10
PARKER
I wake with a twinge of a hangover prodding at my temples and dryness in my throat that a gallon of water will not cure. Yesterday was a long-ass day working with Juliet and the team at the practice stage. After the practice, our little motley crew tied one on. Since the legal drinking age in Spain is a whopping sixteen years old, both Violeta and Juliet put our asses to shame in the liquor-consumption department. They drank all three of us—four if you count the Spanish chicklet Bo picked up somewhere between beers five and six for us guys and sangria for the women—under the table.
Thank heaven we filled up on chorizo, paella, and croquettes along with a bunch of other salami-type meats and a mixture of cheeses or I’d be worshiping the porcelain throne right about now. A headache I can suffer through, a sick stomach, not so much.
My phone buzzes loudly by my head, and the heavy arm wrapped around my waist slaps my belly twice and then stops. A few soft snores can be heard against my shoulder as Skyler falls instantly back to sleep. I ignore the phone, and eventually it stops, only to start back up again with its incessant buzzing.
The hand at my waist does the slap thing again, but has zero result before it stops, the puffs of air coming at my throat once more. I snuggle a naked, warm Skyler and kiss my way down her neck to her clavicle. She doesn’t even move.
I chuckle as I open my eyes and look down at my girl. Her mascara is smudged around her eyes, and her hair is a tangled mess of twisted curls from repeated rounds of some pretty energetic lovemaking if I do say so myself. I drunkenly did her up against the hotel door, over the back of the couch, on the floor in the bedroom, and then finally on the bed. All of it messy, sloppy, and so good my teeth ache with the memory of planting my face between her thighs while my cock was in her mouth.
God, my woman is so fucking hot, I’m about to work hard at waking her up for another go when my phone buzzes again. Then it stops, and the hotel phone starts ringing.
Skyler gasps a breath of air, rolls over to her side, grabs my pillow, cuddles it against her chest, and then she’s out like a light. In all fairness, I did keep her up half the night. She needs the rest. Besides, we have a meeting this afternoon with Alejandro to discuss where we’re at with Juliet and her ability to be the next Spanish pop star.
The phone in the room rings again, and so does my cell. I glance at my cell and see it’s Royce calling. I’ll have to call him back because the blaring noise of the hotel phone is winning. I pick it up.
“What?” I gurgle into the line, my voice sounding like my throat has been abraded with a cheese grater.
“Finally! Parker, it’s Wendy.” Her tone is flummoxed, and my head is pounding with the volume of it in my ear.
I spy a bottle of water across the room, so I pick up the entire phone and drag it with me to the holy grail in the form of a Crystal Geyser bottle.
“What’s up?” I open the bottle and glug over half of it down while she speaks.
“Did you get my email?” she says, obviously exasperated.
“Minxy, you just woke me up. Royce was calling on my phone, which added to it. Sky’s still sleeping. We tied one on last night.”
She huffs into the line, which is unlike the normally plucky Wendy. I’d expect a good razzing but not irritation. “Makes sense as to why I couldn’t get ahold of Skyler or Bo. I knew you were all in your rooms, though Skyler’s phone is turned off. You know I get wiggy when you guys turn your phones off.”
I frown and sit down in the closest chair as the world around me wobbles and sways. “Wendy, get to the point. Why did you call?”
“Well, you know how I told you there was something bugging me about the fan letters?”
My head pounds, and I press my finger and thumb to my temples to combat the little man with the sledgehammer doing a number on my dome.
Christ. Where’s the ibuprofen?
“Vaguely. I’m a little hungover, if I’m being honest.”
“This information ought to wake you right up.”
“Lay it on me.”
“I recognized the handwriting.” She says this as if it’s so poignant I should be panting for more juicy gossip. Unfortunately my thoughts can barely catch the train she’s on let alone keep up with it.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, and suck back the rest of the water in the bottle and scan the room, wondering if there’s a mini fridge somewhere. If one splurges on the penthouse, there’s bound to be a stock of still water. Right? “Why is this important?” I keep my tired eyes peeled for what might be a mini fridge masquerading as a cabinet.
“Because I’ve seen the handwriting before. Go to your computer,” she demands.
I sigh and run my hand down my bare chest and realize I’m standing completely naked while taking this call. “Wendy, I need to call you on my cell. Give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Fuck getting dressed! This is important. I’ll wait while you grab the fucking computer.” She’s cursing more than I’ve heard her do before. Her tone is definitely not one she’s ever used with me. Then it dawns on me: She’s scared. That little crack in her voice is fear, not exasperation.
“Okay, hold on.” I set the phone down on the chair and move into the living room. I spy the mini fridge and take a detour to grab a couple of bottles of water, because it’s the desert in my throat, and if I’m going to be expected to speak, I’ll need to drench the dry, cracked surface accordingly. I grab my laptop off the desk and make my way into the master.
Once I get back to the bedroom, I set the bottles and laptop on the table and spy my boxer briefs on the floor and slip into them. I can’t keep talking to my technical officer, onetime assistant, and someone I look at as a sister, in my birthday suit.
“I’m back,” I say into the phone when I get the laptop settled on my thighs. I bring up my email and click on the message Wendy sent the team. I open the image and see one of Skyler’s fan letters from the past side by side with a lined legal sheet. “What am I looking at?”
Wendy grunts, actually grunts like a fucking bear at my question. “Zoom in. I’ve underlined some of the same words found in the fan letter and the ones on the yellow sheet.”
“Okay. I see it now.” My eyes and brain are finally working together, though sluggishly, to pick up the similarities. “They’re the same. Shit!” I rub at my tired eyes to try and clear the cobwebs of last night’s beer and fuckfest. “Where did you get the yellow sheet?”
“Read the fucking note, Parker,” she grates, completely exasperated.
From the top it reads:
Wendy,
I’ve cleaned Zeus’s box, refreshed his litter, and made sure he has enough food for the weekend. The cleaning team will take out the trash tonight but has been warned not to let the cat out of our offices for even a second or follow anyone onto the elevator. I’m sure he’ll be fine. If you need me to come in on Saturday or Sunday to check on him, you should call me. I wouldn’t want Parker or Skyler to feel stuck or worry while on their trip. That would be horrible. I’ll pick up more food and litter this weekend, coffee pods, and Post-its while I’m out and submit a business expense reimbursement, if that’s okay with you. I wish you a fun weekend. Let me know if you need me. I’m here for you. Thank you.
Your assistant,
Annie
I compare it with the letter Wendy put next to it.
Sky,
I miss you. It seems like forever since you were on the screen entertaining me. I read that you got hurt on set, which pushed production back. You should have called me. I would have been there for you every second, holding your hand, making you laugh, whatever it took to get you better. Instead I’m stuck here with the She-Devil, waiting on the queen hand and foot and taking business classes. She’s so horrible. I wish I were with you. You’d make it better. We could take care of each other. Think about it. I’ll always be here for you.
Your real BF
“Holy fucking shit.” My heart pounds sporadically in my chest, and my pits and hairline begin to sweat. “It’s Annie . . .” I gulp, not believing what I’m seeing. I read the letter again and again, trying to unsee what is so very obvious.
“Mick has a friend who’s a, uh, graphology expert, a graphologist. When I made the connection, I showed it to Mick. He sent it under the strictest confidence to the guy, who studied it and said within ninety-nine point nine percent accuracy, the two notes are from the same person. He noticed that the first one was many years old, but the new one had the same signature traits, words and letters that are easily unique to one person, much like the whorls and lines in a fingerprint. He also said there’s no way this could have been a fake. It’s the same person. It’s Annie.”
“My God. This whole time we’ve been stressing about who’s sending those texts, notes, and letters, and it was Annie? Jesus, how fucking stupid could I be?”
“Park, it’s not just you. She’s fooled us all.”
My mind goes right back to when the first note arrived. Wendy was out of the office healing from her gunshot wound when the envelope showed up. Annie was barely on the team at that point.
“Fuck!” I slam the lid on my laptop closed, stand, and toss it on the chair. The seething energy in my body is electric, looking for an outlet to let loose on.
At my outburst, Skyler wakes up, pushing herself to a half-seated position, her beautiful breasts and pink-tipped nipples on full display. Her hair is a golden messy halo in the late-morning light filtering in.
She’s my goddess, and I let her down.
I run my hand through my hair and tug at the ends while Wendy speaks into my ear, talking about how Royce and Kendra have discussed it but need to find out from me, Sky, and Bo how we want to proceed.
“We need to confront her, but I want to do it in person, when we’re home,” I say with a conviction I haven’t felt about anything other than Sky and my love for her in a long damn time.
“Honey . . . ,” Skyler calls to me. Her worried, dreamy gaze narrows as she watches me pace the floor.
“It’s okay, baby, I’ll get you up to date in a minute,” I promise, not liking what I’m going to have to tell her at all.
“Talk to Sky. I’ve also sent the documents to Nate and Rachel. They’ve already touched base but felt it would be less of a blow coming from me instead of them.”
“Yeah, less of a blow. I can’t fucking believe this. She was under our noses the whole goddamned time.” I clench down on my molars and grind so hard I may crack a tooth.
“Go to Sky, tell her what’s happened, and we’ll reconvene. Until you get back, we can keep everything quiet, not let on that we know. Continue business as normal.”
“Normal.” I shake my head. “I don’t think anything’s normal about this situation at all. Later,” I say flatly, and hang up the phone.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Skyler has the coverlet now clutched to her chest, her shoulders closing in on her ears in preparation of bad news. It’s a protective pose that she shouldn’t have to resort to at all.
I inhale a long, slow breath, willing my heartbeat and anger to dull to a simmer while I tell my girl the bad news.
“Turns out we know who was sending those fan letters to you throughout the years.”
She frowns. “Who?”
“Annie.”
This time her brows rise up into her hairline. “Annie Pinkerton. Your meek assistant, Annie?”
I clench my hand into a fist. “Yeah. She’s been right there the whole time.”
“How did Wendy figure it out?” she asks, not even a speck of anger in her tone, which surprises me because I’m ready to break anything and everything in this hotel room. Though I won’t because it wouldn’t even put a damper on the level of hatred I have swirling in my gut right now.
“Handwriting analysis. Mick has a friend. Wendy sent one of the letters along with an office memo Annie wrote to Wendy last week. It’s a ninety-nine point nine percent match.”
Skyler runs her finger along the quilting in the comforter. “Huh. I mean, I can’t say that I’m shocked she sent those letters. She’s always had a bit of a fascination when it came to me. I noticed it early on when she would come to work wearing something I’d worn on TV or was seen wearing in the celeb mags. It was more noticeable when she bought the same shoes I’d worn out with you and again when she adopted a golden retriever.”
Her words are a bucket of boiling-hot water tossed over my head, burning from the outside in. “Fuck me! Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Besides the fact that it was rather obvious?” She blinks and keeps her face set at an expression that’s devoid of emotion, one I can’t comprehend right now.
I tilt my head to the side and level her with invisible daggers. “Baby . . .”
She purses her lips and gazes out the window. “It’s sweet. And honestly, a lot of it stopped after I started going to lunch with her and chatting her up about clothes and movies and such. She’s kind of my friend now, honey.” Sky plucks at her bottom lip. “I mean . . . I can totally see the letters, but the texts?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“You see what she wants you to see. We all have. This woman is not sane. She’s a head case who’s obviously smarter than we realized, because she’s been able to keep this under wraps for years. Then she gets a job working in the same company as your boyfriend? There’s no way that’s a coincidence. She staged that shit. How? I don’t know, but don’t think for a minute that Wendy is not already digging deeply into Annie’s background, financials, living situation, credit, everything there is.”
Sky continues to worry her bottom lip, but she doesn’t seem angry, when I feel like I’m going to explode.
“It’s odd. I wouldn’t think she’d have it in her to taunt us the way she has. Those texts . . .” Her face shifts into a grimace. “They’re creepy.”
“Her dressing like you, getting the same dog, working at your boyfriend’s work to be close to you, keeping tabs on you for over a decade . . . that’s fucking creepy!” I practically bellow because I’m having a whole helluva lot of trouble keeping my anger inside.
Skyler grabs my arm and runs her hands up and down the length in a soothing manner that does ease the tension . . . slightly. “I guess I just think imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, is it not? I mean she’s never made a play for you, said or done anything to warrant your anger . . .”
My rage explodes.
“Are you fucking kidding?” I burst as I stand, no longer able to keep my cool. “She’s been sending texts, rather threatening ones. Notes to the office that she pretends to deliver. That. Is. Twisted. Skyler. How can you not see that?”
She frowns and shrugs while picking at a thread in the comforter.
“It’s obvious we’re processing this in a different way,” I say. “We need to get ready, meet with Alejandro, and finish this job so we can get back to IG and deal with this traitor.”
She nods. “Okay, honey. Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want?
I want my woman to realize the severity of this threat. I want my woman to be as angry as I am.
Why isn’t she?
Knowing I need to get a move on, I push it all to the background so we can get ready and meet with Alejandro and the other bigwigs at the music label. Maybe if we’re lucky, we can finish this up early and head out on the next plane to Boston. Better yet, Skyler can call her fancy jet so we can get home even faster. Money finally has its advantages.
“Hermosa. You look enchanting, Juliet.” Alejandro kisses both of JJ’s cheeks.
His eyes travel down her body from her white leather bomber jacket, over her tight-fitting tank that shows off a healthy dose of cleavage, and down her skinny jeans to her royal-blue suede stilettos. Bo did an amazing job getting her hair layered so that it’s a wild mane of curls down her back. It’s pulled up on each side and accentuates her face and the crescent arc of crystal gems surrounding her scar, making her look like the total package. They went with bold red lips, smoky eye makeup, and a ton of silver jewelry at her wrists, fingers, and neck.
Alejandro smiles at us and nods his appreciation. “Shall we see a preview of your show and hear your singing?” he requests.
Juliet looks right at him, lifts her chin, and says, “Absolutely. Pete, can you set the dancers? I’m ready to perform.”
“Definitely, Ms. Juliet.” He bows as if she’s a royal. Dramatic, but effective.
Bo groans at the move while Skyler snickers. I’m still pissed off at finding out Annie is our superfan/stalker and can barely restrain myself from lifting Skyler over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and whisking her back to Boston on her jet. I want this situation dealt with. Now.
The IG team takes their places in the second row of the theater while the music label reps sit up front. Juliet faces backstage and holds a position with her body that puts all of her curves on display in the best possible way. The girl has a banging body, and every media outlet from here to the States is going to pick up on it when they see her and, better yet, hear her sing.
The music picks up, and Juliet starts shaking her ass. One of her arms goes up, and she counts down “Tres, dos, uno . . .” with her fingers, spins around, and belts out a note that I’ve only heard from the likes of Christina Aguilera, Whitney Houston, and Mariah Carey.
My mouth drops open as I watch while Juliet moves across the stage, singing her heart out. There are no missteps, no breathy pauses, just a girl up there who knows her moves, is comfortable in her body, and is using the voice God gave her.
I peer over to the side to watch Alejandro take in Juliet on stage. He, along with every man in the front row, has his eyes glued to our girl strutting her stuff.
The dancers flow around Juliet in a whirlwind of movements. At one point, they come at her in a provocative move, but she lifts a foot and mimics kicking one away, then pushing another, and both artfully fall to the ground as if wounded by her rejection while she sings the chorus about how their love tastes good, but it’s bad for her.
I glance to my side where I can see Skyler holding her hands to her chest in a prayer position, the tips of her fingers touching her smiling lips. She’s watching Juliet as if her baby sister has just graduated high school.
A pang picks up in my heart as I see the joy and beauty plastered across Skyler’s face. She deserves this. Needs this type of feeling in her life. The shit with Tracey second-guessing our relationship, her parents dying, the drama with Johan back then, and more recently with her stalker/fan . . .
I shake my head.
Skyler deserves more.
She deserves the world, and I’m going to be the man to give it to her. This freak situation with Annie is going to stop. We’ll confront her and discuss a legal restraining order, I’ll have the pleasure of firing her, and it will be done. If she so much as attempts to send Skyler another letter or reach out to her, we’ll take her to court for harassment.
Skyler’s problems are over. My girl is going to breathe easy and live every moment with that beautiful happiness plastered across her pretty face.
I’m going to make sure of it.
While I watch JJ do her thing, I can finally catch my breath. I’ve got a plan for Skyler, and as seen on the stage, our job here is done. If Alejandro doesn’t love the progress made by International Guy, he’s going to have to shove it.
Juliet is a star up there, and as I look at each of the bigwigs’ faces, the awe clearly visible in every person who’s watching her, including Alejandro, I know we’ve succeeded once again.
Our job in Spain is over.
I grab Skyler’s hand, interlace our fingers, bring them to my lips, and kiss each tip. She turns toward me, eyes swirling with delight. Then, my love smiles at me, and it’s everything.
Time to go home.