“You all right?” I ask her as we head through the back to meet our driver.
“Yeah,” she mumbles.
We’re not even in the car for five minutes when she curls into the seat and passes out. Light whispers of air hiss out of her mouth as she holds her knees to her chest.
“Fuckin’ piece of shit had her do an after-show meet and greet?” Franklin says as he opens the door.
“Yeah, that’s not usual?”
“No, she hates people scenting her, and she always tires herself out after a show. She feels like she’s letting them down by not being as bubbly as she would before the show.” Franklin looks in the rearview mirror with a look that I would describe as pity.
I nod and grab her small body from the seat. She doesn’t even startle.
“She’ll be out until probably noon tomorrow,” Franklin says in a disapproving tone. My job is to protect her, she’s not my Omega, and it isn’t my place to tell her how to take care of herself. But maybe she should find someone that will.
I hold her against my chest as we reach the private suite she rented for the night. I’ve gone over all the places booked throughout her tour and made sure that they have a high level of security. Whoever her guard was before at least had good sense in choosing travel accommodations.
The elevator ride is short, and I enter the suite and take her to her bedroom to lie down. Looking down at her, I feel an immense need to take care of her.
But it’s not my job.
I at least take off her wig and put it on the nightstand, I have no clue what to do with the cap covering her hair, so I leave it. I cover her body with a blanket. Sleeping in that outfit has got to be uncomfortable, but that’s not a line I’m willing to cross.
“Her eyelashes,” Franklin says behind me.
“What?”
“She’ll be pissed if she falls asleep with them on. One time, she couldn’t open her eyes fully and nearly had a complete mental breakdown.”
I grimace as my large fingers peel the fake eyelashes from her eyes. As the lash pulls away from her eyelid, I wince. Why do women do this shit to themselves? I don’t know what the fuck to do with them and just place them on the nightstand next to her wig.
“I’m not doing anything else,” I tell Franklin. Removing eyelashes has to be the line.
“She will thank you when she wakes up, I promise.”
I give him a nod and shut the door behind me when I leave her room. I quickly shower and get changed and lie in my bed. This bed seems larger than what I’m used to in hotels and I think I might actually get a decent night’s sleep. I text Kelsey back. She sent me a string of gifs freaking out about the concert clip. I think she may plot my demise if I don’t plan a time for her to meet Deja Fox when we’re on the east coast.
I wait for her response as I close my eyes. We have three days until the next show date. With the pace of these shows, I need to get rest when I can. I can’t help it when I worry about my client. Hopefully, she gets enough rest. She really needs someone taking better care of her, if she won’t do it for herself.
Scolding myself, I chant it again. Not your fucking job, man.
Chapter 4
Iwakeupgroaning.Falling asleep in a bra is one of the worst feelings ever. I can feel the uncomfortable indentations along my rib cage. I unclasp the pink material and push my face further into the soft comforter. When I crack an eyelid, I see makeup smeared all over the pillow and sigh. I must have passed out on the car ride back to the hotel.
This tour is exhausting me in a way I’ve never felt before. I can feel myself getting more and more irritable, and that’s not who I am. The way I snapped at Smith last night has been weighing on me. I’m not usually like that. I spent the entire show feeling guilty about that and anxious about the meet and greet after the show.
I blindly grab my water bottle on the nightstand and see my pink wig and eyelashes right next to the bottle. Mortification hits me when I think about Smith doing something like that for me. Maybe I’m lucky and it was Franklin. Either way, I’m glad that they took them off and my eyes aren’t crusted together this morning.
Reaching for my phone, which I note has been charged—it isn’t morning at all. It’s three in the afternoon. I can’t believe I’ve slept so long. We’re supposed to be driving to Seattle tonight. Thank God the show isn’t for another two days. Even though I just slept like the dead for what feels like a whole day, I still don’t feel right.
I take my suppressants for the day, and when I look down at the bottle, dread starts to fill me. I know I’ve got some big decisions to make soon about my health and my body. With how run down I’ve been feeling, I wouldn’t be surprised if my heat was coming sooner than later.
It’s easier to just not think about it. Not having to put my trust in someone like that again. I wonder if I can increase my dose for my suppressants and avoid this heat all together. I need more time to both heal and figure out my next move.
Doing what I do best, I decide to ignore the impending feeling of doom, and start my day. We need to get on the road and I need to get over myself. I take a quick shower and get dressed before heading out to the kitchen in our suite.
Smith must not hear me, as he is having what sounds like a private conversation on the phone.
