The Last Love Song (A BWWM BDSM Romance) (3 page)

"Vaughn. But you can just call me 'sir' if you forget again."

Something about the way he said it... I shivered, and I crossed my arms tighter as if creating a barrier between us. The way he was looking at me with such easy confidence, such control - shit, it was making me hot. I had to snap out of it.

"Well. Thank you for your help, Vaughn. You can go now." He didn't move right away. Almost like a challenge, he stood planted right where he was just long enough to let me know that he wasn't the sort of man to jump at any order.

Then, with a nod, he stepped back out of the trailer and closed the door behind him. A great whoosh of air rushed from my lungs.
Was I holding my breath?
That was all so unlike me. I never tolerated backtalk from my staff. If anyone else ever spoke to me the way he just had, I would have torn them a new asshole, and then a third for good measure. The rest of my staff would have cowered and even possibly cried if I'd told them they were doing a shitty job or if I threatened to fire them. I didn't intimidate this Vaughn one bit.

And I was afraid that I kind of liked it.

In the end I told myself that my behavior was so odd only because I'd been rattled by the businessman that had gotten into my trailer.
My
personal space. It was pretty upsetting. And I could give my new bodyguard a pass just this once because maybe it had been just a little irresponsible of me to forget his name.

I could also let it go because I had bigger worries.

"I will not be at the same event as him!" I was about ready to hurl my coffee cup at my poor, harangued manager. The older woman was poised to dodge it if I did. She held up her palms and spoke softly, trying to calm me down.

"You won't even see him," Pauline said. Her graying hair stood in every direction. She'd been all blond when she began working for me, but seven years as my manager had stripped half the color.

"How many times does it need to be said? The man is insane. I don't even want to be in the same
state
as him."

I'd been nominated for a Relevance Award. It was a streaming-only award show voted on by anyone who cared to vote, and was the next big thing in award shows amongst the younger generation - the tweens, the teens, the very audience that so many of us were trying desperately to reach.

I was nominated for best music video. Sometimes I couldn't believe that music videos were still a thing, but fans did find and watch them, so we still churned them out. Apparently my latest breakup anthem really resonated with people - as did the dystopian setting of the video. And I did look crazy bad-ass in it, if I could say so myself.

I'd been asked to perform at the show, and of course, I accepted. We were going to put on a live stage-version of the video. Choreography was mostly settled on, costumes were being made, the light show element was nearly designed, set elements were being constructed as we spoke. It was less than a month away.

But if my ex was going to be there, then I would happily scrap the whole thing and fly home.

"You signed a contract," Pauline said, cringing. "And your label won't let you out of this one. Not this time. They need a strong presence at this thing, and no presence is stronger than yours."

Damn right.

"It's been six years, Zenaida," she said softly, "I'm not saying you should forget what he did, but you work in the same industry. You can't keep hiding from him."

"I'm not hiding!" I shrieked, so much higher-pitched than I wanted to sound. Someone knocked on the door, and then one of the bodyguards stuck their head in.
Bryan
, I reminded myself. I wouldn't forget their names again - not anytime soon, at least.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Pauline waved him away. "We're fine," she barked, and he shut the door.

"I'm not hiding," I said again, this time through clenched teeth. "I just don't want to see his stupid fucking face."

"You won't. And we'll all be there with you."

I put my head in my hands. My label wouldn't drop me, I was way too profitable for them - but they
could
make my life a living hell if they put their minds to it. We had each other by the short and curlies and one of us would have to concede on this.

And if I cared about my career, if I wanted to keep a tight hold on my popularity, I knew I had to do this damn show.

I sighed at Pauline and shook my head. "I need a drink."

She knew what that meant, and she smiled. "I'll have the staff find a bar," she said, "And thanks, Zenaida." My caving saved her from a million headaches.
At least someone's getting what they want out of this deal
.

◦◦◦

When she said "find a bar," she meant they would buy out the whole place for the night and kick out most of the existing customers. My own people and their friends would be allowed to hang out and enjoy the place with each other and I wouldn't have to worry about overzealous fans hassling or harassing me. It was almost like being out in public, just a regular person sitting at a regular bar having a drink with other normals.

Almost.

That was one thing I missed about my less famous days - being able to go out and blend in and just have a good time without having my hair pulled or being chased down by the paparazzi. I could have conversations with strangers, meet new people. Now I lived behind a human wall of bodyguards and managers and assistants and other industry folk. One may have thought my life was constantly full of new people and exciting experiences, but really, outside of the concerts and the events it could be very insular. Even isolating.

The place they snagged was a little jazz bar called Round Cat's. My staff bought out the place for the 11pm show, much to the disappointment of everyone who was supposed to be there. They were simply refunded and sent on their way. Apparently there was a lot of cursing going on out front - I wouldn't know, as I was being escorted in through the back.

I sat at the bar wearing a simple black dress - short, sequined, and expensive, I did have to keep up appearances - and nursed a cocktail while the band played. My father had tried to pass his love of jazz on to me. I never quite "got" it, but I loved him, so I went to see an endless number of shows with him right up until the week he passed away. Listening to the music now made me feel close to him, and happy, if not a little melancholy.

And still a little confused
, I thought as the trumpets bleated. Maybe too much pop had ruined my ability to appreciate real music.

I was well into my third drink when Vaughn circled in front of me, assessing the room before stepping back and standing next to my stool at the bar. "How's it going?" he asked. "Come her often?"

I snorted, then caught myself. "Everyone else here knows better than to bother me right now," I said.

"I think you need a little bothering." He looked me up and down as he said it, those blue eyes predatory, his words low, dripping with suggestions. Promises. Seduction.
Stop
.

He walked away, melting between the tables as quickly as he'd appeared.

It was such a brief moment to leave my head spinning so badly.
Am I drunk?
I didn't think I was drunk. It was just him. The most inappropriate, arrogant, insubordinate employee I'd ever had.

And there I was regretting that he'd walked away so soon.

Maybe I wasn't drunk
enough
.

Pauline joined me when the band's set was finished and the house music was turned on. Thankfully it was just more jazz - nothing was worse than suffering through a pop playlist that included my own damn tracks. Not while I was busy trying to forget all of that and pretend I was someone else, just for a couple of hours.

"Let's not talk about the award show," I said as soon as Pauline perched on the next stool.

"Want to play matchmaker?" she asked.

An evil grin spread across my face. "Fuck yes." The game wasn't as friendly as it may have sounded. We turned our backs to the bar and faced the room, scanning all the familiar faces.

"I want Gavin to get laid tonight," I said, gesturing toward my second assistant. He was chatting with Lexi and a couple of my stylists at one of the round tables.

"Okay," Pauline said, "First we've got to identify who else is gay, and then find one that Gavin might actually like."

I elbowed her. "They don't have to like each other, the guy just has to be hot."

Pauline cackled. "In that case, I've got just the sound tech for him." She scampered off to collect the poor, unsuspecting guy, while I texted Gavin. He checked his phone and left his table right away, as a good assistant should.

"Everything okay?" he asked, trying to pull a straight face. But his hair was mussed and his shirt was open two more buttons than usual. Did it count as drinking on the job if it was after hours? I'd let it slide this time.

"Yes," I said, "I just wanted to make sure you were having a good time. You and Lexi kicked ass yesterday, and I just wanted to personally thank you."

I expected him to light up like a Christmas tree under my praise, but instead his eyes narrowed. "Are you playing matchmaker on me? Lexi warned me about this." His words were slurring a little - normally he wouldn't be bold enough to do anything but play along with whatever I was saying.

"Caught me," I said, lifting both hands in surrender. I scanned the crowd and spotted Pauline leading a young man back in our direction. "Here comes your date. Play nice."

He winked.
Okay, now I know he's drunk for sure
.

I let Pauline do the introductions. I vouched for Gavin's character, telling the sound tech that he did "a perfectly adequate job," but suggested that maybe they put their heads together and consider other career options as no one ever last long with me. Soon the two were chatting and ignoring everyone else around them. I was counting it as a success even if my cover was blown.

"Who next?" Pauline asked. "Ooh, I know, how about your hunky new bodyguard?"

"No!" I was just as surprised by my exclamation as Pauline was. Recovering quickly, I said, "He's kind of a jerk, he doesn't deserve to tap a single ass in here. In fact, I want him cockblocked tonight. Who can we put on cockblock duty? Get me an intern!"

"Oh, God, just promise you won't fire him. We're flat out of bodyguards," she mumbled.

I already knew that, but I bit my tongue. "I won't fire him," I assured her, "But I will make sure he doesn't have too much fun."

Pauline rubbed her hands together with glee. "In that case, I'm on it."

The rest of the night passed in a haze of liquor and jazz. I made the drunken mistake of telling Lexi that she was doing a good job, too - she really was, but it wasn't smart to let her know that - and the poor girl's eyes filled up with tears. She spent the rest of the evening divulging staff gossip that I didn't really pay attention to, and when Pauline declared last call, Lexi escorted me back to my room in the hotel.

We were trailed by two bodyguards for the whole walk back, but I refused to look back at them. Back at
him
. In my inebriated state I couldn't remember what I was even trying to prove, I just knew that I couldn't let him think that I was paying any attention to his presence at all.

I
was
paying attention, though. And when I fell asleep in my big, empty suite that night, it was his intense blue eyes that danced before my face, taunting me. Challenging me. What the hell was it about this guy that had gotten under my skin?