“Actually, she’s my boss now.” His smile glowed against his flushed complexion. “We’ll work it out.”
“Oh.” Her forehead wrinkled. Knowing he would be compensated for protecting her eased her guilt a little. “Is that what you want? To work for someone?” Since the Marine Corps, he’d been self-employed. She couldn’t envision him reporting through a chain of command.
“My priority is keeping you safe. As a member of this team, I’ll be able to do that more efficiently. And I happen to like my new boss.”
“What about your employer? Do you like him?”
“No, but you do. That’s enough.”
She started walking along the wide corridor toward the main room, feeling Jay’s absence like an incessant tug. “What’s the plan today?”
“I’m going to get you a cell phone and meet with the security team. You are going to stay on the property until I get back.”
The hall emptied into a gaping, sunlit room and with it came the aroma of sizzling bacon. The open-space kitchen on the right connected to the entertainment room on the left, which flowed seamlessly into the backyard. The U-shaped estate curved around the veranda and pool area, where a smattering of voices carried on the warm breeze.
The walls that would’ve formed the dish of the U were nonexistent. They rolled back somehow, but she couldn’t make out where they fit into the high ceilings. And the ceilings went on forever, magnifying the vastness of the space. The leather seating, electronics and gadgets, artistic light fixtures, and a see-through fireplace at the center gave the room a lived-in feel. Even though she’d lived in luxury under Roy’s roof, she’d never been able to appreciate it. After all, she’d been more a part of the furnishings than an inhabitant.
A tall, leggy blonde sashayed beyond the edge of the in-ground jacuzzi wearing only bikini bottoms, which were held precariously in place by tiny bows on her curvy hips.
Nathan’s hand on her back nudged her forward past the view of sun-bronzed boobs. “Faye’s in the kitchen. Go introduce yourself. I’ll be back. Then we have some things to talk about.” He flicked a finger over his shoulder and exited through the front door beyond the edge of the kitchen.
Who was Faye? Jay’s note had mentioned her—
“You must be Charlee.”
Charlee turned toward the soft voice and was met with a bright smile of a woman in her sixties. Her hair, clipped close all the way around her head, spiked in random tuffs of gray. Huge round hoops of silver adorned her ears and matched the glittering color of her eyes. She slapped a kitchen towel over her slim shoulder and held out her hand. “I’m Faye.”
Charlee grasped it, surprised by the strength of her grip, given the woman’s small stature. “Charlee. Nice to meet you.”
Faye spun toward the long island, which separated the kitchen from the entertainment room. An eye-catching wine glass rack hung over the counter like a chandelier, tinkling as Faye glided past it.
She stopped at the stove, her Boho skirt licking at her ankles in a kaleidoscope of colors. “Are you hungry? I was just scrambling up some eggs for the pigs outside.”
By pigs, did she mean Jay’s bandmates? Charlee leaned against the island. “Are you the—”
“Manager extraordinaire. From band contracts to the hired help, I manage everything for these boys. But I’m not their cook.”
Charlee’s expression must have matched her confusion, because Faye said, “Since they have a concert tonight, I want something sticking to their ribs besides sugar and alcohol. And with the floozies distracting them out there—”
“A concert tonight?” Jay never mentioned a concert. A thrill of excitement kicked through her, but quickly evaporated. Would she have to stay at the house because of the danger Roy posed?
The topless blonde sauntered in from outside and sidled up beside her. “Faye, I need a beer.”
“No, you need a shirt.” Faye’s eyes were piercing slivers of ice. “Get your tits off my counter and put some clothes on.”
The woman huffed. “This isn’t your kitchen or your house, much as you like to pretend.”
Faye crossed her arms, ticking the spatula back and forth. “Yes it is, bitch, and it certainly ain’t yours. No shirt, no booze. Get out.” The chill in her eyes sent a shiver down Charlee’s back.
The overlarge boobs didn’t bounce as the woman stomped to a bag leaning against the couch. Nor did they sag when she bent and pulled on a tight tank top. They seemed to be as hard as her eyes, glaring at Charlee. “Who are you?”
Charlee had limited experience with women, but when her tough, tattoo-seeking clientele hit her with attitude, she retaliated with kindness. She extended a hand toward the woman. “Hi. I’m Charlee.”