“Alright,” I said. I still didn’t like it.
I still didn’t know for sure if I was actually gonna adhere to that request.
In reality, it probably depended on a few things. Like how fast the restraining order came through. And the circumstances, if Sanchuk ever did show up again. If he posed any serious threat to Summer, I was absolutely calling 911.
“Let me know when the restraining order comes through,” Jude said.
“I will.”
I made a few more calls, checked in with Naveen.
The cleaner left sometime after ten, leaving a spotless and fresh-smelling house in her wake. I’d worked out in the sunroom for a bit, while she cleaned my room. I saw her out, took a quick shower, then started searching for a restaurant close by that I hadn’t eaten at yet, to get lunch delivered.
Summer hadn’t come down from her bedroom yet. Though I did hear the cleaner chatting with her when she went up there to clean.
I sent her a text.
Me: You want Thai for lunch? I’m ordering.
Summer: Fuck yes. Coconut curry chicken whatever. Lots of it.
Me: Done.
Summer: And some spring rolls if they have.
Me: Ok.
Summer: And a Thai iced tea.
Me: Anything else?
Summer: I thought you’d never ask. I’ll take a shit ton of coconut rice. And I do mean a shit ton.
I smirked a little. Girl had an appetite. I liked that about her, unfortunately.
Actually… judging by how many cocktails she’d downed last night, the large joint she’d smoked with her girlfriends, the music she’d played while her friends danced, the amount of dancing she’d done herself, and the abundance of hugs she’d given out to everyone who came to her party, Summer Sorensen had an overtly sensual relationship with everything around her, food included.
It was sexy as hell.
And it was a good thing I’d witnessed it in full effect last night. Because I was gonna have to be careful about it. I could too easily imagine myself getting sucked into that sensual aura of hers if I wasn’t on-guard for it.
I couldn’t risk that. I was distracted enough already, just looking in from the outside.
And clearly, there were many men who were already circling.
I really didn’t need to add jealousy to my growing list of distractions on this job.
As I was ordering lunch, Summer came downstairs in a black wrap dress, her hair down around her shoulders and subtle makeup on. She looked gorgeous.
She looked like a woman who belonged on my arm.
Very. Bad. Thoughts.
She looked me over, briefly, in my jeans and fitted black T-shirt, and I wondered if she was thinking something similar.
More bad thoughts.
“Good morning,” she half-sang.
“Morning.” I watched her put on coffee. She seemed pretty bright-eyed.
The party seemed to do her good.
I realized it made me feel… pleased… to see her happy. When she smiled at me, I could’ve sworn my cold, dead heart pushed out a single, creaky thump.
Fucking dangerous.
The last time I’d tried to make a woman happy, the result was a painful shit-show of a disaster that played out in a lingering, almost two-decade-long drama that I didn’t care to repeat.
Lesson learned.
I looked down at my laptop. I was sitting at the bar, where I’d been waiting for her. We had a meeting with Brody in a few minutes.
Summer disappeared down to her studio, briefly, returning with a laptop. It looked new, top-of-the-line, but was haphazardly decorated with band stickers, which was strangely cute.
While she got set up, I fixed us both a mug of coffee, and at eleven o’clock sharp, we were in a virtual meeting with Brody. Summer’s assistant, Pam, who lived down in L.A., also joined us. They were reviewing Summer’s schedule for the next few months, basically until the end of the year, and I was sitting in on their chat. I needed to be brought up to speed for my security assessment.
Summer had a number of gigs coming up—about two to three a week. Her final DJ gigs, booked through her former booking agent, Yancy, who also lived in L.A.. Her next event was tonight, here in Vancouver. After that, she was booked regularly right through the beginning of December.
Then she had a generous break scheduled around Christmas.
“You’re sure you don’t want any gigs over the holidays?” Brody asked her. “Replace the ones you lost in New York?”
“Nope. If that’s okay with you. I want to make the mental shift, start the new year with a fresh rock ’n’ roll mindset.”
“That’s fine with me,” he said.
“Next year, I’m a rock star. Let’s make that clear to the world.”
“That’s the plan,” Brody agreed. “I’d like you to make some public appearances with Ash and Xander before Ash heads out on the road with Dirty.” Brody had already brought me up to speed that Ashley Player would be joining the Dirty tour for a few months, starting in December, when Jesse Mayes came off the road. “I’ll make sure he gets his ass out to as many of your events as possible. Xander, too. Not like those two have anything better to do right now.”
Summer grinned, clearly loving that. “I’ll see if I can wrangle them a seat in the VIP section.”
“I’ll be there, too,” Brody said. “As often as I can. With Jessa, whenever she wants to join us.”
“Fabulous.”
“That reminds me,” Pam spoke up. “Yancy’s confirmed that he’ll be coming up for your Montreal show, Summer.”
“That’s great,” Summer said.
“I’ll be booking his travel today. But I’ll let you know exactly when he’ll be seeing you. He’s got a small window for that night, swinging through on his way to New York.”
“Perfect.” Summer glanced at me. “And if you could book travel for Ronan and Andre, too. They’re coming with me.”
“Of course,” Pam said.
“I’ll put you in touch with my office to coordinate,” I told Pam.
Our lunch arrived, and I went to get it. When I came back to the bar and unpacked the food, Summer and Brody were talking about Summer “moving forward” and “going big” next year.
