Page 48 of Brown Sugar
“What? You can’t do that?—”
“Just did. He’ll be gone by the afternoon. Arnold will be taking over again. My suggestion? Use this as an opportunity to show the label you’ve seen the error of your ways. You’re ready to straighten up and do as you’re told. Make it easier on everyone and be the obedient little songbird you are.”
I’m dismissed as Tommy pulls out his phone and dials up one of his many business partners. The server delivers his iced bourbon and smiles cluelessly at me, asking if I’d like a drink of my own. I can’t bring myself to give an answer more than a weak shake of my head.
The entire journey back up to my suite feels surreal. I’m almost lifeless as I wander the halls and then ride the elevator up.
Tyson’s on his feet the moment I walk through the door. It’s clear he’s been counting the minutes I’ve been gone. He hasn’t even changed out of his jeans or touched the bottle of champagne or orange juice to make mimosas like we’d planned. One glance at me and he knows.
Something’s wrong.
“What did he say?”
My eyes itch, begging for a release I won’t allow. Instead, I avoid his gaze, stepping past him. “The label’s unhappy with how I’ve been behaving.”
“You needed a break.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I mumble. “The label’s decided. It’s over, Tyson.”
16
TYSON
ONE WEEK LATER…
I’m released from my contract as head bodyguard for Kiana. The label upholds their part of the bargain, paying me out for every cent I was owed for the nine months. Not because they’re paying me for the work I’ve done. They’re paying me to keep quiet.
Hush money.
I don’t touch a red cent. It remains in my bank account as a reminder of what might’ve been a huge mistake.
Taking the job in the first place.
Though not for the reason I initially thought. I assumed accepting the job would be a bad idea because I hated the idea of working for a spoiled, entitled celebrity. The industry is soul-sucking, superficial, and more painful than being subjected to medieval torture.
All things that turned out to be true over the last few weeks.
But the real reason taking the job was a mistake was because of the blurred lines. Things quickly spun out of control, and I lost sight of what it meant to be a professional.
I let the human side of me win out. I became blinded by a beautiful woman and the way I started to feel about her…
I sigh and scrub both hands over my bearded face. I’m home in my secluded house far removed from the Los Angeles scene Kiana’s so often a part of when she’s in town. My only neighbors are the trees that surround my property and the occasional bird that tweets outside my window.
Up until a couple weeks ago, that’s how I preferred it.
With Jax gone, I stopped seeing the use for much human contact.
In the days since I’ve returned from London, I’ve reverted back to that way of thinking—except my mind’s still preoccupied. Thoughts of Kiana still rule me, inhabiting my brain in a constant reminder of what could be.
The two of us escaping the boxes we had found ourselves in.
Her fame and celebrity. My angst and solitude.
It was the most enjoyable thirty-six hours of my life.
And now it’s over.
Her phone number’s changed. She hasn’t come home to her penthouse. Any real means of contacting her that I have has been removed.