Closer: A Stage Dive Novella Page 2

  “I’m Ziggy Thayer,” he said. “Samuel Rhodes sent me over.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Y-you’re going to be my bodyguard?”

  “Close protection officer, yes.”

  “Huh.”

  He tipped his chin. “Is there a problem, miss?”

  “I, um…”

  Was there a problem? Hell yes. This was a fucking disaster. My brain refused to function, all synapses had stalled. I didn’t know if it was the immaculate black suit, general air of badassery, or his stone-faced expression. But whatever it was, he needed to cease and desist with the hotness immediately. It’s not like I wasn’t used to being around beautiful people. It’s part of my job, after all. And he wasn’t even beautiful exactly, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop staring.

  “Mae, you’re being weird. Let him in,” ordered Lena from the couch. As friends go, Lena and her bluntness occasionally sucked. This was clearly one of those occasions.

  “Sorry.” I stepped back, heat creeping up my neck. “Please, come in, Mr. Thayer.”

  “Ziggy will be fine,” he said.

  “Oh. Then call me Mae.”

  “He’ll call you Miss Cooper,” said Lena. “Don’t fight it. We’ve all tried to train the formality out of him, but it never sticks. Does it, Ziggy?”

  Not even a hint of an expression or friendly smile from the man. He took resting bitch face to the next level. “No, ma’am.”

  “Marines.” Lena shrugged. “What can you do?”

  I shut the door behind him, feeling all types of awkward. This potent example of the male species was going to follow me around for the bulk of my waking hours? No. Not going to happen. Maybe they had someone else they could send over. Someone who didn’t take up so much room or make me stop and stare quite so often. That would be good. Drooling in public was never cool and could play havoc with a girl’s lip gloss. Wasn’t I dealing with enough? Insert heavy sigh here.

  Halfway through my self-indulgent sigh, I managed to convert it into a steadying breath. Because I could pull my shit together and be professional. It would be done. In all likelihood, I just needed to get laid. It’d been months since me and the ex had called it quits, an entirely necessary and mutual decision. I needed to be free, to find some balance when my career and focus changed gears as I hit my thirties. And he apparently needed to be free to have sex with every barely legal football player fangirl who crossed his path. Especially the ones who liked to film themselves having sex with him and post it on the internet. Those were his favorite. Such is life.

  Lena raised a hand. “Hey, Ziggy.”

  “Mrs. Ferris.”

  “Mae’s just tired and a little freaked out. Get her to sleep for a few hours and clean herself up, and she’ll be fine.”

  He said nothing. Just stood there with a flinty gaze.

  Meanwhile, I looked around for something to seal Lena’s lips shut. For at least the duration of her visit would be nice. Electrical tape maybe. Needle and thread seemed extreme, but not entirely out of the question.

  Ziggy cleared his throat. “Miss Cooper, I notice you didn’t engage the deadlock or the security system. We’ll need to discuss that.”

  “Ruh roh,” said Lena. “You’re getting spanked already. That was fast.”

  My face flamed.

  “I better leave you guys to it.”

  “You’re going?” Hard to gauge what I was most afraid of, being left alone with the close protection officer, or waiting to hear what Lena said next. Both, perhaps.

  “Jimmy has a big charity thing on tonight. I need to go get myself sorted out.” She wandered over and smacked a kiss on my cheek. “Try not to worry, Mae. Everything’s going to be fine. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  I managed a smile. “I will. Thank you again.”

  “Anytime. See you tomorrow.”

  And she was gone.

  Leaving me alone with him.

  “So,” I said with a hesitant smile. In these situations, normal people with a functioning brain were often polite. Maybe I should try it out. “Shall we sit? Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, thank you, miss.”

  That was really going to take some getting used to. Being called “miss” all the time.

  He took the freshly vacated seat opposite me, sitting on the edge of the couch. Ready to launch into action at any moment, no doubt. Everything about him screamed big, scary, and capable. Though I’m sure he was a nice guy at heart. Probably an absolute delight at parties. Loved puppies and made origami cranes in his spare time. Or maybe not. I sat and curled my feet up beneath me, making myself as small a target as possible. Guess I was just feeling vulnerable for some reason. Not that I was afraid of him or anything. Hell no. Just because.

  I squared my shoulders and sat up straighter. “So…where do we start?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’d had bodyguards before. But only for events like fashion week or a big shoot. Just for a limited amount of time. My contract with Ziggy, however, was open ended, dependent on the heart in the box situation. Once he’d grilled me about what the police were doing (investigating my entire life), my routine (I don’t really have one. It’s consumed by work), and my calendar for the next few days (I’d freed up time to finish unpacking and then back to work on my lingerie line), he drove me to the gym. There was one I used a couple of times in the apartment building, but I generally do better with some active encouragement and guidance.

  Guess Ziggy approved of my Land Rover because he gave it another one of those almost-smiles. I, however, continued to receive the full professional cold front face. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

  “Who’s your shadow?” asked Kwana, my awesome trainer.

  I paused mid-lunge, my breath coming hard and fast. “My bodyguard, Ziggy. You like him?”

  “He’s pretty. Don’t stop, keep moving.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “You don’t usually have one of them around. Have you been getting hassled or something?”

  Kwana stood with her arms crossed, all lean muscles beneath brown skin. Since we were in an open area at the end of the main part of the gym, Ziggy waited over by the wall, just out of earshot. He stood with his arms loose at his side, his gaze constantly wandering a circuit from me—around the room, over to the exits, and back again. Always on alert.

  “More a precaution than anything,” I said.

  No matter how much I liked Kwana, no one outside my inner circle needed to know about the incident. The fewer people who found out about the gross cow heart and knife the better.

  There’d been no further news from the police. Though it was never likely they’d track down a suspect and charge that person the next day.

  Case closed, hooray!

  I wish. It’d take them weeks to go through my correspondence. I shuddered at the thought. For years I’d received weird and smutty emails and messages from all sorts of people. Believe me, my collection of unasked for and unwanted dick pics was epic. Why random dudes thought I wanted to see their hairy little balls and pecker I have no idea. But it was all just part of putting yourself out there as a woman these days. Land on the cover of some magazines and it only gets worse.

  And now some poor cops would have to wade through it, dick pics and all. Maybe in time they’d do a lineup of the usual suspects, and get them all to drop their trousers for a positive ID. Or some computer database would bring up a match based on the culprit’s short and curlies. I could just imagine the CSI episode now.

  Kwana sniffed. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Move on to squats.”

  “Lady, you’re mean.”

  “You love it.”

  “True.” I wiped the sweat off my face with the back of my hand and kept going. “I wouldn’t call him pretty exactly.”

  “Masculine pretty,” amended Kwana. “It’s that angular jawline and cut yourself cheekbones. Gets me every time. Move faster. Come on, you’re
not even trying.”

  “My life hurts,” I whined, but did as told. The woman was going to kill me.

  She lowered her voice, taking a step closer. “He’s looking at you.”

  “Who, Ziggy? It’s his job to look at me.”

  “No. I mean, his eyes were on your ass. Hell, they were glued to those globes.”

  I snorted. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  A man in fluorescent workout gear approached from over by the dumbbells. Before I’d even finished registering him, Ziggy was there, putting himself between us. The guy held out a scrap of paper and pen, face a mixture of “c’mon, man” and “please.” Ziggy just shook his head.

  “Can’t you see she’s busy here?” Kwana scowled. “Ask for an autograph later.”

  “No autographs.” Ziggy’s tone was final. “Only at official engagements.”

  With a heavy scowl, the dude stomped off toward an elliptical machine.

  “We’re back in the private room next time,” said my trainer.

  I nodded. “Might be best.”

  “Heel raises, please.”

  “Man,” I bitched. It was an important part of my workout process.

  “Oh, just do it.” Kwana sighed. “You want those calves looking good when you wear your fancy shoes, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get on with it then. One of these days I’m going to start charging extra every time you complain.” In all honesty, the woman deserved the money. I was a whiny baby when it came to exercise. She lightly placed her hands on my shoulders. “That’s it, Mae. Nice and slow. Get up high.”

  I concentrated on my breathing and balance, ignoring the burning in my leg muscles. It was all for a good cause. Soon enough the happy exercise hormones would kick in and I’d be glad for the effort. Hopefully. It was all part of the job, along with extensive waxing, facials, manicures, hair, lashes, massages, and a beauty routine to end all others. Just because I wasn’t size zero (or even close) didn’t mean I could get away with being unfit or lacking in the rest. Shoots could be grueling enough, let alone if your energy levels were low or you were behind on maintenance. Trust me, being yelled at by a stressed-out designer because you didn’t bring your best to the show was not fun. Also, word got around. For such a big industry, it could be amazingly small at times.

  “You’re doing great. Keep going.” Kwana’s gaze jumped to the front wall of windows behind me. They faced the street. A frown crossed her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Paparazzi are outside.”

  She was right. They were crowded up against the glass with their cameras. A whole feral pack of them. Shit. Meanwhile, Ziggy had his cell pressed against his ear. A faint frown crossed his face as he watched the mass of people gathering at the window.

  My stomach sank. “Is there anyone else here?”

  “No one they’d be interested in,” said Kwana.

  “Guess we’re almost finished anyway. Sorry about this.”

  Ziggy strode toward us, slipping his cell into his jacket pocket. “We should go before more arrive.”

  “Someone leaked the story, didn’t they?” I asked.

  “It looks that way.”

  I hung my head and swore silently.

  “You get the car, we’ll meet you at the back door,” said Kwana. “No one will get near her. You can trust me. This isn’t my first famous person rodeo.”

  For a moment, Ziggy hesitated. Then he nodded and jogged toward the now crowded front door.

  “All right, Mae, let’s get your bag.” Kwana ushered me into the women’s locker room. Only one woman was in there, patiently applying mascara at the mirror. She didn’t show any particular interest in us.

  I grabbed my hoodie out of my bag and put it on. Sunglasses too. It probably wouldn’t help. But it couldn’t hurt. In all honesty, hoping my stalker situation wouldn’t get out had probably been a fantasy. I might not be as well-known as others, but give social media a slow news cycle and they’d be more than happy to pick my life apart for a moment’s entertainment. Nothing I could do about it.

  Kwana led me through a back corridor to the rear exit.

  “So who are your other famous clients?” I asked, trying to get my mind off the mess waiting outside.

  “Hmm? Oh, I sign N.D.A.s. I’m not allowed to talk about it.” She opened the door just a little, peering out at the fading afternoon light. “But let me just say that a certain drummer is banned from this gym for life. The idiot.”

  “What did he do?”

  “I already told you, I can’t say,” she said, distracted by whatever was going on outside. “Here comes your buff bodyguard and a couple of paps are following. Get ready.”

  “Thanks. See you next time.”

  “Sure, hon.”

  The car pulled up close to the building with the passenger side right in front of me. I raced out. Flashes went off, but I kept a hand up, covering part of my face. They weren’t getting a good shot of me today. Not under these circumstances. So there.

  Inside the car, everything was quiet apart from the pounding of my heart. Ziggy drove fast but skillfully through the city streets. Usually I liked being out and about after dark. People out having fun, the sight of street lights rushing past. It all soothed me for some reason. Probably due to childhood memories of Mom picking me up from Grandma’s place and driving me home late at night after her shift at the bar. But nothing could relax me this evening.

  “No need to rush,” I said. “They know where we’re going. One of the downsides to living under half of Stage Dive. Everyone in the area knows about that building.”

  He slowed a little.

  “With no time for a shower, I must smell amazing.”

  Another of those almost-smiles tugged at his lips. “You’re fine, miss.”

  “Guess someone at the police station either talked or sold the story. I can’t imagine Leonard or anyone else at the apartment building doing it.”

  “I know the people who work at your building. No way would it have been one of them.”

  “Good,” I said. “That makes me feel a little better.”

  “Speaking of which…” With more multitasking skill than I could ever display, he drew out his cell and made a call. “Hey, Sarah, it’s Ziggy. Miss Cooper and I are coming in with photographers on our tail. Just giving you warning...right. Thanks.”

  “They’re at the building too, already?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Not a surprise. But it still sucked. Behind us, paparazzi followed on motorbikes, scooters, and in cars. A whole bunch of them. Oh man, this was just fucking great. No, wait, hold up. I needed an attitude adjustment. Enough with the moping and fretting. Especially since it wouldn’t help a damn thing. Deep breath. This too would pass. A few days and no doubt they’d be talking about someone else, and my stalker would be behind bars. This would all be over and I could go back to my normal life of coming and going as I pleased. After all, it couldn’t be any worse than when my idiot cheating ex’s sex tape hit the internet and I survived that. I’d been working in New York and all of the attention during that emotionally upsetting time was an unhelpful pain in the ass, and then some.

  The gates to the underground parking garage beneath my building clanged shut behind us and I breathed a sigh of relief. “You might as well head home. I’ll be staying in for the rest of the night.”

  “I’ll see you upstairs and check your apartment. Then I’ll be on my way.”

  “But the building has security.” I undid my seatbelt. “You think that’s really necessary?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  I exhaled. Chin up, shoulders back, tits out. Time to pull my shit together and make my mom proud. “Okay then.”

  He went before me, first checking that the elevator was empty, then he checked the hall outside my apartment.

  “Your keys and security alarm code please, miss?” he asked, hand held out
waiting.

  It might have just been me, but we seemed to be standing awfully close together. It almost seemed weirdly intimate. Almost. No, my bad. Ziggy wore his usual professional façade with nary a hint of emotion on display. His gaze was shuttered, his bearing military rigid. It was definitely just me and my overactive imagination. Being vaguely attracted to your bodyguard was kind of a pain in the ass. Not that I couldn’t use the distraction right now.

  Ziggy continued to stand there patiently waiting.

  “Keys. Right.” I rummaged inside my Balenciaga City bag. Designer goodies were not only a weakness of mine, but a happy perk of being in the industry and achieving some small fame. “Ah, just a minute. They’re in here somewhere.”

  I pushed aside my purse, a cashmere shawl, tampons, a candy bar, some loose change, my small Chanel cosmetics case, a power bank, hair ties, pepper spray, a copy of the latest Sarah MacLean book, mints, a spare charging cable for my cell phone, the cell phone itself, Chapstick, Prada sunglasses case, my grandma’s rosary, dental floss, deodorant, a couple of pens, Kleenex, ear buds, water bottle, a USB stick, reusable straw, condoms, nail file, some old receipts, a travel size umbrella, hand sanitizer, lotion, a pair of pearl earrings, tweezers, Advil, a hair band, and some bobby pins.

  “Sorry about this,” I murmured. “I know I put them in here when we left.”

  He said nothing. A whole lot of nothing.

  “Huh.” With a great sense of victory, I held up a bottle of nail polish. “I thought I’d lost this.”

  One of his dark brows crept upwards.

  “I’ll have you know this color was limited edition. Little Death at Midnight by Oxley. You can’t buy it anymore.”

  His lips did not move, but that damn eyebrow arched even higher as he leaned forward a little and took in the contents of my bag. I swear his eyes widened.

  “Don’t you judge me. All of these things are necessary for my ongoing existence.”

  “Of course they are, miss.” The man was so judging me. Bastard. “You carry a koozie around with you, I see.”