Feverish (Bullet #3) (9 page)

That first night was strange. Clay was
definitely a night owl…and she wasn’t. She’d heard him being all
hyper as he often was, watching fifteen minutes of some
CSI
rerun and then going back to the music room and strumming some
chords. Then he’d come back out and get on the phone, microwave
some popcorn, put in a movie, and after a bit, go back to play more
music. She had a hell of a time going to sleep.

It wasn’t until the third or fourth night
that she heard him playing a porn movie on the television.
Jesus.
At first, she hadn’t known. The music was a little
cheesy, but she could barely hear the dialogue. It wasn’t until she
heard the gasping and groaning that she figured out what was going
on. She’d been horrified, thinking at first that maybe Clay was
fucking some woman in the living room.

God. That was embarrassing. She wished she
had a bathroom connected directly to her bedroom in case she had to
go to the restroom or something. That reaction was just thinking of
the worst case scenario. So she wound up covering her head with her
pillow to drown out the noise.

Again, though, it wasn’t that she had a
problem with it necessarily. It was that she had to then picture
Clay
watching the video. She had to wonder what he was
thinking, what he might possibly be doing. It was too much.

She just hoped this wasn’t going to be the
most difficult year of her life.

* * *

It had been a great first week. Not only was
Emily quite easy on the eyes, she was more than he’d ever dreamed
of in terms of a Personal Assistant. All the things he’d hoped to
gradually give to someone else (basically, all responsibility
except his job and the money that came with it) she’d taken over in
a matter of hours. And then she put together a list of things she
thought she could do in addition. It got him to thinking of all the
other bullshit his bandmates had told him he needed to do in order
to keep their fan base interested and engaged.

She was smart. That should have intimidated
him, and it might have, but underneath her cool, professional
exterior, he saw something else. One thing he noticed that he liked
was she seemed to be sweet. In a way, she reminded him of Valerie—a
little naïve and way too trusting. That made the Clay part of him
want to protect her, much like he’d tried to protect Valerie. But
there was a problem…Emily seemed to be attached. He should probably
ask about it, get it all out on the table right now.

The other thing he’d observed when her armor
was down was something smoldering just underneath the coolness.
Once or twice he’d looked up or turned around and he have been
shocked if she’d said she hadn’t been checking him out or thinking
about him in a way that wasn’t completely professional. Again,
though, he didn’t plan to push it. Not only did he want to keep her
as an employee (a job she was already amazing at), he didn’t need a
sexual harassment lawsuit, and Mary had convinced him it would
happen if he wasn’t careful.

He’d definitely have to be cautious.

So, week two, they were in the kitchen. Yeah,
he was actually up before ten AM thanks to this woman. He hadn’t
showered yet, but he was gradually working into being up earlier
day by day. He wondered if she even knew she’d had that influence
on him. The office was clear on the other side of the house, so
even when she was on the phone, her voice didn’t bother him much.
And he liked hearing it on those occasions when she was a little
louder.

He’d also caught her playing music on the
computer more than once. It was quiet, but he heard it. Most of the
time, she’d be playing a band he liked (and that was what convinced
him once and for all she was the real deal), like Alice in Chains,
Stone Sour, or New Medicine, but a couple of times, he heard her
playing the latest Last Five Seconds album. Maybe she hadn’t been a
fan before and was trying to acclimate herself, or maybe she really
liked his stuff. She’d said so, but he wasn’t sure. Clay wasn’t
always as confident as he should be.

That too was a problem. Clay was letting
himself become comfortable with this young woman when Jet should
have been present at all times, protecting himself. Having her live
there had made that impossible, though, especially since she was
dealing with all his personal stuff. Still, Jet made the occasional
appearance, the last time playing a porno in the DVD player one
night, just so she couldn’t claim later on that she had no idea he
liked watching it sometimes.

That morning, though, they were in the
kitchen, both drinking vanilla-flavored coffee, and she had a
yellow lined tablet in front of her, black ballpoint pen in hand.
“I’ll do all the grocery shopping on Monday. I do
not
want
to go back to the store until the following Monday unless we’ve had
some sort of emergency.” Clay looked up from his coffee, but Jet
raised his eyebrows at her, saying nothing but laying down a silent
challenge. “Okay, you’re the boss. I’d
prefer
to not have to
go to the store more than once a week, but I will if you want me
to.”

“I’ve already seen the shit you eat,
sweetheart. Don’t tell me you don’t like to shop more often than
that.”

That had thrown her off guard. “What do you
mean?”

He smirked. “I haven’t seen you eat any meat
yet. I’ve seen you eat a lot of vegetables, and I have to guess you
prefer them fresh.”

She cleared her throat. “You have a good
refrigerator.”

“You vegetarian?”

He could tell by the look on her face that
she was flattered he’d noticed. “Yes. Actually, I’m vegan.”

“What’s that mean exactly?”

She grinned and looked down at the paper,
writing something down. “You don’t really wanna know.”

“Yeah, I do. That’s why I asked.”

She took a deep breath. “It means I don’t eat
any animal protein at all—no meat, and no dairy or eggs.”

“Seriously? What the fuck do you eat
then?”

“Everything else.”

Man, did he have a nasty joke he could say,
but he wasn’t going there. And he did have a respectful question
for her after all. “Like…?”

“Haven’t you been watching what I eat?”

He shook his head. “A little. I guess that
explains the soy creamer you put in your coffee. I know you ate a
salad and soup one night. Maybe a burrito? I couldn’t tell. And
when we had Chinese takeout, what did you have?”

“Kung Pao Tofu.”

“Ah, tofu. Sounds lovely.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“I had it once.
Once.
It was like
chewing on a fucking sponge. No, thank you. If being vegetarian’s
so great, why do you have to eat fake meat?”

“That’s not it. I don’t expect you to get
it.” She wrote something else on the paper. “But I have to cook for
myself anyway. I’d be happy to make extra if you want to eat
it.”

“What? And give up my Hungry-Man dinners and
Red Baron pizzas? I’ll be lost without them.”

Her laugh was genuine and boisterous, and his
heart was warmed that she’d want to include him in on her dining
habits. He was dubious about the way she ate, but he’d be willing
to try. It meant that they could spend more time together anyway.
At night, she’d mostly been going to her room and, he suspected,
reading a book. She seemed sad and lonely. But before he could ask
the question, she said, “If you’re sure.” She started writing more
things on her list and then added, “I’ll get any other things you
want too, just in case you don’t like what I cook.”

“I can help too.”

“Cook?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled again. “Awesome.”

As she continued writing, he saw the
opportunity. He’d licked the coffee off his spoon and used it to
tap the platinum diamond band on her left ring finger. “So what’s
up with that?”

Again, she looked a little taken aback. She
didn’t smile this time. She just said, “That’s my engagement
ring.”

Fuck. Yeah, he was afraid there’d be another
guy in the picture. A prime girl like this couldn’t be without a
man. No way. Still, there hadn’t been any mention, so he’d been
holding out hope. Now, though, the cat was out of the bag, so he
might as well pursue it. “Yeah? Who’s the lucky guy?”

She took a deep breath and sipped at her
coffee. “His name’s Bryce. He and I both went to CU-Boulder Leeds
School of Business. We both just graduated with our MBAs.”

“What’s that?”

“MBA? It a Master’s degree in Business
Administration.”

“So when are you tying the knot?”

She shrugged and started doodling on the
paper. “No idea.”

No solid date? That made Jet think that
maybe, just maybe, there was a shred of hope.

Chapter Eight

ARRANGING CLAY’S WHOLE part of an upcoming
charity concert hadn’t been too big a pain in the ass, but
he
had been. He’d been overly excited about the whole thing,
and so Emily couldn’t discuss business with him at all. Two days.
Two. Stinking. Days. And the guy was out of control. Emily thought
she was finally getting a feel for how Clay worked after being in
his employ for two weeks, but she was starting to believe she had
no idea. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he’d pull
the rug out from under her.

Still, it was an almost boy-like sense of fun
and play that had him distracted and running around like a kid in a
candy store. Even though he was driving her nuts, keeping her from
getting work done, she couldn’t help but smile. He’d pull out a
guitar almost like a dress and ask if she thought that was the one
he should take. He’d go back in his music room then and grab
another.

Mary had told her she loved Clay, but she was
glad when he had to be gone. It gave her a break. When the band
would tour, he’d be gone for weeks and months at a time, but this
was just for a few days. Still, Emily had the mail held for that
time since she’d have to accompany him.

She was trying not to let it bother her, but
Bryce hadn’t been communicating much either. He’d sent a couple of
emails, but she saw his regular posts on Facebook. He was posting a
lot of pictures. It looked like they were having a lot of fun, and
she was glad for that, but she was a little irritated that he
couldn’t be bothered to just talk with her for a few minutes.

So she immersed herself in getting Clay
prepared for the charity concert. He didn’t have a list of what he
should take, even though the guy had been playing in concerts and
had been on the road for years. She spent a few days compiling a
list after getting the details. The concert was going to be in
California near the coast in a huge venue, and Last Five Seconds
was one of several bands playing. They were raising money for a
school that had been devastated in a tornado in Kansas just a
couple of weeks earlier. Emily couldn’t remember the exact details,
but one of bands was from the town—that very high school, in
fact—and had wanted to do something to help. She’d read through the
list of bands and saw that Last Five Seconds was one of the
heaviest ones on the ticket, and they were playing late
afternoon.

She would never say it out loud, but she was
excited. Her dad wasn’t a rich guy by any means, and so she’d never
done much traveling. She hadn’t been to California since she was a
child—since her mother was alive, in fact—and she remembered loving
the beach. She couldn’t wait to see it again, see if she loved it
as much as she thought she did.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to make the
travel and accommodation arrangements. Apparently, their manager
had taken care of all that. Clay had only received one email from
the guy. He talked more on his phone to him. Emily reminded Clay a
couple of times that he could give his manager the landline number
and she could deal with him, but Clay said they’d both be murdered
if he did that. Clay was viewed as a “loose cannon,” and Dennis was
only satisfied if he talked to Clay himself. That wasn’t to say
that the man hadn’t felt more than a little relief knowing Clay now
had someone to keep him on track.

As the day approached, though, Emily felt
even sadder. She wanted to tell someone her exciting news. She’d
told her dad, but already her father wasn’t happy that she was
actually living in Clay’s house, although he understood why. She’d
explained to him that she was “hired help.” He also wasn’t too
thrilled that he belonged to one of those “hippy” bands Emily
adored, the ones that sang about sex and drugs with curse-infused
lyrics. So she couldn’t exactly celebrate with him. She’d emailed
Bryce, telling him they were flying out to California and staying
for a few days. He hadn’t emailed back yet.

For Bryce, it wasn’t a big deal. His family
was constantly flying here and there, several times a year. Emily
had never been invited on their spring break vacations to Mexico,
even though Bryce had hinted at wanting to bring her once or twice.
Emily understood why, though. His mother had never liked her. She
had flat out told Emily that to her face once when they were alone
together. She’d told her she hoped Bryce would get her out of his
system and find someone better suited to his “station.” That had
hurt, but Emily had never said a word of it to Bryce. Surely, the
man could just see it.

What really gnawed at Emily was that she had
felt that she wasn’t madly, passionately in love with Bryce, so why
was any of this bothering her? Maybe because she did care about him
on some level. He was going to be her entire future, the father of
her children, so hell, yes, it bothered her that he didn’t seem to
care.

His lack of interest just drove her more into
her job. She knew that, once she had a real job in a corporation,
she’d never enjoy it like she was enjoying her job now. Already,
she’d altered her dress somewhat. She’d worn business-type clothing
most of her last year in school, but she was wearing more and more
jeans and some of her summery clothes—thin tank tops and shorts.
She’d even dug out a few of her concert t-shirts that she hardly
ever wore around Bryce. Clay wore nothing but jeans and tees, and
he hadn’t mentioned a dress code, so she thought she’d try it. The
first day she’d worn a t-shirt, one she’d bought at a Disturbed
concert, Clay had even said, “Bad ass,” and flashed metal horns at
her.