So he could understand how it worked. Not so he’d get that smile pointed in his direction.
Fuck, he was such a liar.
Four days he’d known her. Four days he’d had this job, and he was already fucking it up.
That thought propelled him out of his chair and into the hallway—where he nearly ran into Track Gantley, who’d been about to knock on Liana’s door.
Dean closed said door behind him and stood in front of it, arms crossed. “She’s doing a live video for her fans right now.”
The other man stepped back and they sized each other up.
Dean had a few inches on him, but he had a few inches on almost everyone. That fact didn’t normally make him quite as happy as it did right now.
“I need to talk to her.”
“Now’s not a good time.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yep.”
“She’s overreacting. This performance anxiety isn’t new. You should know that. She’s always struggled. I don’t know what she’s told you—”
“She’s told me she sings better when her time before the show is protected. That’s my job, and it’s literally the only thing I care about.” That second part was a lie. Dean cared a hell of a lot about this asshole saying Liana was overreacting, but that wasn’t his role.
“Look, you can’t coddle her on this.” Track turned on what everyone else probably saw as charm. “Man to man, I gotta warn you that she’s gonna—”
“Stop.” Dean needed to tread carefully here. He could tell from the look in the other man’s eyes that he genuinely believed the horseshit he was spewing. And Dean couldn’t—wouldn’t—expose Liana’s awareness of Track’s manipulative efforts. Especially not when they might be sub-conscious. He forced a friendly, understanding tone into his voice, just like if he was talking to a suspect. “Look, I hear you. But I’ve got rules I gotta follow, you know? And the quiet time before the show seems to be helping her. But I can tell her you wanted to see her.”
“Nah, don’t bother.” Track flashed him an extra-white smile and headed down the hall.
Dean couldn’t help but notice that his cowboy boots seemed extra tall today.
— —
After lunch, they headed to the National Mall in the shuttle bus. Today the elaborate stage was draped in even more red, white, and blue than the day before. While Liana did a quick sound check, Dean took some once-in-a-lifetime photos of the Washington Monument perfectly framed at the other end of the giant green lawn, quickly filling with people.
Even though Liana had done a show the night before, and gotten amped up, there was still something different about her today. Nervous energy that he hadn't seen before poured out of her as she spent time with the other performers in the VIP tent backstage.
She glad-handed her way through the crowd, barely looking at him but always having a quick smile when she did. And he did his job, having her back and making sure that Track was always somewhere else.
The sun was low in the sky when they were ushered into the wings of the outdoor stage. Dean stepped out of the way as Liana posed for a backstage picture with the host, but she tethered him back into her orbit with a single glance as soon as she was done.
Don’t go far, her body language whispered.
Like that was even an option.
It was dangerous how much he wanted to be right next to her. How much he wanted to simply stand behind her, have his hands on her shoulders and feel her heat against his front. Dangerous how he could still smell her hair from where he almost kissed her forehead the night before.
He wasn’t going anywhere, even though, in theory, he knew better.
Something had flipped inside him yesterday and now he felt constantly close to crossing a professional line. If she’d said anything other than, “I’m going to bed,” he probably would have kissed her.
He’d lock it down again. If he hadn’t spent the entire day half a step behind what they were doing, because they spoke in half-sentences and used a dense vocabulary for which he didn’t have a dictionary, maybe the simmering awareness inside him wouldn’t have exploded into such restless, wild wanting.
If he hadn’t had free rein to watch her warm up, get ready, transform, all with the pervy hunger of a voyeur…maybe he’d have already switched it off.
But somewhere between watching her big hair get even better and catching her blow herself a red-lipsticked kiss in the mirror before hustling to the wings, he’d filed away this Liana alongside the others: the quiet loner, the runner, the kind and generous star. And now the larger than life performer, in a tight black t-shirt, even tighter jeans, and killer heels…there was no point pretending he wouldn’t dream of this Liana tonight.
