Wicked Bad Boys (56 page)

T
he week had gone
by so quickly, and when my alarm went off Tuesday morning, I didn’t have to hit snooze. I was excited for the entire night, and spent it wide awake. I tossed and turned, checking the clock every half-hour. Finally, I could pop out of bed and start getting ready. During the prior few evenings, I had had been busy planning. I had figured out who to invite on the team and confirmed they were available. It felt great to choose who I wanted to work with.

After that, I created a massive list of potential questions Mr. Willis and Johnny Q Venom might ask in the interview. These were questions I needed to have solid, down-pat answers for, and with no hesitation. My last real job interview had been at a sandwich shop back in college. I had worked there part-time while training at the beginning of my fighting career. Back then, I had started with underground cage fights, and worked my way up from there. I made more and more money at each fight as I built my reputation. Eventually, out of college, I had gotten to the point where I quit working at the sandwich shop, and spent all my time training and fighting.

After I got injured, I was forced to take an entire year off to fully rehabilitate. When I was ready to work again, a friend with a security staffing agency offered me this security gig I was in. I had taken it mostly out of boredom, but still held on to the dream of starting my own business. And now, it looked like it might all work out in the end.

This chance was my ticket. Normally, I walked around not giving a shit what people thought of me. Now I needed to switch gears and be active in impressing these LA strangers. Somehow, I had to convince them to give me this million-dollar-deal. I was travelling there with no leadership experience, no references to speak of, and the more I thought about it, the more it began to seem like an impossible feat. I wasn’t even sure how I had managed to be in the running for this gig. Los Angeles was full of high-profile security firms, staffed with ex-SWAT team agents and retired Navy SEALs. Or, at least that’s how I pictured it.

Maybe none of them wanted to work with Johnny. In my research the day before, I came across a few articles that detailed his party-hard lifestyle. From what I could tell, he had trashed his fair share of hotel rooms. Maybe the
real
security firms refused to work with him because they didn’t want to babysit a spoiled rock star all day. That would certainly explain why he was willing to spend a million dollars for such a short tour.

I turned this new theory over in my mind as I packed. In the end, I decided he couldn’t possibly be more annoying than the politicians and billionaires I protected now. I would much rather break up a bar fight and hold off screaming teenage fan-girls than deal with this current headache. And I thought hey, maybe I’d get a chance to practice my chokehold on a groupie here and there. That would be a real bonus, a nice throwback to my fighting days.

I laughed at the mental picture and went back to organizing my bags. I had packed the night before, but wanted to run through everything one more time to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. It was somewhat neurotic, but gave me something to do while I waited for the driver they scheduled to take me to the airport.

All I took was my purse with my wallet and essentials, and a carry-on bag with all my clothes, shoes and accessories. My phone was fully charged, and I brought an extra charger, just in case my regular one died during the trip. I also stashed some granola bars and beef jerky in one of the side pockets, for snacking on the flight. Satisfied with my preparation, I pushed up off the floor and went to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

My flight and interview outfit was a black pantsuit with a coral tank underneath the jacket. I slicked my shoulder-length blonde hair back into a low ponytail. To top off the look, I slipped in a pair of small, silver hoop-earrings. I rarely wore jewelry. It was a habit from years spent in the ring. And I essentially lived in athletic wear, but when the opportunity came up, I liked getting a little dressy.

The next step was makeup. Again, this was not something I was used to doing much. As a fighter, you gain no real advantage with it. Sure, I’d put on a swipe of waterproof mascara and a dab of tinted lip gloss before going on camera, but that was pretty much it. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a minute before starting. My skin was clear enough not to require foundation, but this was special. I applied a small amount, and even dabbed some concealer under my eyes. I wanted to hide the fatigue lines that had cropped up sometime in the last six months. I swept some blush on my cheeks to help highlight my cheekbones, and then a layer of bronzer on top of that to give me a healthy-looking glow.

Living in Miami provided me with a pretty solid natural tan year-round, so the bronzer was more of an accent. I did my eyes last, choosing a neutral color to complement my grey-green eyes. With a couple layers of mascara at the end, I was good to go. I stood back and did a spin in the mirror, checking all the angles. I gave myself a nod of approval before leaving the bathroom, switching off the lights on my way out.

Sipping on my cup of coffee, I waited for the driver. The doubts and worries that had plagued me overnight surfaced again. As I pushed one away, another took its place. By the time the phone rang, I was distracted, and the sound startled me. I ended up splashing coffee on my hand.

“Shit!” I jumped up and ran to the kitchen to wash it off my hand, checking my sleeve to make sure it was clean.

This was nervous energy and anxiety, pure and simple. I answered the phone on the last ring and told the driver I would be right down. I quickly wiped off the table with a paper towel, tossed it, and then grabbed my bags. After locking up, I hurried downstairs to the waiting town car.

“Hello, Ms. Baker.”

“Hello.” I said.

“Let me take your bags, ma’am,” he replied.

“Thank you.”

I held up the small carry-on bag, and he stowed it away in the trunk before returning to open the back passenger-side door for me. I slid inside the car, and he gently closed the door behind me. Within minutes, we were heading toward the freeway.

“So, where are you headed?”

“Oh, I thought you knew! I need to go to the airport,” I said, suddenly panicked.

The driver laughed. “We are. I meant where are you going from there?”

“Oh,” I said, mentally kicking myself for being so high-strung. “Los Angeles.”

“Ah, the City of Angels. Very good. Business or pleasure?”

“I have a job interview,” I replied, happy for the distraction.

The driver went on to recommend restaurants and sights I should see once in town. Before I knew it, we were sitting at the departures lane at Miami International Airport. He came around to open my door, but I had already let myself out. He rushed to get my bag from the trunk.

“Have a nice trip, ma’am,” he said as he handed over the bag.

“Thanks. Have a nice day,” I replied, slipping a twenty into his hand.

I was sure that Mr. Willis had prepaid the tip, but this man had been so nice to try and calm me down. I headed inside to check my bags, got my boarding pass reasonably quickly, and after a short wait at the gate, everyone boarded the plane and it took off. So much was riding on the outcomes of this trip!

The flight was long, and although being in first class helped immensely, I was still stiff and tired when the plane touched down at LAX. I checked the time on my phone while waiting to disembark, and saw we were running behind schedule. I would have less than an hour at the hotel before another driver was scheduled to take me to the meeting.

A man in a suit held up a sign with my name when I got to the baggage claim section. He had a short, but polite conversation with me as he whisked me away in his limo. I could barely focus on what he was saying. I was in Los Angeles and had a date with destiny! The driver got me to my hotel and I checked in. I needed all the time I could get, to be ready for this face-to-face meeting. I headed up the elevator to the fourteenth floor to find my room.

I gasped when I stepped into my suite. It was expansive and brightly lit, with elegant, contemporary furniture and a sweeping view of downtown LA. One thing instantly took my breath away. There was a gorgeous flower arrangement sitting on the night table beside the king-size bed when I walked into the bedroom. The card inside it said, “
Welcome to LA, Amanda. From JQV
.” They had to be for this Johnny guy I was meeting. Only my manager knew I was here, and I knew no one else with those initials. The flowers were wrapped as if they had come from a shop, not just placed there by the hotel staff as part of any welcome package. They seemed more personal somehow, and had my favorites sprinkled throughout—white hydrangea.

I set down my bags and walked over to the flowers to breathe in the scents. I wished I had more time to appreciate them. Taking one more whiff, I went to the bathroom to touch up my makeup and refasten my ponytail. I had barely finished when the room phone rang. It was the front desk, calling to let me know my ride was waiting. Where did the time go? I hurried downstairs and met yet another driver, this one just as formal and polite as the last.

I was relieved he had the radio on. I focused on the scenery outside and the music, instead of the anxiety flooding my veins. I mentally rehearsed my pitch. We were getting closer. I looked out the window as we turned onto a winding uphill road. I caught my first glimpse of the massive houses that speckled the hillside, and reminded myself to breathe. That nervous pit in my stomach grew by the second.

When the car came to a stop, I couldn’t see a house. There was just a gate and a long driveway. The driver rolled down his window and tapped his entry code into a small black console I hadn’t seen at first. The gate opened slowly. The nervousness was spreading through my body now, and traveled down to my feet, which tapped the floorboard underneath me.

“Get it together, Baker,” I whispered to myself.

When the house at the end of the quarter-mile long driveway came into view, I was hypnotized. It was gigantic. A massive, beautiful mansion, and strangely, not the type of house I imagined a single, young, hip rock star would live in. I had pictured something more contemporary and edgy. This home had the classic feel of a sprawling Italian estate, complete with lush landscaping, a striking fountain at the front, and a brick treatment on the driveway that felt smooth under the car, but looked identical to cobblestone.

The car came to a stop at the wide front steps. The driver hopped out and opened my door. I thanked him as I stepped out, and when I looked back toward the house, a man was standing at the top of the steps. I climbed the stairs with my bags, smiling as I approached him.

“Hello, Ms. Baker,” the man said. “I’m Kevin Willis. We spoke on the phone.” He extending his arm and we shook hands.

“Hello Mr. Willis. Please, call me Amanda.”

“Will do, and you can call me Kevin. Come on inside. Johnny’s waiting to meet you.”

A jolt of anxiety hit me at his words. I put on my game-day face, and followed him. Inside the house was just as breathtaking as the outside. Kevin led me through the entryway and into the enormous living room. It was flooded by natural light that poured in through the windows. The room was filled with expensive looking art-deco furniture. All of that faded to the background when my eyes landed on Johnny Q Venom. He had been sitting on a mocha colored couch beside a massive fireplace on the main wall. He jumped to his feet when our eyes met, and his face broke into a broad, pleasant smile.

“Amanda!”

The way he said it felt like he was greeting an old friend. I rushed forward to shake his hand, and did my best to ignore the instant sparks flying between us. He had a magnetic energy that drew me in, and took my hand in what I thought would be a handshake. Instead, he grasped my fingers, and oh my God, the man raised my hand and brushed a quick kiss across the tops of my knuckles. As innocent as it might have seemed, my body reacted from head to toe. It was harmless, but felt so…intimate. And my reaction caught me by surprise. My cheeks warmed up, and knew I was blushing.

“Come on, Johnny,” Kevin snapped. He softened his tone as he turned to me. “Amanda, please sit anywhere you like.”

Johnny begrudgingly released my hand and gestured to the sofa.

I smiled at him. “Thank you. It’s great to meet you.”

I sat on the edge of the couch beside him. My nervousness had ratcheted up another degree sometime between walking through the house and feeling his lips on my skin. Kevin was polite. He offered me a beverage and would not take no for an answer. I secretly hoped he would be the same way when it came time to offering me this gig. He made small talk as we waited for his assistant to bring in three bottles of Perrier water. And every time Johnny and I made eye contact, my head would get clouded. I reminded myself I was here on business, and not just to get an eyeful of the delicious man-candy sitting across from me.

Soon, we all got down to business. It didn’t take any effort to know who was in charge. Johnny might have been the rock star, but Kevin was the boss. For that reason—and because looking at Johnny led to fiery, erotic thoughts—I placed all my attention on what Kevin had to share. I nodded and interjected where I felt comfortable, and answered all his questions.

The lustful part of my brain was completely occupied with thoughts of Johnny. He acted nothing like a celebrity rock star. And all the research I had done contradicted what I was starting to sense about him in person. He seemed warmer, softer, more low-key, and sweet Jesus, his smoking hot body oozed sex appeal. I knew he was hot, but getting this extra insight into his personality only amplified my physical attraction.

I didn’t know if I would get the job, but already I could tell that if I did, Johnny was going to make it very difficult for me to keep things professional. I desperately needed to draw the line if I wanted to take full advantage this opportunity.