“Right.” I watched as he put his phone away. “I guess I can breathe a sigh of relief, then.”
“Yeah.”
I waited. I tried to absorb it. I repeated his words, over and over again, in my head.
The restraining order came through.
But I didn’t feel… anything. Just a lingering unease, maybe. The one that had been with me ever since that night.
“Why don’t I feel relieved?”
Ronan sighed. “I know. It’s a cold comfort, right? I’m not gonna kid you that he agreed to this out of the goodness of his heart, because he saw the error of his ways. He agreed to it because he doesn’t want to do time.”
“I see. Well… thank you for letting me know. And for looking out for me.”
“I’m—”
“Please. Do not say you’re just doing your job again.”
He shut his mouth.
“Don’t diminish it,” I said. “You’re my hero right now, okay? Let’s just leave it at that.”
He was silent for a moment.
Then he said, almost to himself, “It’s a fucked-up world.”
“I prefer to think of it as a beautiful world,” I said.
My unease must’ve been coming through, though, because he looked me in the eye and assured me, yet again, “You’re safe, Summer. He’s not getting near you.”
And he sounded so sure of that, I really wanted to believe him.
Chapter Fifteen
Summer
The Toronto show was nothing short of fantastic.
I wore my new warrior-chic outfit, complete with the fabulous headpiece that made me feel like some medieval tribal queen. After the show, I hit several afterparties, staying out most of the night with old and new friends.
Ronan escorted me everywhere I went, though he never said much.
It seemed to me that ever since our little face-off in Vancouver—when he’d seemed to think I was planning to go home with someone after my show—he’d been a man of even fewer words than usual.
I did catch him checking me out, though. More than once. He seemed especially taken with my white suede thigh-high boots.
Or maybe it was the glimpse of naked skin just above them.
The next day, when we landed in Montreal, he escorted me shopping. While I tried on clothes, he stood just beyond the dressing room area, watching me go in and out of the dressing room as the sales girls brought me clothes.
I didn’t bother asking his opinion on what I chose.
I didn’t even try to flirt.
Clearly, he was in a bad mood. A dark cloud had been hovering over his head all day, and I did not want it raining on me before tonight’s show.
No matter how safe he was keeping me, my career really couldn’t afford a hulking bodyguard with a bad attitude, exuding doom and gloom in my wake.
So maybe after the show, I’d ask him what was up his ass.
When I was done shopping, I had dinner with an old friend—after Ronan searched the entire restaurant for signs of danger. He was way more stony about everything than usual, which was saying a lot.
But maybe this was how he always was when traveling with a client?
We arrived at the posh nightclub where I was playing a black-tie fundraiser that night, Ronan and Andre and I, about an hour before my scheduled performance. I wanted to check out the opening act and the crowd.
It was a big, newer club, and I’d never played here before. The fundraiser was for a music therapy charity that Yancy had hooked me up with, and it was a packed house. An oddly formal affair for a DJ Summer nightclub event, but the dance floor was already full when we walked in.
Good sign.
I’d worn a fabulous black feathered cocktail dress, designed by Devoid. I was in the dressing room backstage, touching up my makeup, when Ronan, who was standing guard outside like a bad-tempered watchdog, knocked on the door. He opened it and leaned in, and my eyes met his in the mirror.
“Yancy is here to see you,” he said gruffly.
“Yancy!” I welcomed Yancy with a tight hug while Ronan stood a foot away, glowering. He knew who Yancy was, though, and that he was coming tonight. I’d given him a thorough list of my business associates, and my former booking agent didn’t exactly have a common name.
“Summer, gorgeous. Come have a drink with me before you go on.”
“Walk me out,” I said, taking his hand.
I glanced at Ronan as I walked past him. He stared at our connected hands. He seemed to be silently simmering, the same way he had at my other shows when I touched other men.
Interesting.
He shut the door behind us and followed us in silence up the hall. He was definitely in an extra foul mood. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but ever since this morning… it was like he’d woken up with male PMS. I kept catching him on his phone, just out of earshot, speaking in hushed, growly tones.
As we tunneled through the bodies in the club, he remained close at my heels. The crowd was packed tight, and I felt him brush against me. He was inches from me, and I could feel his body heat. His jacket sleeve brushed me whenever he put an arm out to keep someone from bumping into me or inadvertently getting too close. I could smell him, and it was making it incredibly hard to ignore him.
Once, I swore I felt his hand brush my ass, though that had to be accidental.
When Yancy paused to speak to someone, Ronan pressed into my space. I glanced over my shoulder, checking him out.
The man looked hot as hell in a leather jacket, but since this was the first time I’d seen him in a suit, I was gonna stare.
Yum-my.
“Is everything okay?” I asked him. I hadn’t planned to ask him until after the show. I didn’t need any external stress or distraction when I was rocking a hot DJ set in front of a packed house—especially at a fundraiser filled
