Because of You

I skim the pages one last time and the information on the last page jumps out at me, just like it had every time I read through this shit.

Layla was an overnight star and through the years her fans have remained loyal and enthusiastic, embracing each new record with mounting fervor. Given her overnight success and increased net worth, Layla has remained humble and close to her roots.

I snort to myself at that last line, knowing full well either Layla herself or someone in her camp came up with those carefully constructed words. No one born with a silver spoon in her mouth and worth more money than I will ever see in my lifetime could still be humble.

YOU were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.

I ignore the words my conscience screams. Sure, my parents have money, and Gwen and I had grown up well-off, but we didn’t take advantage of that shit, and we didn’t stick around long enough for it to change us. We are normal, everyday people who have to work hard for the money we earn, and we don’t take handouts from anyone. We are grateful for what we’ve been given, and Gwen and I have been through more hard times than this Layla Carlysle could even imagine. I may not have been in the private detective business for long, but what I see doing this job and my time as a cop in Nashville has given me enough real life experience about just how the world’s rich and famous behave: always a good show for the public—all sweet and innocent—and then as soon as the cameras are off and no one is looking, they turn into man-eating sharks ready to chew up and spit out anyone who got in their way.

I quickly refold the papers and shove them back into my coat pocket as the door to the conference room opens. I keep up my I’m-bored-to-death-and-don’t-give-a-rat’s-ass attitude as an entourage of five people enter the room, ending with the object of this meeting.

Google image search and YouTube don’t have anything on Layla Carlysle in person. She stalks into the room wearing a tattered jean skirt that clings to her hips and ends not much further down, showing off smooth, toned legs that look a mile long with the four-inch f*ck me heels on her feet. The click of her shoes on the tile floor as she rounds the long table forces my gaze away from the naked legs I so desperately wanted to slide my hands up so I can feel if they’re as smooth as they look. She tucks them away behind the glossy mahogany table, which is probably for the best. The first thing that strikes me about her is that she’s not all done up in pageant hair, make-up, and sequins like she usually is in all the pictures I've seen of her online. The black, long-sleeved Jimi Hendrix concert T-shirt she’s wearing looks out of place with the image I had in my mind of how she’d look in person. That thing looks like it’s swallowing her whole. It isn’t molded to her body like the get-up she normally wears in the tabloids, but it does hang loosely off of one arm, and I can see a glimpse of the skin of her shoulder. There is a major contrast in public Layla and private Layla, ending with her hair. The wild, wavy blonde mane that is usually always around her shoulders and trailing down her back is pulled away from her face in some kind of messy knot thing at her neck, some of the strands escaping the knot and framing her face. If I didn’t know what kind of person this chick was, I’d have to say that she had been hand-picked for me with the concert t-shirt, the long legs, the natural face without all that gunk on it, and the blonde hair that isn't a fire hazard from all the hairspray…in other words, perfect.

F*ck, stop ogling the client. And absolutely stop picturing her naked.

As Layla takes a seat directly across from me, I stare her down until she removes a pair of black sunglasses with a band of crystals near the temples that probably cost more than my townhouse.

Startling, crystal blue eyes look at me from beneath the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen as everyone else that has entered the room with her takes their seats and calls out greetings.

She eyes me with a small hint of annoyance on her face, her eyebrows furrowing as she studies me and her full, heart-shaped mouth pressed tightly in a straight line with no sign of a smile anywhere.

Good. Let her be pissed. It will make this job so much easier when she starts acting like a bitch and I can put her in her place when she realizes she’s not the one calling the shots this time.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming in on your day off,” Eve says to the room from her place at the head of the table. “I’ve called you all here to discuss a concerning matter that, as of late, has forced me to take some extreme measures.”

Eve is cut off suddenly as the conference room door flies open and all eyes turn and see a tall, brown-haired man waltz in. I groan internally as he smirks, watching all of the women in the room sit up straighter and begin fidgeting with their hair and clothing. I can only assume the six foot-one, a hundred and seventy pound, lean-muscled man who makes his way over to the empty chair next to Layla is Finn Michaelson: current bodyguard to the diva. And if the tabloids and Gwen are to be believed, Layla’s on-again, off-again lover. I have a dossier on every single person who surrounds Layla on a daily basis. I know Finn Michaelson used to be a Marine before receiving an honorable discharge five years prior for being wounded in action in Afghanistan. The bullet he’d taken to the left shoulder meant he's no longer fit for combat, but he is still an excellent marksman and could disarm and overpower a threat faster than you could blink.

On paper, I figure I could get along quite well with Finn Michaelson, even though on principal, the fact that we were Navy/Marine should mean we remain archenemies. But sitting here, watching him eye-f*ck every female in the room and smirking at the irritation on my face I can’t manage to mask makes me rethink my opinion of the ex-Marine. I don’t have the time or the patience for some pretty-boy who can’t keep his dick in his pants. As a bodyguard, this guy should be more concerned with who he's protecting than who he's going to take to bed later that night. The number one rule in this business: never mix it with pleasure. Finn Michaelson has a lot to learn.

With a fist-bump to one of the production managers as he walks by, I watch closely as Finn gets to Layla’s side and leans down, pressing his lips to her offered cheek with a loud smack before pulling out his chair, momentarily diverting her attention from me.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” I hear Finn whisper to her, his eyes straying to a woman across the table from him as he blatantly checks out the cleavage popping out of her shirt.

He flops down in his chair and clasps his hands behind his head, refusing to break his eyes from my glare.

“As I was saying,” Eve says irritably, shooting a nasty look in Finn’s direction, “Layla has been receiving some very troubling correspondence the last few months. I’ve decided to hire a third party to investigate the issue and help make sure everyone on this tour, not just Layla, is safe and secure. Mr. Brady Marshall will be with us twenty-four seven to make sure we are doing everything we can to protect ourselves and to find out just how big of a threat the person sending these letters seems to be. Whatever questions he has, you answer them as honestly and thoroughly as possible. Anything he tells you to do, you do it without question. And that goes for every single person at this table.”

Eve stares pointedly at Layla, most likely knowing full well that her daughter will be the most difficult one to get on board with this plan.

Oh this is going to be too much fun.

Everyone goes around the room introducing themselves to me, and I nod at each person in return. Even with memorizing everyone’s names and faces while they say hello and tell me what their job titles are, my eyes remain trained on Layla as she glares at her mother the entire time.

“I know you aren’t happy about this, but I’m only doing it to make sure nothing happens to you,” Eve pleads with Layla, a hint of an emotional quiver lacing her voice.

Finn covers up a small snort of laughter with a cough and a hand over his mouth, and my eyes flash to his face with a stern glare. I turn my gaze back to the woman across from me and watch a muscle tick in her jaw as she stares at the older woman standing at the head of the table.

I find it pretty interesting she obviously knows nothing about me being hired to protect her. And by the looks of it, she isn’t too thrilled.

Even from this distance, I can see tears pooling in Eve’s eyes. She is genuinely concerned about her daughter, and this spoiled brat better take notice of that real quick and cut back the attitude she's giving the older woman.

Picking her sunglasses up from the table in front of her, Layla slides them back on to her face and covers up those gorgeous blue eyes.

Jesus, what is wrong with me? She’s just a woman. An insanely hot woman whose legs I can just imagine wrapped around my waist while her blue eyes stare up at me as I pound into her.

“Fine, whatever you need to do. If that’s all, I need to get to sound check and go over the new set list with the band,” Layla states in a quiet, bored voice as I readjust myself after the mental image running through my brain.

Eve nods in Layla’s direction, a look of pleasure on her face, obviously relieved her daughter has gone along with the plan without too much of a fuss. Everyone else at the table stands up and starts to leave, waving their goodbyes and saying their nice-to-meet-yous to me as they walk out of the room. Layla, Finn, and I are the last to stand. The three of us walk down our respective sides of the table at the same time until I’m standing in front of the door, blocking Layla’s exit with Finn standing close behind her.

Layla comes to a sudden stop before she barrels into my chest, the top of her head stopping right at my chin so she has to look up at me. Even with her eyes artfully hidden behind her dark sunglasses, I can see the irritation all over her face. She crosses her arms protectively in front of her, and I can’t help but smirk down at her as her eyes trail up and down, taking stock.

The head in my pants that does most of my thinking for me tries to prove he's in charge when once again, my brain is filled with images that have no right being there. I suddenly have the urge to yank her hair out of its knot so all of those soft waves are sliding across my thighs as she takes me in her mouth or maybe just clutch a handful of her hair in my fist as I bend her over the desk in the corner and slam inside of her. The photos on the internet and the videos Gwen made me watch don’t do this woman justice. Saying she is beautiful and has a body made for sin is an understatement. Her blatant perusal of me makes my dick twitch and my mood sour.

“Can I help you with something?” Layla asks with just the right amount of attitude in her voice, a voice that practically flows out in song form even with the arrogance in it. No wonder she became a singer. That voice is silky smooth with just a touch of gravel in it that's practically made for singing rock ballads or belting out the blues. She could be the next Lita Ford or Janice Joplin. So why the f*ck is she wasting time singing teeny-bopper shit? Because that’s where the money is, obviously.

I force myself back into professional mode and remember who it is I'm dealing with: a spoiled bitch.

Feeling in the mood to play with her a little to gauge just how many buttons of hers I can push without even trying, I lean my head down until my mouth is close to her ear, breathing in the soft, floral scent, from what I assume is expensive-ass perfume probably harvested from diamonds and shit.

“I’m sure you can help me with a lot of things, Miss Carlysle. But for right now, you can get me a list of everyone you know who doesn’t like you.”

I move back away from her a few inches and watch as the breath she’d been holding slowly leaves her lungs.

Well isn’t that cute. Little princess is affected by my close proximity. Good to know.

I look down at her and smirk, totally enjoying the movement at the corners of her mouth as her full lips began to form a small, friendly smile, and she lets down her guard just a little bit.

Perfect. A little bit is all I need to make her realize she isn’t running this show anymore.

“I’m sure that list is pretty f*cking long, so you might want to get busy,” I finish with a wink.

The partial smile dies from Layla’s face, and with a huff, she brushes past me, slamming her shoulder into mine.

With a chuckle to myself and a wink to her boy toy as he follows close on her heels, I pull my own sunglasses out of my inside coat pocket and slip them on before turning to follow the woman who's most likely cursing my name.





“That arrogant prick. Who the hell does he think he is?” I ask Finn angrily as we walk out into the bright sun and over to his black Chevy Tahoe.

“I think he’s—”

“I’m sure that list is pretty f*cking long, so you might want to get busy,” I say in a deep, scruffy voice, mimicking said arrogant prick and cutting Finn off as I carry on with my tirade.

I wince as I sit down on the scorching hot leather seats, but even having my thighs and ass on fire right now doesn’t stop me from continuing.

“What kind of a guy says that to his client? A pompous a*shole, that’s who. What a piece of work. He’s not fooling anyone with that leather jacket, tight T-shirt, and dark stubble. Talk about having a long list of people who don’t like you,” I complain angrily as Finn starts up the SUV and blasts the air conditioning before pulling out of the parking lot. “That guy probably has a list that could circle the globe twice and still have enough names left over to make it to the moon and back.”

My outburst comes to a stop when I realize Finn is completely silent, which is pretty unusual for him. Finn always has something to say, especially when it comes to me.

“Are you even listening to me?” I ask, glancing over at him just in time to see a smirk disappear. “Were you just smirking at me?”

Finn lets out a small laugh as he hits the turn signal at the first intersection.

“Layla, I have been listening to every single word you say. Listening and taking notes. You think Billy Badass is pretty, and you want to play with his gun,” Finn states sarcastically, dimples forming on his cheeks as he presses his lips together in irritation. His bright blue eyes are swimming with anger hidden just below the surface.

“Are you high? You haven’t listened to one word I’ve said since we got in this car. I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt even though Eve hired him, and surprise, surprise, he shows his true colors.”

I turn my gaze to the front window and cross my arms over my chest with a huff.

Why the hell did he have to smell so good? From a distance, the jerk seemed bored and like he hadn’t showered or shaved in days. Up close, he was all chiseled jaw hidden underneath day-old stubble, and I had a fleeting thought about what that prickly hair would feel like scratching against my inner thighs. A recent shower was evident by the clean, soapy smell with a hint of masculine body wash that came from him and surrounded me, tickling my senses since I stood so close.

I almost sniffed his f*cking shirt. I actually looked him up and down like he was a piece of meat, which he obviously noticed. Son of a bitch!

“We don’t know anything about this guy yet. Just because Eve hired him, doesn’t mean he’s all bad. Although, I have to say, a little bad might do you some good,” Finn says with another smile aimed my way while we wait at a stop light.

“If he’s on my mother’s payroll, he’s the enemy. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past year, it’s that. With the exception of you, of course,” I tell him, pasting a fake smile on my face to hide the pain my words bring.

I can feel Finn’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look over at him. I can’t stand the look of pity that I know is on his face.

“Not every guy you meet is going to be like Sam,” Finn says softly.

I bite down on my bottom lip and squeeze my eyes closed to ward off the memories that name brings, but it’s no use. They overwhelm me and I can’t help but succumb to them, just like I do every time I think of him.





Stepping into the bathroom at the Los Angeles Staples Center during a commercial break at the Grammys, I rush into an empty stall while Finn stands guard just outside the door, and Sam waits for me back in our seats. As I secure the lock on the bathroom door, a sparkle catches my eye, and I glance down at the six carat, radiant-cut diamond on the ring finger of my left hand. After seven months of dating, Sam dropped down on one knee and proposed last week. It was fast, I was young, and Finn wouldn’t stop listing all the reasons why it was a bad idea to marry Sam Stettner, a twenty-eight-year-old rising star in the country music industry. Sam liked to call me his lucky charm. He’d been trying to make a break in the industry for years, and a few weeks after we started dating, his new album went to the top of the charts, and he’d been in high demand ever since.

Finn just didn’t understand how lonely I was. Finn had never been lonely a day in his life; women always wanted to be close to him or love him. The small handful of relationships I’d had over the years always fizzled quickly. The guys couldn’t handle my tour schedule or other people demanding my attention. Mostly, they couldn’t handle the fact that I was a huge star, their egos often getting the best of them and the green-eyed monster of jealousy rearing its ugly head. But Sam was different. He was happy for all of my success, and since he was in the business, he understood everything that being a singer entailed. He supported whatever decision I made, and for the first time, my mother and I were actually civil to one another. She liked the idea of Sam and I together and fully supported our upcoming marriage. Normally, the things my mother wanted me to do made me cringe, and I attempted to do the exact opposite just to piss her off. But I couldn’t do that with Sam. I loved him too much to be petty.

As I hung my red sparkly clutch, that matched my Badgley Mischka dress perfectly, on the hook behind the door, two female voices broke the silence in the spacious bathroom. Instantly, I recognized them and smiled to myself. Chloe and Aubrey were my two back-up singers. Both had been with me since the very beginning. They were three years older than me, and growing up on the road as a teenager, they helped me with my homework and gave me advice on boys that I couldn’t or wouldn’t ask my mother for. They were good friends, and I was glad to have them in my life.

“Did you get a look at that gaudy rock he stuck on her finger? Jesus. Talk about obvious. I’ll take 'I’m Trying to Buy Your Trust’ for two-thousand, Alex.'” Chloe laughed as I heard the faucet turn on.

“She is so damn clueless it’s sad. I almost feel bad about f*cking him last week while she was at the studio, but then I remembered how much money she makes in just one f*cking weekend and it doesn’t seem to bother me anymore,” Aubrey added, the contempt obvious in her voice.

I held my fingers still against the door lock where they froze seconds ago when the conversation began. I had begun to leave the stall to say hello, but now I couldn’t do anything but stand here holding my breath with my heart beating out of my chest.

They weren’t talking about me. There was no way this could be about Sam and me. They wouldn’t do that to me.

“It’s not her fault her mother bribed him to go out with her by guaranteeing his music would see the light of day, and he got a bonus for scoring a ‘yes’ when he popped the question. With a ring her mother bought using her money, no less,” Chloe told Aubrey with obvious fake pity lacing her voice. “But really, have you ever met anyone so stupid?”

The water turned off and the sounds of purses unzipping and compacts opening and closing took its place.

“Layla walks around here like she’s such hot shit. I’m so sick of it. If you ask me, she deserves to marry that greedy dick,” Aubrey added with scorn. “But oh what a dick it is!”

The two women cackled together like witches while they finished touching up their make-up and walked out of the bathroom, never noticing Finn standing guard around the corner, completely oblivious to the devastated occupant in the bathroom.

I faked a stomach bug once I was finally able to pull myself up off of the bathroom floor that night. With one look, Finn knew I didn’t have any kind of bug. He could read it all over my face.

“I would never say that to you. Unless of course you completely lose your mind and take that idiot back. At which point, I might have to give you some harsh, strongly worded pieces of wisdom. ”

I forced out a watery laugh and burrowed my face deeper into Finn’s neck as he tightened his arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, Layla. I can’t believe Eve would do that to you. That heartless bitch is getting a piece of my mind when she gets home tonight,” Finn stated angrily.

“No!” I exclaimed loudly, pulling my head away from the comfort of him so I could look at his face. “You also have to promise me that you’ll leave it alone. Leave Eve alone. She’s already threatened to go to the tabloids about your past and—”

Finn reached a hand up and covered my mouth with his fingers. “Hush. I’m not afraid of Eve. I’m sick and tired of her doing this to you. I can’t just stand by and let it continue to happen.

I pulled his fingers away from my mouth and put on an air of confidence that I didn’t feel.

“I’ll be fine. I’m strong. I can handle whatever she throws at me, you know that. You’re my best friend, Finn. I would never forgive myself if she went through with her threats. You finally have some peace in your life. You’ve forgiven yourself for the things that happened in Afghanistan. You’ve moved on with your life and all of that is buried now. I will not let her bring everything out into the open and ruin that for you.”

Finn pulled me in closer and placed a soft kiss on the top of my head.

“We’ll find a way. I swear to God, someday we will find a way to make that woman pay,” Finn promised.





When Sam called to check up on me a few days after the Grammys, I told him I didn't love him, and I kept the ring. Sam sure as hell wasn’t getting it back. I figured since it came out of my money, I might as well pawn it and give the proceeds to charity. My mother was beside herself when I told her I called off the engagement, saying I always ruin everything and that I should be ashamed of myself for hurting a perfectly good man.

I could have thrown it all back in her face, told her exactly what I overheard in the bathroom that day, letting her know I was finally finished with her manipulations.

I know exactly how far that would've got me. I know what happens when you defy my mother, and I will never make that same mistake again. I'm still paying the price for the one time I dared to stand up to her, still fielding questions from reporters who just won't let it go. I'm struggling to not feel ashamed for being so weak and backing down so easily when she won't budge just one little inch in regards to my music. All I want to do is record one song of my own. One. Just to see if it will go anywhere. Eve Carlysle doesn’t let anyone make decisions like that but her. If it were just about me, I'd take her wrath again and again without hesitation. But it's not just about me. Finn’s life and his well-being are at stake as well. Eve would crush him and the progress he’s made since the war without batting an eye. She made her intentions known the first time he even hinted at exposing her and what she’s done to me over the years. Finn told me all about the fight he had with her when he was first hired as my bodyguard. How she threatened to tell everyone that he wasn’t the good guy he claimed to be. She had found out about how the war and PTSD finally caught up to him one night overseas. He had killed innocent civilians and did things he was ashamed of, things he couldn’t even bare to share with me they were so ugly. He was dishonorably discharged from the marines because of his actions, but Eve made sure those files were sealed so she would always have something to hold over his head. She changed the past, altered his records, and used the information she’d garnered to keep him close and make sure he did exactly what she told him to do. I know Finn is a good person and he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It was all just too much for him, and he lost it for a little while. But he came home, got help, and healed himself and his wounded soul. As much as Finn and I love and care about each other, there's nothing we can do to change things. Finn has kept his promise these last eight months and never once said “I told you so” or tried to stand up to Eve again. I owe him everything and I will do whatever it takes to make sure he is never on the receiving end of her wrath again.

“I know not every guy is like Sam, but every guy will do exactly what Eve says,” I remind him as we pull around the back of the Nashville Convention Center to get ready for the sound check for tonight’s performance. “I mean look at this whole stalker thing she’s contrived. A few weird letters from some guy over the course of a few months and suddenly she feels the need to act like a mother for the first time in her life and hire some thug off the street with a bad boy complex to step all over your toes. And of course she looks like a saint for doing it,” I complain, my arms gesturing around me wildly as I grow more and more agitated when I think about my mother’s actions.

“It was disgusting watching her stand at the head of the conference room table earlier and stare me down with all that fake compassion and concern,” I continue, venom dripping from my voice as Finn puts the car in park but doesn’t kill the engine. “That stupid, ‘I’m an excellent mother’ persona she only exhibits in the company of others. Everyone around that table ate it up and believed the worry she had for me was actually genuine. There was nothing I could do but concede; otherwise I would just look like an ungrateful bitch.”

Finn nods his head in agreement but remains silent. “Especially when I swore I saw the makings of tears in her eyes—the perfect ruse to get everyone in the room on her side as she worried for her poor daughter’s safety. Give me a f*cking break.”

We sat quietly for a few moments, listening to the hum of the engine, both of us staring straight ahead at the huge arena in front of us, lost in our own thoughts. Finn is the first one to speak.

“I’ve seen those letters, Layla. They were weird as hell. This guy travels to every single concert you ever do. He’s made personal assessments about your performances that even the tabloids haven’t caught on to. He’s watching you really closely, and I have to be honest, that scares the shit out of me. And it should scare you as well. You have no idea what this creepy f*ck is capable of. You have no idea what else he already knows about you. I agree with Eve on the fact that we need to be extra concerned when it comes to your safety. I just don’t understand why she felt the need to go behind my back to make that happen.”

I clench my jaw in anger and take a couple of deep, calming breaths before I reply.

“Okay, so you've read the letters that we still aren’t even sure are real. But while you were busy doing that in her office before we left to come here, my lovely mother cornered me right outside the conference room. It’s pretty obvious what her intentions are.”





“Was it really necessary to hire a stranger to look into those letters? Finn is perfectly capable of doing his job,” I told my mother as we stood outside the conference room after everyone had left the building and Finn disappeared to check on something before we followed. “Don’t be so naïve, Layla. Finn is okay at what he does, but he doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head. It never hurts to have someone else looking into this thing,” she told me distractedly as she scrolled through emails on her Blackberry.

“Finn is more than okay at his job and you know it. There has to be another reason you’re doing this, and it doesn’t have anything to do with being concerned about my safety.”

Eve finally looked up from her phone and threw an annoyed look my way, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing together.

“If you’re not safe, we don’t make money, plain and simple. And obviously, having a stalker is always good for publicity. It makes the fans concerned for you and feel sympathetic towards you. By hiring outside help, there’s no way it can be kept a secret. It will be public knowledge by this time tomorrow, and you’ll have everyone eating out of your hands,” she explained, glancing back down at her phone.

“I am not going to deceive my fans. They respect me and they believe in me. What happens when they find out this was all a hoax just to make them feel sorry for me?” I questioned angrily.

“It’s all part of the business, Hummingbird.”

I visibly winced when she used my father’s nickname for me and said it with such scorn in her voice. She knew how much I hated it when she called me that.

“And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t question my decisions again. Otherwise, your precious fans will have a field day when they find out you suddenly went back into rehab,” she said maliciously as she tossed her phone inside of her new Louis Vuitton purse, crossed her arms in front of her, and stared me down. “That little pill problem of yours was a pesky one to put a positive spin on, but I did it. And it can be done again. You think the reporters hound you now about your little stint at Betty Ford, imagine what kind of rabid dogs they’ll turn into if you go back. Obviously, this would all work in my favor because publicity is publicity, and it still sells records. But do you really want all those questions to start again? 'Why did you want to kill yourself, Layla?' 'How could you possibly leave your poor mother behind when she’s done so much for you?' 'You have it all, how could you hate your life so much?' Now, get your ass over to the convention center and stop trying to act like you’re in charge. I own you. I will always own you and you better get used to it, hummingbird.”





I block out the conversation with my mother that was entirely like all the rest of our conversations over the years as Finn finally shuts the car off and we leave the cool comfort of the air conditioning.

“I know we have a right to question Eve’s motives about everything. I’ll quit bugging you about the stalker thing, but in the meantime I’ll do some legwork on this Brady guy and see what his story is. I still have military connections, and they can tell me if he’s on the up and up or just another one of your mother’s puppets. In the meantime, don’t give him any ammunition to use against you. Don’t do anything stupid and tone down the diva ‘tude just a notch when you’re around him,” Finn says with a cocky smile.

“This 'diva ‘tude' is essential to my well-being, my little minion,” I throw back at him, trying to lighten the mood as we knock on a back door to the arena that says Performers Only and wait for it to be answered.

Finn and I both know that pretending to be a music diva is the only thing that keeps me sane most of the time. I can don the fancy clothes and the expensive jewelry and take on an air of sophistication and thinly veiled annoyance with those beneath me like it's a second skin. I have perfected that act over the years, and it’s turned into a perfectly constructed wall that keeps my heart and mind intact and barely bruised. I can pretend like I don’t care what people say about me, ignore the hate my mother surrounds me with, and act like my life is one big deliriously happy ball of parties, awards shows, and concerts. Finn is the only person in the world who knows the real me, who knows all of my hopes and dreams and the pain that eats away at my soul every time I get up on stage and fake a smile and happiness I never feel. Not even Sam, the man I thought I loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life with, had known the real me. The fact that I never even thought about showing him my father’s guitar should have been a warning sign that I didn’t really trust him. We were doomed from the start, and that’s the only thing that makes all of it easier to handle.

A big, burly man with a bald head and skull earring hanging off of one ear finally answers our knock and shares a head nod with Finn before opening the door wider and letting us in.

“Miss Carlysle, it’s good to see you again,” the man says, his voice pleasant and soft and the complete opposite of his appearance.

“Thank you, Bones. It’s good to see you too. Is the band already here?” I ask as we step through the door and follow him down a long, dark hallway.

“Yep, already setting up on stage. Some dude who said he was with security just got here a few minutes ago too. Name’s Brady. He’s on the list your mom gave me so I let him in already. He’s sitting in the back row.”

I thank Bones and Finn shares a handshake with him after he escorts us to the back stage area where I can already hear my bass player running through the scales and my drummer warming up with basic rudiments.

“Oh goody, Brady’s here!” I exclaim to Finn with fake enthusiasm.

“Don’t even try to pretend like the idea of him sitting there in the dark, in the very back row, with his face all broody and stubbly doesn’t get your panties all in a bunch.”

Finn gets a punch in the arm for that comment and my middle finger in his face before I walk away from him and up the stairs leading to the stage to warm up my voice and try NOT to think about the man at the back of the auditorium, watching my every move, and wondering if he’s the enemy.





Like nails on a f*cking chalkboard.

This music is going to drive me right back to drinking, I swear to Christ. All of this techno-electric shit is giving me a headache. Whatever happened to just sitting down at a microphone with an acoustic and a kick ass drummer?

Even though my ears are bleeding with all the synthesizing going on and the top forty, cheesy lyrics, I can’t help but notice how amazing Layla looks on stage. She lights up the whole damn place as she rocks her hips to the beat and struts back and forth from one end of the stage to the other, making sure to use up all available space so the audience who will see her tonight will get their money’s worth. Her choreographed moves are sensual without being over the top and fun without being too campy. I can tell they’ll be just enough to get the younger members of the audience excited and have them jumping in unison with her while the older male members, probably forced to bring their daughters to the concert, wish they knew what she looked like naked. She’s the perfect blend of entertaining and hot on stage.

Too bad she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying one minute of it. The band has just finished their eighth song in the set, and even sitting in the very last row in the twenty-thousand-seat arena so I can observe unnoticed, I can tell she dislikes every minute.

Why the hell is she doing it then?

Pulling out my cell phone, I send a text to Gwen asking her to look into every record she can find, public or private, about Layla Carlysle and her entourage, specifically Finn Michaelson and her mother. I want to see if any of them have a history of making up stories or hey, even stalking. I don’t care if Finn pestered his sixth grade girlfriend with love notes; I want to know about it. I’m still not sure I completely believe that Layla has any kind of a deranged person after her since she’s only received a few notes so far and no real threats have been made, but it’s better to be safe than story. More often than not though, these rich a*sholes feel the need to invent drama when there isn't any, just to put the spotlight back on them. With the amount of enthusiasm I’ve seen on Layla’s face today, I’m going to guess the little princess is just board as f*ck and needs some excitement in her life.

I’m still getting paid, so it’s no skin off my back, but she damn well better not be wasting my time just to give herself a little thrill. There are plenty of other ways I could give that blonde beauty a thrill, and it would involve less time researching and more time with her skirt up around her hips and moans floating past those full lips of hers.

Focus, Brady. Jesus, it’s like you’ve never seen a hot chick before.

I really need to get laid. I need a mindless f*ck to get this thing, whatever it is, out of my system. I don't need any type of distraction on a job, even if it is a pointless waste of my time. Distractions only get the people around you killed.





“I need an ETA on SEAL team four. They were supposed to touch base at twenty-one hundred. I’ve had nothing but radio silence from them, over,” I spoke softly into my earpiece as I rounded the corner of one of the villas, my gun drawn.

Garrett couldn’t find Parker and his worry and anger about that situation had transferred to me. I shouldn’t have left them with Milo. Even though I called it in, and was assured they had cover, I still had an uneasy feeling when I walked away from the three of them. Parker could be anywhere right now having God knows what done to her. I knew she was a pretty bad ass CIA agent, but anyone can be broken.

I switched channels on my wireless mic and tried contacting the back-up SEAL team again. Earlier, distracted by what was going on with Parker, I had rattled off coordinates to the south side of the resort for Captain Risner to give them so they could touch down and start their own clearing of the area to eliminate any threats. I didn’t have time to clear the area ahead of time, but I figured it didn’t matter in a resort this size; they’d be okay no matter where they landed. They were SEALS for Christ’s sakes. They knew how to do their job without me babysitting them.

“Dragon, King, Maxwell. One of you a*sholes come in, over.”

I moved beyond the last villa in the row and headed towards an outcropping of palm trees and other exotic foliage that made up a good couple of acres of ground cover—the perfect place for someone to hide.

Ignoring the silence in my ear, I bent down to a crouch and slowly inched my way into the tropical forest, using the small tactical flashlight on the barrel of the gun to light my way, moving it from left to right as I checked for threats.

A few feet into the brush, my foot smacked against something on the ground. I whipped my gun and flashlight down and my eyes landed on a boot. A Navy SEAL issued, black, hot weather jungle boot.

“Oh Jesus. F*ck! God dammit, Garrett! Why the f*ck did you come out here alone?” I moaned to myself in horror as my flashlight and gun slowly made its way up the woodland-camouflaged pant leg and across the torso bearing the same patterned T-shirt. Then I reached the face.

King, not Garrett.

It was King’s pale face and lifeless eyes that stared up at the Dominican night sky. It was King’s forehead that bore a bloody hole—a kill shot that took his life the instant it was fired. Jared King: a thirty-year-old husband and father who made us all laugh constantly back at the academy with his actor impersonations and shitty karaoke skills.

A pain shot through my chest when I realized the main emotion I felt right now was relief that it wasn’t Garrett on the ground, and I instantly felt guilty. King was a friend. A good friend. One with a new baby at home that he showed everyone pictures of before they even asked.

I pushed aside every emotion inside of me, erecting a wall to block them out, and continued with the job. It was only one person. He knew the risks when he signed on to be a SEAL. There were still two more men on his team that I needed to find and get them the f*ck out of this ambush.

Stepping over the body, I continued on, pushing palm leaves and wildlife out of my way. Just three meters later, the wall came crashing down when I found Dragon and Maxwell in almost the exact same positions as King: unmoving eyes, chests still from taking their last breaths, and a gunshot wound blossoming from between their eyes.

I should have researched the location better before I gave them the coordinates. I should have made sure the area was clear before I dropped them down right in the middle of a trap. They trusted me to lead them into a safe area, and I led them right into hell. I was going to have to tell their wives, girlfriends, and mothers it was my rash decision to get them here as soon as possible for back-up, so Garrett and I could find Parker, that got them killed. They would never celebrate another anniversary with the women they loved, never hug their mother on her birthday, never watch their children grow up.

I knew better than that. I knew not to let anything distract me from a mission.





I blink a few times and shake the dark memory from my mind, forcing myself to remember that I'm not in the tropical landscape of the Dominican anymore. The sudden quiet from the stage brings me back to reality, and I watch as Layla, with her back to the seats, speaks softly to her band members. After a few minutes, she turns and makes her way back up to center stage, pushing the microphone she’s been holding into the mic stand. The drummer counts off with a few smacks of his drum sticks together, and the lead guitarist jumps in with a slow, soulful sound. This isn’t the music I’ve been listening to for the last hour. This song isn’t something made just to shake your ass to. It’s heartfelt and gentle. I watch as Layla stands with one arm behind her back and the other gripping the microphone on the stand tightly. Her eyes close as she starts to sing the first verse. Her voice still has the typical pop music feel that the rest of her songs do, but there is a little more added in—a little more feeling, a little more belief in what she’s singing about: a love gone wrong, regrets, and mistakes. It’s a good song as far as this kind of music goes. It’s not something I would blast in my car, but I wouldn’t make the effort to change the channel if it happened to come on.

Halfway through the chorus, the sound of high heels echo through the arena as Eve marches from the right side of the stage. The floor microphones pick up each click and clack as she walks with purpose directly up to Layla. The band tapers off when they see their boss in front of them, but Layla, with her eyes closed, continues to belt out a few more lyrics until she finally realizes the band isn’t backing her up anymore. The two women stare at each other for several minutes before I hear Eve ask the band to give them a few moments. Without hesitation, everyone puts their instruments down and hustle off stage left.

I lean forward in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees so I can concentrate on what’s going to happen next. I’m sure it’s going to be your typical manager/client pep talk or some shit, but I’m still on the clock and might as well watch the two women and how they interact so I can get a better feel for them.

Eve glances around the stage and arena, making sure everyone is gone, before she starts to speak. Thank God I’m far away and hidden in the dark seats where they haven’t turned the lights on yet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Eve asks Layla angrily.

“I’m warming up, just like you told me to,” Layla replies in a monotone voice, her face blank, not giving away any emotions.

“That song is not on the set list and you know it.”

Eve crosses her arms in front of her and takes on look of authority. Layla finally removes her hand from the mic, dropping both of her arms down to her sides, and I can hear her deep, frustrated sigh through the sound system.

“I know it’s not on the list, but it’s a song from the new album, and I think the fans will want to hear it,” she explains softly.

“I don’t give a shit what you think. You don’t get any thoughts when it comes to this. You sing the fun, upbeat songs you’re supposed to and that’s it. The only reason that song even made it to the album is because Sam wrote it and he demanded credit for it.”

I can practically see the smoke coming out of Layla’s ears when Eve tells her that last part. I have to admit, now I’m invested in this conversation, and I can’t pull myself away even if the building goes up in flames.

“He wrote that song? Tell me you’re kidding. You told me you hired a songwriter to give me a song with a different kind of vibe to switch things up a bit,” Layla states with barely concealed fury, a quiver in her voice giving her away.

“It doesn’t matter what I told you. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone, especially you. What I do is no concern of yours. You screwed everything up when you left Sam. You owed him a little something, even if it was just singing one of his songs on the album,” Eve tells her, pointing her finger in Layla’s face to make her point known.

“I don’t owe him ANYTHING and you know it. You let me give him everything, and it was all just a joke,” Layla fires back.

“Oh, don’t kid yourself.” Eve laughs cruelly. “You didn’t give him anything. You have nothing to give anyone. I should have known better than to try and do something nice for you. You have absolutely no redeeming qualities to make ANY man happy. God knows you’ve done nothing but make my life miserable for twenty-four years.”

Jesus Christ. This woman makes Joan Crawford look like a f*cking saint.

“Keep your trivial opinions to yourself and do as your f*cking told. Sing the set list I gave you.”

Layla doesn’t have any more fiery comebacks for her mother after her last parting remark as she stands with her shoulders drooped and watches Eve turn and walk away with her head held high.

If that bitch was my mother I would tell her exactly where to go and even buy her a f*cking express ticket to get her there faster.

“What in the hell was that?” I mutter to myself as I continue to stare at Layla down on stage. She looks nothing like the diva with an attitude I witnessed earlier and everything like a puppy that was just kicked in the teeth.

“Shocking, isn’t it?”

The quiet voice directly behind me has me tensing my shoulders and spinning around in a protective stance with my fists clenched at my side calculating the threat and waiting to strike.

“Whoa, easy there, rough rider. It’s just me,” Finn says with a smile, his hands held up in the air like I have a gun pointed at him. He’s lucky it’s down in my ankle holster or I would have already had it pressed underneath his chin, threatening his pretty face.

I relax and tip my head in Layla’s general direction. “So, is that the norm around here? Eve smacking the shit out of Layla with her words and Layla just taking it?” I ask.

Finn shrugs and slides his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “That? Oh, that wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. Eve is actually in a good mood today.”

I shake my head in confusion. If that was Eve on a good day, how the f*ck does she act on a bad one?

“Why the hell doesn’t Layla tell her where to stick it? This is her career, her life.”

Finn laughs but it’s not meant to be a cheerful one. It’s a laugh filled with disdain and irritation.

“You would think, wouldn’t you? Layla is the star. She’s the one bringing all the money in and has people falling all over themselves to make her happy. One would naturally assume that she’s the one who makes all the decisions, Chief Marshall,” Finn says with a raise of an eyebrow.

“I’m not with the Navy anymore. It’s just Brady.”

Finn cocks his head at me, a pensive look on his face as he holds his chin in between his thumb and forefinger and furrows his brow.

“Oh, my bad. I just assumed once a SEAL, always a SEAL. The kind of person who shoots first and asks questions later, someone who follows orders no matter who gives them and never thinks for himself. You know, someone who makes snap judgments about a person before they really know anything about them.”

I want to be mad. I really do. I want to punch the smug look off of Finn’s face, but I can’t because he just described me to a T. I can’t even pretend to be offended. Not twenty minutes earlier, in the text I sent to Gwen, I called Layla a “self-centered attention whore.” “You know what happens when you assume, Brady,” Finn adds with a smile.

“Alright, you made your point,” I concede.

“Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Seriously. Shut the f*ck up. I get it. Stop talking in idioms. There’s more to her than meets the eye. Understood.”

A banging noise breaks into our conversation, and we move so we can see the stage. The mic stand that previously stood front and center is now rolling in a giant circle at the far end, and Layla stares after it, her hands on her hips and her chest heaving with what I assume is the remainder of the energy she used to angrily chuck it in that direction.

“I better go check on her,” Finn says quietly, his voice filled with concern as he starts to walk down the aisle behind me.

“You’re her friend. Why haven’t you done something to stop this?” I ask, my words making him stop in his tracks.

“What makes you think I haven’t?” he replies with his back to me.

I watch as he walks out of the row and makes his way down the center aisle to the stage. After a few minutes, making sure he gets to Layla before I go, I head the same way he does, but instead of turning left to the stage, I make a right and head out of the arena.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I and dial Gwen. “Hey, change of plans. Put Finn Michaelson’s background check on the back burner. Focus on Eve Carlysle. Get me everything you can ASAP.”