Between Us (The Renegade Saints #3) (6 page)

He gestures down the hall behind him. “Take this and go to the first door on the right. You need to have your photo taken for your staff badge which you’ll need to wear anytime you’re backstage. After the picture, you’ll head down the hall to meeting room A.”

I read the notecard as I power walk down the hall toward the photo room. It contains basic information about me and clears me for unrestricted access to the band.
Holy hell—it’s getting real.
It’s a struggle resisting the urge to cheer.

Somehow I manage not to smile like a deranged idiot as my photo is taken. The process is simple and quick. It’s obvious the team in charge works like a well-oiled machine. Two minutes after the photo is taken, I’m handed a lanyard with a security badge attached to the end. My fingers tremble as I turn the badge over in my hand.

DEVON BANNISTER: DIRECTOR

My stomach flips excitedly as the word
director
jumps out at me. The badge makes it all official. Millions of people are going to see my work—and it’s up to me to make sure they like what they see. I pray to do the piece justice as I slide the lanyard over my head and start walking toward the meeting room. At the door, a new guard scans my badge.

My posture is impeccable as I enter the room and I hope I appear confident, not completely overwhelmed. By my estimate, there are about a dozen people here already. I’m happy I don’t see any of the band members amongst the assembled group. I didn’t arrive as early as I hoped, but at least I got here before they did.

I startle like a cat when someone taps my shoulder. Turning, I find myself looking at a beautiful young woman with a clipboard in her hand. She’s got a pretty sweet rockabilly style going on. Her hair is done in an amazing fifties style, her glasses are pink and horn-rimmed and her makeup is flawless. She’s ridiculously beautiful, too.

“Name?”

“Devon Bannister.”

She nods to herself as she marks something off on her clipboard. When she’s finished she looks up and gives me a welcoming smile.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Devon. I’m Lacey, the tour coordinator. If you need anything at all, you come to me.”

My appreciative smile is huge. She’s easy-going and happy, which is what I was hoping for.

“I’m sure I’ll have questions. Right now I’ve got a case of first-day-itis,” I admit quietly, hoping people around us don’t hear me.

Lacey smiles at me warmly as she pats my arm encouragingly. “Don’t be nervous. This is a phenomenal group of people and today’s an easy day. You’re going to meet the band and the management, and we’re going to discuss the autobiography and the documentary. You’ll get to meet the biographer, too, which is great because you’ll be working closely together. Oh! And I almost forgot,” she continues, “I’ll be the go-between for you and the band as you coordinate the filming schedule.

“They each have personal assistants,” she clarifies, “but for the sake of making your life easier, I’ll be the point of contact. You can call me anytime, day or night. You’re being assigned an iPhone for the duration of the assignment. It has all of my numbers programmed in, as well as the numbers of the management team, the biographer, the photographer and, of course, the band.

“You already signed all the confidentiality agreements which means you were told not to share their phone numbers with anyone,” she says in a serious tone. “I still have to reiterate it though—no sharing.”

I nod my head in understanding. “I would never,” I assure her.

“I can tell,” she says. “Feel free to add your family and friends to your phonebook if you don’t feel inclined to carry two phones.”

Lacey has been a font of information, and I feel like I should be taking notes to retain everything she just blurted out. I have no time to ask follow-up questions because she’s already turning her attention to whoever entered the room behind me.

“Name?”

“Ian Monroe,” a male voice replies.

I can’t keep myself from turning to see if the face matches the cute-sounding voice. I’m not disappointed as I get a look at a hot as hell surfer looking guy. He’s tall, blond, tan, and built like a god. Abercrombie models would look like dogs next to this guy.

“Oh, hey Ian!” Lacey says excitedly. “It’s great to finally put a face with the name. I’m sorry I was out sick the day you started. Word is you’ve been having a great time with the guys for the last week, though. I can’t wait to read
all
the dirt you’re getting. You arriving now is a case of perfect timing,” Lacey announces as she excitedly claps her right hand against her clipboard.

“Devon, this is Ian, the band’s biographer. Ian, this is Devon. She’s filming the documentary. The two of you will be working closely together, so now’s a good time to get to know each other. Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but duty calls. We’ll talk again soon!”

Lacey hurries off to deal with whoever’s entering the room next, her departure leaving Ian and I alone together.

Ian’s eyes meet mine when he gives me a big California surfer boy smile. I swallow nervously as I look him over. Lord help me, the man has dimples. DIMPLES! The damn things are no better than deadly weapons toward the female sex. We melt for those bad boys.

Reaching out, Ian shakes my hand.

“Hey, Dev. It’s great to meet you!”

“Great to meet you, too,” I murmur as I force myself to look up into his eyes as opposed to continuing to stare at his dimples.

My nerves are a thing of the past for two reasons. First, I’ve met two people I’ll be spending the majority of the following year with and they—thank God—seem cool. Second, I’m mentally calculating ways to get on top of—or under—Ian Monroe.

When our handshake ends, Ian gestures toward the large boardroom-type table. The wood is polished to a fine sheen and there are bottles of water in front of each seat. It’s all very professional looking.

“Let’s grab some seats so we can talk.”

I would love to grab a seat—preferably his lap. I do my best to harness my inappropriate thoughts as I settle into the large leather chair Ian pulls out for me. When he turns to take the seat next to me, I catch a glimpse of his very fine ass.

After settling in, he leans over, closer to me.

“You and I should get together—”

I’m thinking the same thing. One-night-stand, here I come.

“—to brainstorm.”

Oh.

Right.

Work.

Clearly, my brain is already storming, yet I can’t think of anything appropriate to say. I nod stupidly before forcing out a pathetic, “Uh huh.”

I sound like a total dip. I bet he’s wondering how the hell I landed such an important job. I’m giving the impression I can’t string a series of words together and that won’t do. I snap myself out of it by digging my nails into my palm, which centers me and gives me the jolt I need to get it together.

“Lacey mentioned you’ve been working with the band already,” I comment. “How’s it been going?”

The hint of a blush spreads across his cheeks. It’s minimal and gone in the blink of an eye, but I know it was there. I wonder if Ian is star struck by the guys in the band. With their fame as wide reaching as it is, I guess it wouldn’t be surprising if he were an über fan.

Pulling the water bottle at his seat forward, he twists the cap off as he nods.

“They’re excellent,” he answers. “I’ve done three autobiographies before this; one was about the early eighties punk scene in LA, one was about an East Coast rap group and the other was about a Christian gospel act. Working with Renegade Saints is going to be the biggest biography I’ve ever done—maybe the biggest I’ll ever do. It’s fuckin’ awesome. I’m at the beginning stages but I can already tell it’s going to be huge.”

My smile is one of relief. My biggest fear when taking the job without meeting the band first had been the worry they’d be closed up tighter than the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts.

“You think they’ll be as open once my cameras start rolling?”

He nods firmly as he takes a sip of water.

“Absolutely. They weren’t talked into this,” he assures me. “They put the plan together themselves. No arm-twisting necessary to get them to open up—they’re all in.”

The definitive tone of his answer thrills me. It’s exactly what I was hoping for. Opening my own water, I smile at him.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”

I’m about to pepper him with more questions when I realize the room has grown quiet. Raising my head, I see Lacey waving her hand excitedly. Once she has everyone’s attention, she announces to the room that the band is arriving.

First through the door is the band’s bassist, Tyson Allen. I get his appeal because his attractiveness is undeniable. He’s beautifully built and his features are arresting. Even from across the room I’m quite taken by his eyes. They’re a beautiful light green and they stand out in a crowd, for sure. He’s also got what my best friend would call swagger.

He greets Lacey with a quick kiss on the cheek before whispering something in her ear that causes her to let out a laugh snort. She hits him playfully on the arm before gesturing to a seat at the table. He gives her a sexy smirk that she rolls her eyes at before he turns to make his way to his seat. I watch his movements with interest. He puts on a good show, but I sense all is not what it seems with him.

I don’t have the opportunity to continue studying Tyson since the next band member is coming in. This time it’s the drummer, Gavin Wilde. I’ve watched enough footage in the preceding weeks to know he’s on the quieter side. Many people say he’s intense. What I notice right away, though, is that he’s a watcher, like me. He assesses the room and the people in it as he enters, and I get the feeling he doesn’t miss much. Watchers notice the people around them and take it all in. I make a mental note to ensure our interview times can go long. People like Gavin are gold mines for documentarians.

The lead singer of the Saints, Flynn Rand, comes through the door next. I admit while doing research on the band, I
may
have developed a teeny crush on him. He’s big, he’s built, and he’s beautiful. Who doesn’t love big, built beautiful guys? For the record, the answer to that question is me. In person, there’s no kind of a spark. Yeah, he’s hot, but my panties aren’t melting off even a little bit.

The last member of the band to come in is right on Flynn’s heels. Music fans around the globe believe Cole Hayes might as well have hands made of pure gold. His talent is celebrated and envied worldwide, a legend in his own time.

All of those facts are forgotten within a nanosecond. When his eyes meet mine, everything else fades away. I completely forget I’m assessing him as part of my job. In fact, my job isn’t even on my mind for more seconds than I care to admit.

I came across dozens—hell, hundreds—of photos of Cole while doing research, and at no time did I feel an attraction to him. I understood he was attractive—tall and lean with a subtle air of bad boy—and I could and did appreciate it, but he wasn’t necessarily my type. I’ve always gone for clean-cut guys, not world-famous rock and rollers.

Or, he wasn’t my type… until five seconds ago when he walked into the room and his eyes landed on me. Suddenly, a six-foot-two rock legend with dark blond hair and a closely trimmed beard is number one on the list of what my type is. I feel a full on lightning storm—with multiple strikes—zoom through me from head to toe, one on top of the other.

Cole’s eyes widen and he stills for a few seconds, cocking his head to the side. He’s staring at me as if
I’m
the one
confusing
him
. The feeling is beyond mutual. Our eye contact is severed when Flynn turns around and says something to him. I steady my breathing—and just barely keep from fanning myself—as the two of them make their way to seats across from where I’m seated.

I can’t believe what a fickle skank I’m being. Not five minutes ago, I was thinking about tackling Ian to the floor. Suddenly, he’s being put out to pasture in favor of Cole. My sex drive has really picked a
great
day to go haywire. I must need to spend some personal time with my Lelo as soon as I get home. That’s got to be what this is. I’m in need of a big
O
. Simple. Easy.

I’m flustered as hell, but desperate to get my head back in the game. I brought a notebook with me and I furiously scribble notes in it throughout the meeting. The entire time, I sense Cole watching me from across the table. My skin feels heated from the intensity of his laser-like stare and my arms are covered in goosebumps. It’s a struggle, but I do my best not to look up and stare at him.

Why him?

Why here?

Why now?

My job is on the line—the biggest of my career—and I’m acting like a high school girl with a first day crush. I decide back-to-back sessions with my vibrator may well be in order.

After the band’s manager finishes speaking, Lacey takes control of the meeting in order to make introductions. When it’s my turn to be introduced, I notice Cole is listening attentively to everything being said about me.

For the rest of the meeting, I try to focus on taking notes. It’s pretty hopeless, and I know later I’m going to be kicking myself about it. I’ve essentially written shorthand gibberish that will be of no help to the film. I’m constantly aware of Cole’s eyes on me—I’ve looked up several times and met his gaze. Didn’t matter how many times I told myself not to, it was as if I couldn’t ignore the need to look at him, even for a second. Every single time I looked up and our eyes met, I felt a current of electricity zinging through my body. He does seem to be paying special attention to me. He’s certainly spent more time staring at me than doing anything else during the entire course of the meeting.

After the meeting concludes, Ian turns back to me.

“Hey, I’m getting kind of hungry,” he announces. “Wanna go to lunch with me? I’ll catch you up on everything I’ve gotten so far, maybe it will give you shooting ideas.”

Before I can say anything, Cole is at my side. Good Lord, whatever cologne he’s wearing immediately makes my thighs clench. He smells like sex and it’s lethal to my brain and my libido. I want to rip off his clothes and slide down on him for a ride. I’m freaking horrified by the direction of my thoughts, and I can’t stop the head to toe body flush that I know is spreading. I would bet money he sees it.