Delaney
Although I looked for any excuse not to sign, I couldn’t find one. As Travis explained, the nondisclosure agreement was basically identical to several I found online, and he was right about something else, too. I was tired of hiding, tired of wallowing in the past and pretending I didn’t have a future. I wanted to do something with my life. And I was tired of trying to convince myself that Shane Hawthorne was the devil. I’d seen him do more good in three minutes than I’d done in three years.
So now I was in Beverly Hills, sitting in an elegantly appointed conference room with sweeping city views.
Waiting for my future to begin.
Waiting for Shane Hawthorne.
Ten minutes later, he swept into the room. Shane’s rich brown hair was tousled, his jeans perfectly snug. His lips just as kissable as they’d been the other night. Damn him.
“Hello, Delaney.” Even a simple greeting coming from the rock god could be the sexy start to a swoon-worthy ballad.
A tingle raced up the length of my spine, my stomach executing a flip worthy of an Olympic gold medal. “Hello,” I croaked, unable to look away from Shane’s confident swagger as he came toward me. His feet stopped just inches from mine, my head tilting backward until it touched the edge of the chair, heart thudding against my rib cage as if trying to escape.
Rather than take a seat on the other side of the table, Shane pulled out the chair to my right, his left thigh nudging mine as he sat down. “I’m glad you came.” Dimple flashing, Shane leaned forward and reached out to lightly stroke the narrowest part of my arm, just before it tapered to my wrist. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
Time stood still as I watched his thumb leave a trail of goose bumps in its wake. My skin thrilled at his touch, a shiver of desire sending every nerve into overdrive. My employer shouldn’t be touching me like this…
I wrenched my gaze away from the sight of Shane’s long, elegant fingers and met his eyes. They had smoldered from album covers, music videos, and countless TV appearances, but his amber stare was infinitely more intense in person. Now they were turned on me. And I was melting. “Me neither,” I answered honestly, a knot of pure lust heating the blood racing through my veins. Did Shane Hawthorne have this kind of effect on everyone? It didn’t help that he was looking at me as if he wanted to make a meal out of me, devour me whole until I was just another part of the Shane Hawthorne mystique.
And in that moment, I was tempted. By his face, by his body, by his voice. But most of all, by the part of Shane he didn’t even know I’d seen.
Not just tempted. Terrified. Because I’d never gone for guys like Shane. With or without a microphone, Shane Hawthorne was a walking advertisement for heartbreak on two legs. But those legs. His jeans did nothing to hide the muscles corded beneath midnight-blue denim. Hard and powerful, they made all sorts of promises about what a ride it would be.
At least until I was dumped at the side of the road, gutted.
I licked my lips, the taste of my peach lip gloss oddly jarring. What would Shane Hawthorne taste like?
Shane’s mouth moved, and I struggled to focus on his words. “I already have an assistant.”
My heart plummeted. Did he call me in here just to tell me he didn’t want me, after all? I had walked away from Shane twice. Was this his way of having the last word? Could he be that cruel? I studied the hard line of his jaw, a scar marking the indent where it met his neck. Yes. Yes, he could. I should have been relieved. Grateful, even. But I wasn’t. Disappointment lanced through my lungs. “Oh.”
But instead of getting up, walking out of the room, out of my life, Shane kept talking. I leaned forward in my chair, embarrassingly eager for every word. “But I need you on my team. Compensation will be as Travis explained, although our relationship will be a bit more…personal. I’d like to hire you. As my girlfriend.”
My breath hitched in the back of my throat as I glanced nervously toward the door. Shane Hawthorne wanted me, Delaney Fraser, to be his girlfriend? Something told me I should make a break for it, leave now before he reduced my world to rubble. But I didn’t. I stayed put, waiting for him to supply more details. Waiting for Shane to redefine my world, because as far as I knew, relationships didn’t require conference rooms and contracts.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the gossip rags. I’m no choir boy. But I’m not looking for drama, Delaney. When I’m on the road, fans and groupies are constantly trying to sneak their way into my dressing rooms, hotel rooms, even onto the tour bus and private planes. The best way to discourage them is by having a beautiful woman by my side. I want that woman to be you.”
I tilted my head to the side, something telling me I should read between the lines, but I didn’t even understand where the lines were. “Me?”
A rumble erupted from deep in Shane’s chest. Dear God, his laugh was even sexier than his voice. “Yes, you.” He widened his thighs, pulling my chair closer and drawing my knees between his legs.
As if in slow motion, I watched his hand coming toward me, a shiver of pleasure rolling down my spine as it curved around the back of my neck, his fingers blazing a path into my hair as he leaned forward. Then all I felt was Shane’s full lips descending on my own, his mouth brushing against mine in a whisper-soft caress. But he pulled back too quickly, leaving me wanting more. My eyes fluttered open, absorbing the impact of his provocative grin like a kick to the solar plexus.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
And then it happened again. Shane pressed harder this time, swallowing my breath as his tongue pushed into my mouth.
Shane Hawthorne tasted like spearmint and something headier, muskier…liquid testosterone maybe.
When he broke away, he took my soft groan of protest with him. One taste of heaven wasn’t nearly enough. “So, what do you think, Delaney—will you be my girlfriend?” Shane looked at me as if asking me to share his life was the most natural thing in the world.
Swallowing the want surging up my chest, filling my lungs, clawing at my throat, I managed a quiet whisper. “I think it’s a bad idea.”
Shane hooked a thumb beneath my chin, holding me still as his needy gaze scanned every inch of my face. “But it feels so good bein’ bad.”
He clearly didn’t know the first thing about me. All my life I’d been a good girl. Coloring between the lines, following the rules. Until one night, I slipped up. Put my own needs and wants ahead of anyone else’s, without considering the consequences. I learned a painful lesson. Being bad came at too high of a cost.
“Be bad with me, Delaney.” His words ghosted across my lips, and I opened my mouth, breathing them in. I felt myself yielding to Shane’s persistence, succumbing to the strength of my own desires.
The pull I felt toward Shane was a stronger lure than the money Travis had offered. But I was entirely wrong for the job. If they only knew what a mess I’d made of my life, they would never hire me to maintain order in Shane’s.
Shane said he wasn’t looking for drama. Of course—because he didn’t need to. Drama found him. And now he wanted to bring me into the center of the storm. His storm.
Electricity buzzed between us, the air still and sharp. Every glimpse of Shane, every taste of him, sent my body and soul plunging into chaos. And with him so close, every breath sent a shower of sparks racing along my skin.
The connection between us…it was volatile. Hazardous.
I was powerless to resist it.
As his lips twitched, I found my voice. “I saw you.” It was only a whisper, but it was enough.
“’Course you see me,” Shane said, his voice light and teasing. “I’m right here.”
“No. I mean the other night, outside my apartment. After I went upstairs.” His eyes narrowed, the easygoing expression in them disappearing like sunlight behind blackout curtains.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he did. I knew he did.
Liars recognize each other, in the same way a magician is rarely fooled by another’s tricks. And we were liars. Shane knew exactly what I was talking about. He just didn’t want to admit it. I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach, realizing I’d invaded his privacy by spying on him. I wasn’t going to press him on it, but even if I wanted to, I didn’t have the chance because the door behind Shane’s chair suddenly flew open.
Travis strutted into the room, the door hissing shut. “Just a few more details.” He dropped a sheaf of papers on the table in front of me. “There’s more to being Shane Hawthorne’s girlfriend than just smiling pretty for the paparazzi.”
I tore my eyes from Shane’s and reached for the document. I began to read, Travis and Shane becoming almost invisible as the words whispered, then shouted at me. Each line tearing at the superhero cape I’d foolishly believed Shane was hiding.
Shane Hawthorne was no hero.
When I finally looked up, Shane had vanished, along with any possibility he was worth falling for. “Is this a joke?”
Shane
Had Delaney really seen what I’d done? Shit. Like a gambler’s tell, my actions gave away a part of me that I wanted to keep hidden. Needed to keep hidden.
Shane Hawthorne lived life with zero fucks, damn it. He was every inch the cocky, confident rock star. He wasn’t some bleeding-heart do-gooder.
For fuck’s sake—you are Shane. Pull your shit together and act like it.
Other than charity concerts, all my philanthropic efforts were done through a dummy corporation I’d had Travis set up. No one needed to know what issues mattered to me, using them to see inside my head. Or worse, into my past.
Despite my internal pep talk, the frown twisting Delaney’s brow pulled at my conscience. Angry lines slashed across her forehead as she turned the page, raven strands quivering against her shoulders as she scanned each sentence. I wanted to wrap my hands around her tiny waist and pull her into my embrace.
More than that, I wanted to soothe away her inner storm and put all that enraged passion to good use.
Just moments ago, Delaney’s lips had softened beneath mine, and I’d swallowed her sigh as if it were a lifesaving drug. For me, maybe it was. Maybe there was someone on this earth who could save me. Then again, maybe there was a Santa Claus, too.
I needed to get out of here.
Rather than face more questions, or Delaney’s turbulent reaction, I unfolded myself from the chair and quietly left the room. Because if I stayed, I might just let her walk away from me again, from everything I wanted from her. And I wasn’t willing to do that. Not anymore. The thought of Delaney being with anyone else was ripping me to shreds.
No, I would leave, let Travis do what he did best. He would smooth things over, like he always did. That’s why I kept him on my payroll. When we first met years ago, he’d been a lawyer who was just starting to represent a few bands and B-level actors. He’d promised to make my life easier, to take all the time-sucking minutiae off my plate so I could concentrate on making music and performing in front of increasingly larger audiences.
Most agents didn’t hire fake girlfriends for their clients, but Travis did, and so much more. His client list was more exclusive now—A-list only—and he was insanely expensive. But I could easily afford his rates, and Travis was worth every penny. He’d work his magic, and Delaney Fraser would become Shane Hawthorne’s newest girlfriend.
Recalling the flush that crept up her collarbone whenever we touched, I was looking forward to exploring all the parts of her I hadn’t yet seen.
That wasn’t part of the contract, of course. But damn, how long could Delaney resist the inevitable?
Every cell in my body wanted to collide with hers, and I knew she felt the same.
It was chemistry.
I sauntered down the hall, politely smiling at every head that swiveled my way. Confidence and cockiness were fine, but the days of the rude rock star were over. To have a long career, it was important to be professional and courteous to everyone, all the time. An idol of mine once told me that the most important lesson he’d learned after fifty years in the business was that “killing ’em with kindness never did no harm.” Everyone remembers an asshole—and not in a good way.
After getting in my car, I headed to Blue Cocoon, my go-to option for stocking my closet. Tours were crazy and chaotic, and everyone wanted a piece of me. No matter how many jeans and tees, sunglasses and—don’t even get me started on underwear—I took on tour, by the last show, the remains of my wardrobe could fit into a small carry-on, with room to spare.
Jude, the man responsible for getting me on more Best Dressed lists than I’d ever known existed, was waiting for me just inside the door of the shop I forced myself into every few months, escorting me quickly into a back room that felt like an enormous closet. Gnashing my teeth, I tried on everything Jude handed me, standing still while a tailor pinned and tucked and chalked with grim precision. I’d come a long way since bounding onstage in dirty, ill-fitting jeans and loose T-shirts emblazoned with other bands’ logos.
After two hours, Jude finally walked me to the front door. “Everything will be ready in a few days. Should I bring them over?”
I nodded. “Yeah, like always.” Jude would let himself in, arrange the clothes in my closet, and an assistant would pack them based on climate requirements. I could be in Michigan one week and Florida the next. “And I’m sending someone over, a girl named Delaney Fraser. She’ll be coming on tour with me. Make sure she’s taken care of.” All my girlfriends came to Jude, too.
He nodded. Never once had Jude so much as batted an eye at the revolving door of women that entered and exited my life. “Of course.”
An elegant mannequin stood by the door, wearing a red dress. I had avoided looking at it on my way in, but my eyes were drawn to it now. The deep rich color sent my pulse racing.
Repelling me.
Tempting me.
“Mr. Hawthorne, are you all right?”
I unlocked my jaw. “Make sure to include that dress.”
Jude’s head swiveled. “Which one, sir?”
“That one.” I pointed.
Knowing my aversion to the shade, he hesitated. “I’m sorry, but it only comes in the red. I can find something similar in another color—”
Squashing memories of another red fabric, one that hid bloodstains so well I hadn’t realized the extent of the injuries until it was too late, I overrode Jude’s commentary. Maybe it was because of the couple in the street the other night. Maybe it was because Delaney admitted that she’d seen our interaction. Maybe it was because of Delaney, period. “That one. In red.” It had been more than a decade. It was time.
Delaney
Travis regarded me soberly, his thick brows drawing together in a fierce line. “I don’t joke about business.”
“Business…This isn’t business!” I threw the offensive document across the lacquered mahogany conference table. “What you’re asking me to sign can’t be legal. It’s—it’s…” I sputtered. “It’s practically prostitution.”
He reared back, clearly offended. “Absolutely not. It says so right here in Clause Seven. ‘Any sexual contact between Delaney Fraser and the Client is beyond the scope of this contract and entirely at their discretion.’”
A humorless chuckle bubbled up from my throat. “Are these the kinds of problems you solve? Ironing out the details of your clients’ sex lives?”
Ignoring my questions, Travis calmly picked up the contract, flipped a page, and began reading. “‘Delaney Fraser will act as the Client’s girlfriend, responding agreeably to public displays of affection such as hugging, kissing, necking, and using commonly accepted terms of endearments to convey her intimate relationship with the Client.’” He looked up. “This is unacceptable to you?”
“That one’s fine,” Delaney snapped. “It’s all the—”
“‘Delaney Fraser will consent to being interviewed and photographed in her role as the Client’s girlfriend. Her comments and actions will reflect a loving, contented, and monogamous relationship with the Client.’” He stopped. “This is problematic?”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. “No.”
“‘Delaney Fraser will carefully monitor any attempt by the Client to engage in excessive alcohol consumption or illegal substances, up to and including limiting opportunities for such behavior. She will immediately report any such incidents, and all parties involved, to a member of the Client’s management team.’” Travis looked up. “You may use your best judgment, but I expect you will reach out to me first. However, should the situation warrant it, you may speak with anyone on our security team.”
“You expect me to spy on Shane?”
His scowl deepened. “I’m asking you to help keep my client alive. If that’s not a worthy aim, then I guess we really are done here.”
I sighed, feeling petty and spiteful. “That’s not what I meant.”
Travis ran his palm over his shaved head and looked back down. “‘Delaney Fraser will be styled by a member of the Client’s team for all public events, details of such to be specified by a public relations contact person.’”
Okay, being styled sounded intriguing. Travis glanced up at me and I waved him on.
“Let me skip ahead, then. ‘Delaney Fraser and the Client will undergo thorough STD medical testing, the results of which will be made available to both parties.’”
That one. “Why do I need to take a blood test if I don’t have to do much more than smile for the cameras?” I snapped, daring him to provide an acceptable answer.
Travis dropped the contract on the table and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and peering over them as if I were a remedial algebra student in an advanced calculus class. “Shane’s a musician, not an actor. Neither are you. And I’m not blind. I saw the chemistry between you two; hopefully everyone will. You’re going to be together for the next six months. In case you do want to engage in some extracurricular activities, at least both of you will be clean.”
I swallowed. The word “clean” had never sounded so dirty. “If I’m not expected to have sex with him, then why am I required to be on birth control?”
His voice dripped with condescension. “Delaney, you’re going to spend almost every night watching Shane Hawthorne put on a show that makes every woman in the audience, and more than a few of the men, wish for just five minutes alone with him, preferably naked. Maybe you’re the outlier, the one woman on the planet who doesn’t harbor a secret hope of seducing him and having his baby. But Shane’s hired me to look out for his best interests. Birth control is nonnegotiable.”
I had a sudden vision of a pint-sized Shane, all long limbs, shaggy hair, and amber eyes shining with curiosity. I’d never babysat much in high school, never felt particularly drawn to kids. But Shane Hawthorne’s mini-me…Even I couldn’t deny the twinge in my ovaries. I dragged my attention back to Travis. There was a caustic, albeit resigned, edge to my voice when I said, “So, you’re paying me to be Shane’s fawning, STD-free, infertile girlfriend?”
Travis bristled. “You’re being paid to act like his girlfriend. In public. What you do in private is entirely up to you and Shane.”
“And he’s read this? He knows I’m an employee, not some long-term, well-paid escort?”
“Of course,” he enthused. “Although, I’m not going to lie. In order for the press to buy Shane being in a committed relationship, a certain amount of intimacy is essential. In the past, this has led to…more,” he finished lamely.
My cheeks burning, I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “And after the tour is over, what happens then?”
Travis hesitated before answering, telling me everything I needed to know. Shane Hawthorne didn’t need me. He needed a life-sized Barbie doll. One he could throw away as soon as it outlived its usefulness.
Ten minutes ago, I’d practically crawled into Shane’s lap. The connection between us was powerful, and too potent to ignore. Now Travis was putting an expiration date on it. “No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I’m not signing this ridiculous contract. No, I’m not going on tour with Shane Hawthorne. No, I won’t be his fake girlfriend. I’ve heard enough.” I catapulted out of my chair, heading for the door.
Travis beat me to it, blocking my escape. “You didn’t read the last page.”
“I don’t need to.”
He ripped it off anyway, handing it to me with a flourish. I looked down. “What the—” It was a prisoner transfer request form.
“Your father’s incarcerated in upstate New York, right? Maximum security. Hard time.” He pointed to the top of the sheet. “You spend the next six months on tour with Shane and I’ll have him moved to a minimum-security facility in Westchester. Still prison, but it’s a country club compared to where he is now.”
I felt like I’d been sucker punched. I hadn’t managed to do a single thing for my father in three years. All the air left my lungs in a rush, and I grabbed for the edge of the table to steady myself. “You can do that?” I wheezed. “You can have my father transferred?”
Travis tipped his smooth head forward in a confident nod. “I manage some of the biggest acts in the business. I’m the difference between throwing a fundraiser at the local VFW and a private concert demanding thousands per ticket. Politicians fucking love me.”
The page in my hand trembled. “I don’t understand. What do politics have to do—” My mouth snapped shut as the dots finally came together.
But Travis took pleasure in spelling it out anyway. “Exactly. Wardens are appointed by governors, who always seem to have another campaign to fund.”
“And you’re paying me, too?” I couldn’t afford to be shy. I had to be sure.
“Of course.” Travis sniffed, straightening his tie. “This is a job, Delaney. I expect you to conduct yourself professionally, and to earn it.”
“What if we break up before the tour is over?”
“Break up? That’s why you’re signing this contact—so that your relationship won’t be subject to the unpredictable whims of emotion.”
“I get that. But what if—”
He interrupted. “What if you walk away early anyway?”
I gave a shaky nod.
Travis picked up the sheaf of papers from the table. “That unfortunate circumstance is detailed in Clause Nineteen. And you’ll notice that those funds will be deposited into your bank account weekly.”
I read the paragraph giving a detailed formula to calculate my earnings if I quit, then looked back up at Travis. “I would make less than I do now, waitressing.”
“Exactly. Therefore you have every incentive to stay. However, should we choose to terminate your contract, your compensation will be as described in Clause Twenty.”
Turning the page, I saw that he was telling the truth. Double what I currently earned, but nowhere near what I had been promised if I made it through the entire tour.
“And if you read through Clause Twenty-Seven, you will note that rebuffing physical contact of any kind, when you are in private, is not an acceptable reason for termination.”
Black-and-white proof that I wasn’t selling my body along with my soul.
With that, the last of my excuses were swept aside. Finally, something I could do for my father. Swallowing the golf-ball-sized lump in my throat, I slumped back down into the nearest chair. “Where do I sign?”