The knock came on my bedroom door just before midnight.
After our “talk,” we’d pretty much gone back to normal. Jimmy exercised morning and afternoon, usually with at least one of the guys along. Because I wasn’t much of a sobriety counselor, and being Jimmy’s shadow got boring after a while, I’d taken on the role of being his assistant also. I’d check emails, occasionally reading aloud the parts he needed to know. I’d chat with Ev (David’s wife and assistant), whoever the latest poor unfortunate in Adrian, the band manager’s, office happened to be, and the PR person. There’s a lot involved in keeping a rock star organized. These days, I also liaised with the builders and techie types responsible for turning part of the basement into a state-of-the-art studio. With that project nearing completion the guys had started doing their practice and writing sessions here as opposed to at David’s. More room.
All in all, we kept busy.
We inhabited the same house and often the same room, but didn’t necessarily talk much. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but companionable, I’d long since gotten used to it. Usually, after a while, Jimmy would put on some music. Today on the stereo was The Dead Weather, which was fitting, because outside the weather grew steadily worse. Within, however, we were our own peaceful enough world. There’d been some curious side-eyes now and then, but I’d determinedly ignored them all.
He knocked again on my bedroom door. Then, not bothering to wait for permission, charged on in. “Been thinking.”
“I didn’t say you could enter.” I studied him over the top of my reading glasses, lying in the middle of my big bed propped up by no less than three cushions. Comfort mattered.
“It’s my house. Nice jammies. Ducks this time, huh? Cool.” He cast an amused eye over my flannel ensemble, because of course, his highness still looked slick (designer jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt that fit him to perfection) no matter the hour. Sweaty from a run was as mussed as the man ever got. Even then, his dark damp hair appeared to have been styled by the wanton fingers of lingerie model as opposed to the elements.
“You’re just jealous of my awesome stylin’.” I clutched my e-reader to my chest, doing my best to hide my happy nipples. “I bet you sleep in Armani or something, don’t you? Prada, maybe?”
He chuckled.
“What do you want, Jimmy?”
“Never been in here before.”
“You came in here the night you carried me up to bed after I’d crashed on the couch,” I reminded him.
“It was nearly four in the morning. Didn’t stop to look around.” He took a slow tour of the room, casting an eye over my belongings. It could be said I have tidiness issues when it comes to my personal space, clothes lay abandoned on the chair, shoes beneath it. In my bathroom, makeup, hair junk, and feminine hygiene products decorated the grey marble countertop. I’d gotten overly comfortable since moving in here and expanded upon my belongings. The last couple of years, I’d lived a minimal existence. It fit in with all the moving around. The surplus of stuff would make my eventual packing up and moving on a pain.
Jimmy’s brows bunched. “Don’t you let the cleaners in?”
“Of course I do.”
“They come twice a week, Lena. How the hell do you manage to make a mess again so fast?”
“It’s a gift. I don’t leave my things around the rest of the house. This is my personal space and therefore none of your business. Did you barge in here for a reason?”
He faced me, hands on hips. “Yeah, after our talk today, I wanted to know where you were at?”
“So you accept that ordering me to stay doesn’t actually make it so?”
“Maybe.” He meandered on over to my desk and casually started sifting through the debris. Half of the contents of my purse were scattered across the table, along with a couple of magazines. Oh no damn it, one of them lay open. Shit. I’d already had about enough embarrassment today to last me a decade. Please God don’t let him see.
“Leave my stuff alone please, Jimmy.”
“What’s this?” He picked it up, of course he did. Then he began to read. “Guide to getting over him. Interesting.”
“Well you didn’t just expect me to turn tail and run without at least investigating alternatives, did you?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Pretty much.”
“Great. Your faith in me is heartening. So what have you been thinking about?”
“Your feelings,” he deadpanned, looking up from the magazine.
I took a breath. “Jimmy, I’m impressed. You almost managed to say it in a normal voice this time.”
“I practiced downstairs for a while.” He sat on the edge of my bed, legs spread wide, making himself completely at home. Which I guess made sense to a degree.
“So what about my feelings?”
“You know this isn’t half bad. Some of this advice is pretty sound.” He kept on reading.
“You’ve suffered from unrequited passions yourself, I take it?”
He snorted. “Course not. I always got whoever I wanted.”
“Of course you did.” I bowed my head, properly chided. Shame on me for thinking otherwise. Doubtless he’d left a trail of broken hearts behind him an ocean wide.
“Which was not always a good thing.” The arrogance slipped from his face and he frowned, his jaw taut. He stared into the distance, remembering what, I wondered? When he realized I was watching him, he swallowed, gave the magazine a shake. “We should do this.”
“What? Do what?”
“One. You need to get out and see other people.” He winced. “You’re obviously not so great at getting hookups, so don’t worry, I’ll help you out with that. Two. Try to focus on my flaws.”
“You want me to follow the list to help me get over my crush on you?”
“Yeah, stop interrupting. This is important. Two. Focus on my flaws.” He gave me a cursory glance. “I don’t see you having any trouble with that one. Three. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, needy and or angry.”
I pushed up my glasses. “I see.”
“Yeah. Honestly, it’s really unattractive, Lena. No one wants to see that shit.”
“R-i-ght.”
“Four. A bunch of them sort of rolled into one here, again. Go out with friends. Try something new. Get fit. Pamper yourself. Have fun. Enjoy life. Go on a trip. Paint your toenails, whatever the fuck. Blah, blah, blah. You get what I mean.”
“Mm.” I nodded.
“That’s pretty much it.”
“And I’m supposed to follow this?”
He gave me a long look. “You said you didn’t really wanna leave, that you liked the job. Prove it.”
I laughed ever so slightly manically. The decision had been made and it hadn’t been an easy one. Backtracking now did not seem wise. “Jimmy, please. It’s just some stupid magazine article probably written by a bored intern on their lunch break. This is not science. It’s not going to fix anything.”
“Then why was it lying open at this page?”
Good question. Strands of black hair hung over his forehead, hanging in his eyes. Without thought, he pushed them back. My fingers itched to do just that, to brush back his hair and sooth his fevered brow. Now that he seemed particularly hot in the temperature sense.
And he thought some wisdom out of a magazine could cure me.
“Never know, Lena. It just might work.” He dropped the magazine in my lap, gaze pinning me to the spot. “And I think you owe it to me to try.”
My chin went up. “I do, huh?”
“I gave you a chance. Gave you this job, and made every effort to accommodate you. Not fair you’d just take off after not even two months without giving it your best shot. You owe me”
“You hired me because you thought I’d be easier to manipulate than another actual counselor and because Mal and David harangued you. Let’s not lose sight of the truth here.”