I felt as if I’d been thrust into the eye of the tornado that was Frank’s professional life, and to the casual observer, I might appear to be an unwilling participant.
However, what they wouldn’t have observed was that until yesterday, Frank had kept me at arm’s length when it came to his career. Sure, we’d discussed his music and his relationship with the band members. And he’d taken me to a rehearsal, but that was the extent of my involvement. I’d been inside his home studio just once and I’d never accompanied him to any of his business meetings. Today was different. We drove to the venue together. He held my hand possessively as we marched through the backstage area, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was no longer dead set on keeping our relationship a secret.
Something had changed.
He didn’t ask me to leave during his meeting with Linda. I sat there and pretended to be on my phone while listening to their conversation. The look on her face told me she wasn’t sure what shocked her the most—to find me in Frankie Blade’s dressing room wearing a pretty daring dress with a sweetheart neckline or to find out Hall Affinity’s front man didn’t want his health issues to become public knowledge.
“This isn’t the ’80s, Frank,” she countered. “Your injuries can be a big plus. It’s all about how we spin it during the campaign. Fans love when artists are upfront with their conditions.”
“I don’t have a condition. I simply don’t want people to feel like they’re playing Russian roulette by buying a ticket to a Hall Affinity show. Is the singer going to come out today or is he taking a night off because he’s a fucking vegetable? The answer is no.”
There was some truth to Linda’s words, but Frank was uncompromising. He wanted it his way.
Brooklyn’s phone pinged. She checked the message and touched Frank’s shoulder to get his attention.
“I’m going to grab your guest. Are you good?”
He nodded and returned his gaze to Linda. “You know where I stand. Make it work. That’s what you’re getting paid for.”
Frank wasn’t kind today. I hadn’t seen this harsh side of him yet, and while I didn’t like it, I knew where this animosity was coming from. The fear of failure had pushed him over the edge. He snapped at people for no apparent reason. Even Janet had been in the line of fire all afternoon.
The stylist shut off the blow dryer and stepped back to evaluate. Truth be told, I didn’t know why Frank needed someone to mess with his hair. He looked great and he was going to turn into a sweaty mess after three songs anyway.
His stage outfit differed from last night’s. He wore a pair of tight black pants and boots. His shirt had strategically-placed rips on his chest, abs, and back to give the audience a little peek of what was underneath.
Corey was tapping out an email. The intense thrum of his fingers against the MacBook’s keyboard matched the light rattle coming from the makeup station as the stylist began to put away some of her items.
Face hard, Frank slid from the chair and rolled his shoulders. His chest rose with his inhale, stretching the fabric across his pecs. Phone clutched in my hand, I watched. My heart thundered. There was something extremely primal about him today. Something dark and dangerous. Just like the night he took me for a ride in the mountains and then fucked me on his dining table. I adored that filthy side of him. Adored it to the point of physical pain.
“I didn’t tell you”—Frank spun to face me, his gunmetal blues capturing my gaze—“but I invited Isabella and her mother to tonight’s show.”
“Oh.” His confession rendered me speechless for a second. I hadn’t expected him to get this involved. “I bet they’re over the moon.”
“I hope so.” He let out a nervous laugh and approached me. His hands reached for mine, and I stood. We were mere inches apart and his heat started to consume me. He took all the air from my lungs. Being calm next to him when he was like this, sexed up for the stage, was impossible.
Frank dropped his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Did I tell you how gorgeous you look in this dress?”
I shook my head, my voice lost in my throat.
His broad palms encircled my waist. “I can’t wait to take it off after we’re done.”
A light burn spread between my thighs. While I knew Frank’s words were only for me and no one else could hear him, he said them with everyone in the room, as if he needed to make a statement.
“I can’t wait for you to take it off,” I uttered quietly, head dizzy. A small part of me wasn’t sure he’d be fit for anything after the set, but I wanted to give him what he craved—hope that last night wouldn’t be repeating itself. Hope that today’s show would be great.
A knock snapped us out of our delirium. Smiling, Frank took a step back, his heat still a kindled flame on my skin and a maddening blaze in my chest. His fingertips slid over my knuckles softly as our hands parted. The door swung open and Isabella’s wheelchair rolled into the dressing room. Hair teased and rock concert-ready, she pushed through with a big grin on her face. Maria and Brooklyn strode in next, then handshakes and hugs took place. The room came alive with a blend of laughter—Isabella’s throaty and confident and Frank’s deep and rich. I stood aside and listened to their banter. My heart was full and happy and I felt the same way I’d felt that morning. I felt love. And it was terrifying.
My gaze swung over to Brooklyn. She seemed content with the outcome of this short meetup while, eyes wide, Maria watched her daughter talking to a man who was about
