decided it did. The men were
probably part of Jackson’s security detail.
Shrugging it off, Mel pushed open the door and stepped into the cozy coffee
shop. Several tables had been pushed together to form one large one for Jackson
and his entourage. The wait staff, dressed in all black except for their crisp
white aprons, milled about the room, pouring coffee and answering questions for
the group.
Jackson’s team was a mismatched bunch, from the edgy young woman in trendy clothes
to the little old man in a three-piece suit. Yet they chattered amongst
themselves like close friends.
Mel scanned the group for Jackson’s familiar face. Her heart took an
involuntary leap in her chest at the sight of him. Pain, pleasure, and
nervousness -- all bundled into one confusing, indefinable emotion.
With a charcoal beanie pulled down over his shaggy hair, his tatted arms
resting on the tabletop, and the shadow of a day’s growth on his jaw, he was
the same scruffy, casual bad-boy-next door she remembered from the other day.
Except he looked like hell.
From his sickly, yellowish pallor to his sweat-slicked skin, Jackson looked miserable.
He vibrated with nervous energy, shaking as though ready to jump out of his
skin.
Guilt immediately joined in on the roller coaster of emotions. She did
that to him. Well, sort of. He did it to himself. But still. Mel didn’t have a
doubt in her mind he’d been true to his word. He was trying to stay clean. For her. And he was suffering for it.
Pushing aside the pang of guilt, Melody pasted a smile on her face and
approached the group. “Am I late? It looks like the party started without me.”
“We wouldn’t dream of starting without you, Mel,” Jackson argued, rising to his
feet and smiling through his misery.
His face had this infuriating habit of lighting up like the New Year’s ball in
Times Square every time he saw her. It made Mel feel like the most important
person in the world. Was that why women the world over fell at his feet?
Because he made them feel beautiful and special? Yeah , he needed to stop
looking at her like that. Add that to the list.
“Hey, J,” Mel greeted him, deflecting a hug with an awkward handshake.
The last thing she needed was to be drawn into his arms. She remembered how
good he’d felt and smelt way back when teenage-Mel had been in those arms. The
idea of hugging him inspired much more unwelcome thoughts of doing other things
with Jackson. It was enough to make adult-Mel a little weak in the knees.
Yeah, hugging had to stay off the table. Old friend or
not. He wasn’t that boy anymore. He was a man whore, a recovering drug
addict, and her new boss. Wow , now those were words she’d never imagined
in the same sentence before.
“You look like hell,” Mel muttered under her breath to him.
Jackson shrugged and gave her a pained smile. “I made you a promise. I’m going
to try even if it kills me.”
Mel tamped down the rise of guilt again, reminding herself that it was for his own good, and beamed at him. “And I’m really proud of you.”
Ech-ehm . A throat cleared off to Mel’s left. Mel
turned to find the stuffed-shirt, little elderly man in a three-piece-suit and
thick bifocals waiting rather impatiently for their attention. He looked like
he belonged in Jackson’s entourage about as much as a feeble, old goat in a
pack of wolves.
“Mr. Blackner , would you mind pursuing your personal
interests on your own time? I have appointments this afternoon in Los Angeles,”
the old goat chided.
Looking less than properly chastised, Jackson gave the man a recalcitrant
probably part of Jackson’s security detail.
Shrugging it off, Mel pushed open the door and stepped into the cozy coffee
shop. Several tables had been pushed together to form one large one for Jackson
and his entourage. The wait staff, dressed in all black except for their crisp
white aprons, milled about the room, pouring coffee and answering questions for
the group.
Jackson’s team was a mismatched bunch, from the edgy young woman in trendy clothes
to the little old man in a three-piece suit. Yet they chattered amongst
themselves like close friends.
Mel scanned the group for Jackson’s familiar face. Her heart took an
involuntary leap in her chest at the sight of him. Pain, pleasure, and
nervousness -- all bundled into one confusing, indefinable emotion.
With a charcoal beanie pulled down over his shaggy hair, his tatted arms
resting on the tabletop, and the shadow of a day’s growth on his jaw, he was
the same scruffy, casual bad-boy-next door she remembered from the other day.
Except he looked like hell.
From his sickly, yellowish pallor to his sweat-slicked skin, Jackson looked miserable.
He vibrated with nervous energy, shaking as though ready to jump out of his
skin.
Guilt immediately joined in on the roller coaster of emotions. She did
that to him. Well, sort of. He did it to himself. But still. Mel didn’t have a
doubt in her mind he’d been true to his word. He was trying to stay clean. For her. And he was suffering for it.
Pushing aside the pang of guilt, Melody pasted a smile on her face and
approached the group. “Am I late? It looks like the party started without me.”
“We wouldn’t dream of starting without you, Mel,” Jackson argued, rising to his
feet and smiling through his misery.
His face had this infuriating habit of lighting up like the New Year’s ball in
Times Square every time he saw her. It made Mel feel like the most important
person in the world. Was that why women the world over fell at his feet?
Because he made them feel beautiful and special? Yeah , he needed to stop
looking at her like that. Add that to the list.
“Hey, J,” Mel greeted him, deflecting a hug with an awkward handshake.
The last thing she needed was to be drawn into his arms. She remembered how
good he’d felt and smelt way back when teenage-Mel had been in those arms. The
idea of hugging him inspired much more unwelcome thoughts of doing other things
with Jackson. It was enough to make adult-Mel a little weak in the knees.
Yeah, hugging had to stay off the table. Old friend or
not. He wasn’t that boy anymore. He was a man whore, a recovering drug
addict, and her new boss. Wow , now those were words she’d never imagined
in the same sentence before.
“You look like hell,” Mel muttered under her breath to him.
Jackson shrugged and gave her a pained smile. “I made you a promise. I’m going
to try even if it kills me.”
Mel tamped down the rise of guilt again, reminding herself that it was for his own good, and beamed at him. “And I’m really proud of you.”
Ech-ehm . A throat cleared off to Mel’s left. Mel
turned to find the stuffed-shirt, little elderly man in a three-piece-suit and
thick bifocals waiting rather impatiently for their attention. He looked like
he belonged in Jackson’s entourage about as much as a feeble, old goat in a
pack of wolves.
“Mr. Blackner , would you mind pursuing your personal
interests on your own time? I have appointments this afternoon in Los Angeles,”
the old goat chided.
Looking less than properly chastised, Jackson gave the man a recalcitrant
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