Sweet Renegade (2 page)

*
Lizette*

I stare at my closed office door. Damn Beau. He is such a pain in the ass sometimes. First, he sits through the whole meeting watching me like a lion watching its prey. I’m surprised that he didn’t lick his chops and growl at me. Second, he asks me out…
again!
Listen, I have had plenty of clients in the past ask me out, but once I’ve told them no, that was the end of it, they never asked again. Beau Kennedy, on the other hand, doesn’t know when to give up. He asks me out every couple of weeks. This has been going on for three years now. One would think that the man would give the hell up already. Nope, not Beau, he’s nothing if not persistent.

I have watched him turn from a cute but young teenage boy into a handsome, adult man over the past five years. There is no denying that he is all man now, there is not one ounce of that teenage boy’s body left. Beau could be a fitness model if he wanted to. He works hard to keep his body in the condition it’s in, all big hulking muscle. He’s tall at six feet, two inches, and is extremely gorgeous. His jaw is square and usually clean-shaven. I’ve only seen him a couple of times with scruff on his face, and I have to admit that it looks good on him…really good. He has a dimple on his chin that I’d like to stick my finger in. Bright blue eyes that are accentuated by dark lashes and eyebrows, and his medium brown hair is short in a military style cut with the sides buzzed short with some length up top.

The guy who put together and screwed over the Backstreet Boys and N’Sync also formed Renegade ten years ago. They were in desperate need of good management by the time I got a hold of them. All of the guys are from the east coast. The eldest is Roland Fitzgerald at 28; he’s the voice of reason, the wise one. Next is Dean Davenport at 26, the girls’ favorite, the only blonde haired, blue-eyed guy in the bunch. Then comes Ace Vaughn who is also 26. He is considered the bad boy of the group. Everett Stone is 24, the most quiet and reserved of the group. Beau Kennedy is the baby at 23. He has a pretty decent fan base himself because he is the youngest, funniest, and is super cute. Plus, he has that southern drawl, which makes girls stupid and does crazy things to my stomach.

The guys have just finished an album and it is set to drop in a couple of weeks, so I’m working with their publicist on organizing a small promotional tour. It will most likely include
Good Morning America, Kelly and Michael, and The View;
then all of the late night shows like
Jimmy Kimmel
,
The Tonight show,
and a bunch of radio stations across the country.
Saturday Night Live
also wants them as a musical guest and is tossing around the idea of them hosting, too. I have my work cut out for me for sure. After the promotional tour comes the actual worldwide album tour, which has been a bitch to get together and organized.

My day stretches on until ten o’clock that night. I’m completely exhausted by the time I walk out to my car to drive home. My days are usually long and mentally draining, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I love my job, and I have worked damn hard to get where I am today.

I didn’t have the best upbringing, both of my parents are alcoholics; they never gave a shit about me, and still don’t. The only person who cares about me is my older brother, Dennis. He is the one who pushed me to be better than our parents, and made sure that I did my homework. He also protected me when our father went into one of his drunken rages. I owe my life to my brother.

I sigh when I finally make it to the front door of my luxurious Manhattan condo. As I walk in through my foyer, I drop my keys into the bowl on the console table and kick off my heels, leaving them under the same table that holds the key bowl. I can hear the TV on, which means that my brother, Dennis, is still awake. Not surprising really, he rarely sleeps anymore.

I make my way down the short entrance hall and into the living room where he is sprawled on the couch, watching the news. I smile as I walk up behind the couch and place a kiss on the top of his mop dark hair. He tilts his head back to look up at me.

“’Bout time you got home,” he says with a soft smile.

“I know. I had a lot going on today.” I sigh, make my way to the love seat, and flop my butt down. “How are you feeling today?”

He sighs and roughly rakes a hand through his dark hair before rubbing the thigh of his bad leg. Dennis is a Marine. Well, he was honorably discharged after being injured over in Iraq. As soon as I turned eighteen, I moved out of our parents’ house, and away from the evil pair. Knowing that I was out of harm’s way, my brother signed up for the Marines. Not only did he want to be the best role model for me, but he also wanted to prove to himself how strong of a person he could be. As soon as he graduated from the academy, he was deployed. He ended up serving four consecutive two-year tours in Iraq with only the minimum three-month break in between each – that’s right
, four.
He was very good at what he did - before he was injured, only days before returning from his fourth tour. The unit that he was with was ambushed, only one other guy survived, neither him nor Dennis without serious injuries and lost limbs. A total of three men lost their lives that fateful day.

As a result, Dennis is now missing his right leg from just below the knee. He still gets phantom pain from it even after two years of it being gone. Not only did he lose part of his leg and sustained other serious injuries, but he is now plagued with severe PTSD – post traumatic stress disorder - even though he will deny it with every fiber of his being. It only started in the past year for whatever reason. I have done some research on it and found out that PTSD does not always show up right away but sometimes can take months or even years to develop, especially in military men and women.

When it started, Dennis lost his job, and since then, has been unable to find another one, which in turn, caused him to lose his apartment. I basically had to threaten to never speak to him again to get him to come live with me instead of living in his car. The damn man has too much pride.

“I was okay today,” he replies with a shrug.

I swear the frown lines at the sides of his mouth have gotten deeper since yesterday.

“Did you go out at all?” I ask.

“No.”

“You’re turning into a hermit, Denny, and you are pale as shit. You need some sun,” I inform him.

Dennis scowls at me. “I feel like everyone is staring at me when I go out, I don’t like it.”

“I really wish you would go talk to someone, Dennis,” I say softly, knowing that pushing him will probably get me nowhere.

“I’m fine, Lizette, just leave it alone,” he grinds out, giving me his tough-as-nails-Marine look that I am now immune to.

I know better than to argue with him, it will only make things worse. He needs to do it when he is ready; I’m just afraid that he will never be ready.

“Fine,” I say before getting up and going into the kitchen to get something to eat.

“There is a plate left over for you from dinner,” he calls to me from the living room.

“Thanks,” I reply, opening the fridge and taking out the plate of chicken, rice, and veggies.

Since turning into a recluse, Denny has become an excellent cook. He makes something new and different every night. I put the plate in the microwave before going to my room to change out of my work clothes. I change into sweatpants and a T-shirt, and then make my way back into the kitchen, just as the microwave beeps its completion. I grab a fork and some napkins then bring my plate into the living room and sit back down on the love seat so I can watch TV with him while I eat.

I sneak a glance at my brother. His handsome face looks run down, weary, and somewhat haunted. His jaw is covered in thick scruff and he has dark circles under his green eyes from the lack of sleep. I wish there is something more that I can do to help him, but without him being willing, it’s like talking to a brick wall. Marines are a very stubborn lot.

“Beau asked me out again today,” I mutter around a mouthful of food.

He chuckles. “Poor guy. Let me guess, you turned him down again?”

“Of course I did, Dennis. I don’t date my clients, let alone ones as young as he is,” I scoff.

“He’s not that young,” he argues in return.

“He’s seven years younger than me. Mentally, he’s still a little boy compared to me.”

He laughs and pushes up into a sitting position, setting his prosthetic foot on the floor, along with his remaining foot. He leans his forearms on his knees and looks at me, a small smile playing across his lips. I love when my brother smiles, it lets me at least get to pretend that he’s not broken and damaged, if only for a few minutes.

“So what? Age is just a number, my darling sister, and he seems to really want to take you out,” he says, amusement making his dark green eyes shimmer. “I mean, shit, he’s been asking you out for years.”

I give my brother a bored look. “Yes, he has, and it’s not going to happen. I barely have time to piss, let alone find time to go out on a date.”

“That’s because you work too damn much.”

I shrug. “I have to, it’s the nature of the job,” I reply, taking another bite of my food.

“Don’t you ever want to get married and have kids?” Dennis asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

I give him an incredulous look. “Don’t you?” I shoot back.

His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, his expression turns to one of shock before he frowns. “Touché, Lizzie, touché,” he says quietly, something dark clouding his eyes for a moment before it’s gone.

Wonder what that’s about
.

“I’m not ready for all of that,” I say more gently.

He shakes his head. “Me neither,” he agrees softly.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” I whisper.

He sighs heavily. “We’re not mom and dad, Lizzie.”

I nod. “I know, but it’s hard to forget what we went through and not have some hesitations about possibly falling into that pattern.”

“We won’t end up like them, I promise,” he murmurs, reaching over to give my arm a squeeze.

Most people who grow up with an alcoholic parent have at least one normal parent to counteract the screwed up one. Apparently, our parents didn’t get that memo. They are both alcoholics who beat the hell out of each other and would sometimes come after my brother and me. It amazes me that still to this day, they are both alive and still together. It was a nightmare of a childhood, and without Dennis, I don’t know if I would have survived it alone.

“I think you should give Beau a chance,” Dennis says with a smirk, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I give him a dirty look. “I think you should shut your mouth,” I say, fighting not to smile.

He barks out a laugh then shoves to his feet. “I’m gonna go see if I can get some sleep,” he says. “Goodnight, Lizzie,” he murmurs as he bends over and gives me a kiss on my forehead.

“Night, Denny.”

I watch him walk down the hallway toward our bedrooms with his now permanent limp and pray that he gets some much-needed sleep. He desperately needs it. I hate seeing him struggle because he is usually the stronger of the two of us. He tries to act like he is all fine and dandy, but I know better - I hear the screams from the nightmares he has when he does actually fall asleep, I’ve been with him while he’s gone through a flashback, and I’ve caught the hate and disgust in his eyes when he looks at himself in the mirror. I love my brother with my whole heart and I just wish he would go get the help he so desperately needs.