in any conversation.

  “Good. Nothing you said is accurate. I’ve already stowed my bag up front. I’ll be riding next to the driver in the jump seat of this bus.” He emphasized the word this.

  “I don’t—” she started, but Fergus raised his hand to cut her off.

  “You said you were finished,” he reminded her.

  Aubrey opened her mouth, intent on blasting him for his outright impertinence, but he spoke again.

  “Actually, one thing you said was correct. When you’re on the bus, I will be right outside that door. But no one is coming in here who hasn’t been cleared by me. As for when you’re not in here, I’m going to be much more than a shadow. I’m going to be stuck to you like glue. Super glue.”

  She shook her head, but Fergus didn’t acknowledge her refusal.

  “Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you’ve attracted the attention of someone dangerous, someone who is willing to harm others to gain your attention, to impress you. Until that person is caught, I will be the first person you see every morning and the last one you see at night. It’s my job to keep you safe. And I’ll do that the way I see fit. That may not be the way you prefer, but that’s how it’s going to be.”

  “No. It isn’t.” Realizing Fergus was made of sterner stuff, Aubrey turned her attention to the dog she could kick. “Blair, please escort Mr. Collins out.” She glanced in his direction, feigning a casualness she didn’t feel. Aubrey had basically been on her own since she was born, fighting for survival in a cutthroat world. She was a meal ticket to those around her, nothing more.

  And no one—not her mother, ex-fiancé or countless bodyguards—had ever made her feel safe.

  For some reason, Fergus, who was dripping with confidence and strength, did. Which wasn’t as comforting as it should be. “Goodbye, Mr. Collins.”

  “I, um, well…” Blair stammered.

  Aubrey closed her eyes and started counting to ten. As much as her weak-assed assistant bothered her, this version of Blair was better than the one who cried every time Aubrey lost her temper.

  Before she hit three, Fergus spoke again, drawing her attention back to him.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Ms. Summers,” he drawled, using the name she’d told him to. Somehow, he managed to make that sound even sexier than “Aubrey.” Maybe she should tell him to call her ma’am. There was no way he could make that hot. Could he?

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Rottweiler. You’re fired. Get off my bus.”

  Perhaps she could get rid of him with insults. Nothing else was working, and she was getting desperate.

  Fergus didn’t move. “You can’t fire me. You didn’t hire me.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I was hired by Villatore Records. I answer to Isaac.”

  Isaac was the owner of her record label. She wasn’t sure when the issue of hiring and firing her bodyguards had fallen to the record company. They certainly hadn’t hired the past…hmmm, Aubrey had lost count of how many bodyguards she’d had since the Jesse incident. All she knew was that Marcus had hired them on her behalf.

  “Fine. Give me two minutes.” She picked up her cell, hit contacts and called Isaac. “I just love jumping through all these hoops,” she muttered darkly, making certain Fergus picked up on her sarcasm. “I really have time for this bullshit.”

  “Villatore Records, Isaac Villatore’s office.” Isaac’s secretary answered the phone.

  “Julissa. This is Aubrey. I need to speak to Isaac.”

  “One moment, please.”

  The secretary’s cheerful tone vanished the second Aubrey introduced herself.

  “Aubrey,” Isaac said, when he picked up the phone.

  “Isaac. I understand you hired me a bodyguard. I prefer to choose my own.”

  “That hasn’t been working out.”

  “Neither is Mr. Collins,” she said.

  Isaac sighed. Loudly. “He just got there, Aubrey. His references are impeccable. He’s ex-military and familiar with the music business.”

  “How?” Aubrey asked. She’d never heard of him.

  “He’s Sky Mitchell and Teagan Collins’s nephew. Hunter Maxwell is now his cousin by marriage.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, I have nepotism to thank for this.” Aubrey looked at Fergus as she said that, letting him know she’d figured out how he got his job.

  “Not at all, Aubrey. Fergus Collins has been hired for the next six weeks as your bodyguard, just through the tenure of the tour, and I have no intention of firing the man. In addition to taking care of you, we’ve asked him to investigate the accidents and those flowers you’ve been receiving.”

  “Those accidents were just that. Accidents. And the notes are meaningless, unconnected. Probably someone’s idea of a joke.”

  Aubrey didn’t believe that at all. But acknowledging that there was some freak out there hurting people because of her was terrifying. The only way to combat the fear attached to that was to shove it all aside.

  Deny. Deny. Deny.

  Aubrey wasn’t proud of her coping techniques, but without them, she’d never get out of bed in the morning.

  “Fergus is staying. Can you please, just this once, try to get along?” Isaac asked.

  Aubrey’s temper piqued. There was no way the record producer would give Hunter Maxwell the same patronizing pat on the head or talk to him like some petulant child, if he expressed a concern. She was sick and fucking tired of the men in this business never taking her seriously, acting as if she needed everything mansplained to her. “Listen, Isaac—”

  “Sorry, Aubrey. I’m late for a meeting. I really need to go. I’ll speak to you soon.”

  Before she could say another word, Isaac disconnected the call.

  “Fucking asshole
,” she murmured as she put the phone back on her desk.

  “Are we good?” Fergus asked with a smug smile that would have made her want to smack anyone else. Sadly, coming from him, it simply drew attention to his lips once more.

  “I have work to do.” She needed a nap. “Go play Rottweiler somewhere else.”

  Fergus appeared to have adapted to her award-winning personality already. He didn’t blink an eye at her insult. “Very well. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

  “I need peace and quiet,” she muttered.

  “I’ll see that you’re not disturbed then.”

  There was something about Fergus that made her certain he’d succeed at that. God knew no one else ever did. Blair couldn’t make a decision on her own if her life depended on it, Marcus was king of the ass-kissers, constantly hovering and offering fake praise, and her previous bodyguards had been more brawn than brains.

  She nodded once, simply because she was too tired to come up with something else bitchy to say.

  Blair and Fergus left, and she walked to the bathroom cabinet, rifling through it for the Advil. Rubbing her forehead, she looked at her face in the mirror.

  The reflection looking back proved the outside matched the inside. Yesterday’s mascara was today’s smoky eye, but she wasn’t pulling it off. Her hair was piled on top of her head with a scrunchie in a messy, guess-I-should-have-combed-out-the-hairspray way. She was wearing an oversized, faded T-shirt that said May Contain Wine—that was accurate, as well—and yoga pants.

  She looked like shit. Which was fine because she felt like shit too.

  Aubrey popped two Advil, then walked back to her living room, trying to decide if she should nap here on the soft leather couch or in the bedroom.

  The tour bus was top-of-the-line, luxurious opulence. Glancing around, she acknowledged that the record label had spared no expense, setting her up to travel in grand style.

  The bus boasted a large lounge area with long couches on each side, a small kitchenette that held a mini-fridge, coffeepot and microwave. There was a pretty decent bathroom and a lovely bedroom in the back with a comfortable king-size bed.