wasn’t Jackson picking up on the first ring.
“What?” Jackson grumbled.
“Well hello to you too, sunshine,” Melody teased, taken aback at the sound of
his voice. Perhaps she’d expected a secretary or that red bear of a security
guy, Lenny. Anyone but the grumpy Jackson she got.
“Mel?” His tone changed from annoyed to hopeful.
“Yeah, J.” She smiled in spite of herself. “I uh, had
some time to think about your offer. And I talked to Richard about it.”
“Richard?” Clearly he’d forgotten that part of their conversation. What
else happened to conveniently slip his memory?
“My boyfriend,” Melody offered in a combination of annoyance and amusement.
Jackson’s low chuckle rumbled through the phone. ‘Oh, yeah,
Mr. Adequate. I remember now.”
“Don’t call him that.” Melody would reach through the phone and smack him if
she could. Affectionately, of course.
“You’re the one who said it. Would you prefer I call him Mr. Inadequate?”
Jackson offered.
“Don’t you dare,” Melody gasped. “He’s already upset about me taking the job.
Try not to make things worse.”
“Does that mean you’ll take it?” The raw hope in Jackson’s voice clawed at Mel’s
heart.
“Yes, J, I’ll take it. That is, if the offer still stands.”
“Hell yeah, it does.”
“Well, then, Mr. Blackner . I’m all yours,” she said,
her tone betraying her hesitance.
“Not yet, you’re not,” he countered softly. “But you will be.”
The husky promise in his voice sent shivers through Melody. Yeah, he had to stop talking to her like that. Her list of demands was growing by the
second. No drugs. No sexy promises. Melody cleared her throat.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Mel scolded, and then quickly
changed the subject. “So, um, when do you want me?”
Jackson gave a sharp laugh. “You just keep walking right into them, Mel. You
know that? It’s too easy. How about you meet me at Brewster’s in
Hillcrest for coffee tomorrow morning to meet the crew and take care of the
paperwork?”
“Sounds great,” she agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, J.”
“Oh, and Mel?” he said before she could end the call.
“Yes?”
“The answer is always .”
Before Melody could ask him what the question was, the line went dead. Deep
down inside she knew what he meant. When would he want her? Always. If only she could believe that.
Chapter 8
Knights
of the
Round
Table
Unsure
what an under qualified -- or over qualified, depending on perspective --
manager to a rock star might wear to her first day of work, Melody donned her
typical professional attire -- a slim-fitting pencil skirt with a tailored
button-down shirt tucked into its high waist and paired with matching heels.
She might be overdressed for fishing skanky panties out of the pool or holding
back Jackson’s hair while he puked, but by damn it, she’d look professional
doing it. Hell, for what he planned to pay her, it was the least she could do.
Nervously smoothing her skirt, Mel punched the lock button on her key fob and
headed toward Brewster’s. Two men, looking like bulky-muscled thugs turned
bouncers, thronged either side of the coffee shop’s entrance. They nodded in
greeting as she approached and stepped aside to grant her entrance. Weird. Since when did Brewster’s have bouncers?
The sign on the door indicated the café was ‘closed for a private event,’
answering her question. Since Jackson
“What?” Jackson grumbled.
“Well hello to you too, sunshine,” Melody teased, taken aback at the sound of
his voice. Perhaps she’d expected a secretary or that red bear of a security
guy, Lenny. Anyone but the grumpy Jackson she got.
“Mel?” His tone changed from annoyed to hopeful.
“Yeah, J.” She smiled in spite of herself. “I uh, had
some time to think about your offer. And I talked to Richard about it.”
“Richard?” Clearly he’d forgotten that part of their conversation. What
else happened to conveniently slip his memory?
“My boyfriend,” Melody offered in a combination of annoyance and amusement.
Jackson’s low chuckle rumbled through the phone. ‘Oh, yeah,
Mr. Adequate. I remember now.”
“Don’t call him that.” Melody would reach through the phone and smack him if
she could. Affectionately, of course.
“You’re the one who said it. Would you prefer I call him Mr. Inadequate?”
Jackson offered.
“Don’t you dare,” Melody gasped. “He’s already upset about me taking the job.
Try not to make things worse.”
“Does that mean you’ll take it?” The raw hope in Jackson’s voice clawed at Mel’s
heart.
“Yes, J, I’ll take it. That is, if the offer still stands.”
“Hell yeah, it does.”
“Well, then, Mr. Blackner . I’m all yours,” she said,
her tone betraying her hesitance.
“Not yet, you’re not,” he countered softly. “But you will be.”
The husky promise in his voice sent shivers through Melody. Yeah, he had to stop talking to her like that. Her list of demands was growing by the
second. No drugs. No sexy promises. Melody cleared her throat.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Mel scolded, and then quickly
changed the subject. “So, um, when do you want me?”
Jackson gave a sharp laugh. “You just keep walking right into them, Mel. You
know that? It’s too easy. How about you meet me at Brewster’s in
Hillcrest for coffee tomorrow morning to meet the crew and take care of the
paperwork?”
“Sounds great,” she agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, J.”
“Oh, and Mel?” he said before she could end the call.
“Yes?”
“The answer is always .”
Before Melody could ask him what the question was, the line went dead. Deep
down inside she knew what he meant. When would he want her? Always. If only she could believe that.
Chapter 8
Knights
of the
Round
Table
Unsure
what an under qualified -- or over qualified, depending on perspective --
manager to a rock star might wear to her first day of work, Melody donned her
typical professional attire -- a slim-fitting pencil skirt with a tailored
button-down shirt tucked into its high waist and paired with matching heels.
She might be overdressed for fishing skanky panties out of the pool or holding
back Jackson’s hair while he puked, but by damn it, she’d look professional
doing it. Hell, for what he planned to pay her, it was the least she could do.
Nervously smoothing her skirt, Mel punched the lock button on her key fob and
headed toward Brewster’s. Two men, looking like bulky-muscled thugs turned
bouncers, thronged either side of the coffee shop’s entrance. They nodded in
greeting as she approached and stepped aside to grant her entrance. Weird. Since when did Brewster’s have bouncers?
The sign on the door indicated the café was ‘closed for a private event,’
answering her question. Since Jackson
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