CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jacine
“Dad,” I said as I strolled out of my room. He sat on the sofa reading a book. His knee jiggled not from nervousness but inactivity. My father did not like his enforced recovery after surgery. The past couple weeks have been challenging for him and me because he tested his limits and my patience every day.
“Are you going to be okay?”
He tossed the book aside and sighed, but then glanced at me and smiled.
“Don’t you look beautiful.”
Tonight, finally, my torture will be over because the big concert happens in just a few hours. And with the help of my stylist, I pulled off a look that was LA casual appropriate for a rock concert that I wouldn’t sweat to death in. She found these incredible black satin skinny jeans in a vintage shop and added ebony thigh-high, spike-heeled boots, and a black leather biker’s jacket. Under the leather, I sported a “Work Release” promo tee with which she took liberties. She ripped out the collar and cut a line straight down that resulted in the flaps forming a “v” that parted and strategically displayed the top of my black lace bra.
And thus armored, I was ready to face Cole Kane, Jersey Dys, and Rory Holmes.
The butterflies in my stomach betrayed my nervous anticipation. Despite all hopes to the contrary, my desire for each of the men had not waned during our forced separation. A running film show of illicit encounters with each of them visited my dreams each night like Marley’s fucking ghost with sexual intent. I woke each time sweating and panting. Often I had to finish the subject of my nightly visions on my own, but that’s always a B list response to what should be an A-list party.
So if my outfit this night was a teensy bit suggestive, it had nothing on wickedly inappropriate commentary on the sex appeal of each rocker running through my brain right now. I picked up my father’s unfinished whiskey and soda and bolted it down in the quest to wet my suddenly dry throat.
“What?” he protested, “that’s mine.”
“With your medications, you aren’t supposed to drink.”
“You are not my mother.”
“No,” I said. I leaned over the couch to give him a peck on the cheek. “Just an overly concerned daughter who doesn’t want to see her father croak by not following the doctor’s orders.”
“One drink isn’t going to kill me. It helps to loosen the arteries.”
“You’ve been reading the internet again. What did I tell you about that?”
“I should have never sent you to Harvard.”
“Too late. You are stuck with the result. Now, no drinking.”
“Don’t worry. I fully intend to dance at your wedding.”
“Then you better follow all the doctor’s orders, because that is a long time coming.”
“Hmmm,” he mumbled in a displeased tone.
The doorbell rang, and I scrunched my face in thought trying to place who it could be at this hour.
“Who can that be?”
“I believe it’s Tobias,” said my father with an evil grin.
“He better not lead you to drink,” I said as I went to and yanked open the door. But instead of the usual business suited Tobias, he stood framed in the doorway wearing a tuxedo.
I stared and swallowed hard, because what man doesn’t look good in a tuxedo. But Tobias didn’t just look good, he looked smoking, and I can envision a new tuxedoed version of Tobias haunting my dreams tonight. Forget me remaining cool, calm and collected in my concert garb. Heat traveled from my thighs and up my spine.
I was in humongous trouble.
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking you to the concert.”
“Oh no. We agreed—”
“Not to see each other until the concert.”
Leave to a lawyer to nail down the intent of an agreement to the letter. I had been sloppy with my words. My bad. And how am I rewarded for my carelessness?
Getting to hang on the arm of the gorgeous silver-fox.
“Tobias, is that you?” called my father.
“Yes, Franklin. Just picking up Jacine like you asked.”
“Thanks.”
My eyes narrowed. “My father put you up to this? Because Anson can—”
“I gave Anson the night off,” my father called.
Tobias might be a silver-fox, but my father had ears like one.
I stepped from the hall to the living room with my heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I know you want to avoid those disasters in rocker clothing, and Tobias will protect you from them.”
“What?” I could not believe this. “Who said I needed protection?”
“I do. Daughter, I hate to tell you this, but someone sold me a particularly salacious recording of you and a certain musician in a hospital conference room.”
My face must have turned several shades of red.
“What!”
“Calm down. I contained the situation.”
Contained. Like I was a client.
“Contained!”
My father snapped open the day’s copy of Variety that had laid unopened all day on the glass coffee table. “It’s nothing to get excited about,” he said calmly. “You are an adult. And I asked Dys to keep you busy. I just didn’t expect that he’d get that busy, that soon.”
“What!” I sputtered.
“In any case, I couldn’t let something like that hit the media, so I took care of it. But I understood then why you didn’t want to have contact with any of them.”
I spun, inchoate as words caught in my throat and I spotted the amusement in Tobias’s eyes.
“You knew about this!” I choked out.
“Yes.”
“That’s why you suggested I stay away from them.”
He shrugged.
“Oooh!” I wailed. I don’t know what was worse, that he played on my relationship fears or that he looked out for my welfare without my knowledge. But I was furious that he interfered.
“Get her a drink, Tobias. She seems a little upset.”
Oh, that bastard knew where the liquor was, alright. He smartly walked to the liquor cabinet, which was a retro-vintage fifties style cabinet that sported a bowl of fake fruit on its top. He poured me a shot of whiskey and handed it to me.
“Here. This is good stuff, not like that rotgut sour mash Dys likes to drink.”
“Wait. You’ve been hanging out with Jersey?”
“I’ve spent a little time with all the boys. Just to check up on them.”
“I asked him to, Jacy,” said my father.
“You,” I said flailing my finger at my father indignant at his interference. I couldn’t get words out. What do you say to a man who is a master string-puller who manipulated my life? And then I whirled at Tobias, who was even worse, using the situation to leverage his position.
“You!” I snapped.
He smiled and leaned toward me and whispered.
“You are beautiful when you are angry.”
What got into me? I don’t know. Maybe it was too many nights of sexual frustration or the fact that I was attracted to four men, Tobias being one, and couldn’t pick among them, or the ridiculous competition they had going, or the fact that I, Ms. Take-Charge-And-In-Control didn’t command a single aspect of my life. But I slapped Tobias Marshall across the face with such force my hand stung.
Marshall stepped back as the amusement died from his eyes.
“Daughter,” my father said with maddening calm. “You should get going. I’m counting on you to seeing this through to the end.”
I keened again and stalked toward the front door.
“You deserved that, Tobias,” I heard my father say. “You aren’t as arcane as you think you are.”