“Where are you going?” He eventually speaks, that gruff tone of his softer than it was before.
“Work.” I reply, “Are you going to answer me?”
“I’m not following you.” He concedes.
“So, it’s not you in the Audi R8 behind me, with the same matte black paint and tinted windows?”
“No.”
“I have a music video I’m shooting today,” I tell him, knowing damn well it’s him behind me, “You going to follow me the whole way across the city?”
Silence.
“Did my brother send you?” I ask him.
Silence.
“Perhaps I should go back on tour,” I continue speaking though I know he won’t respond, “I had more freedom there.”
He surprises me by replying, “You have freedom now.”
“But my brother is telling his friends to follow me, that’s hardly free.”
There’s a pause before he replies with a simple, “Your brother wants you to be safe.”
“So, you admit you’re following me.” My smile is triumphant.
Killian grunts and I laugh, “Go home, Killian. There’s nothing to see here.”
The line cuts off when I hit the end button on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t stop following me. He takes every turn, sticking close until I pull up to the gates of the studio. My plates are registered but his are not, so he’s forced to stop on the road. It’s the most we’ve spoken since I’ve been home but it’s not like he wanted it.
The barrier lifts to let me through and in the rearview mirror, as I head through the gates, I see his window roll down and his sunglass covered eyes watching me drive toward the studio.
I don’t know why my brother decided to have me followed, I don’t know why he deemed it necessary but if he knew the way I thought about Killian Archer, he wouldn’t send him to be my bodyguard. Not that I need one.
Putting my car into park, I grab my bag and my cell and then head inside, turning back toward the gate in the far distance before I go through the doors. I can hardly see it this far out, but I can just make out the sleek black car still idling on the road.
It wouldn’t be the first time Bast has had one of the guys follow me and it certainly won’t be the last, as much as it gripes on my nerves. If only the man doing the following actually wanted to be around me.
Chapter Four
My nose scrunches as I stare at myself in the mirror and the lack of clothes on my body. It’s just a long t shirt and a pair of black panties, and the routine I’ve already practiced ahead of time will mean my ass will be on show for over seventy percent of the time. I tug on the hem in hopes I can stretch it to be a little longer, but I know it’s impossible. I wish the people I work with would warn me of things like this.
Before I can dwell on it any longer, I’m called back to hair and makeup where I’m then sat in a chair and pulled and prodded for the next hour, my hair tugged back so tight it’s giving me a headache. I’m used to it, but it’s been a while and I’ve become a little more relaxed with it, but I know the pounding in my headwill be worse later, especially when I have to take it out. It’s not something I’m looking forward to at all.
When my skin is sparkling like I just bathed in a tub of gold glitter and my hair sprayed to within an inch of its life, I’m guided down to the studio, the bright lights making the headache pound harder behind my eyes, but I plaster a smile on my face and turn myself into the professional I am.
There’s a crowd surrounding a chair in the corner and the film crew talk loudly at each other as they adjust the many cameras they have pointing at the set. They’ve made it look like an apartment, airy with modern, minimalistic furniture and framed pictures of wilting flowers on the wall. I’ve heard a recording of the song, an angsty ballad about a lonely life in a city, forever searching for more but remaining stuck in a loop while the world moves on around you.
I like it and believe it or not, despite the costume and the shimmering skin, I’m grateful and honored to be able to perform for the video.
My lips are touched up one last time before the director calls for us to get together on set so he can give us the run down on how today will go, and what parts of the video we will be shooting.
Adrien Matthews, the grammy winning artist I’ll be shooting with today joins me on set, his grin light and a little charming as he locks eyes with me, completely ignoring the director as he extends his hand to me.
“Savannah Levine,” He drawls my name, the deep, husky voice that made him famous working over me.He’s an attractive guy, with his long light brown hair pulled into a bun and groomed beard framing a full mouth, blue eyes crinkled at the sides with his smile. Sure, he has a great voice, a fantastic one even, but it was his face that stole the hearts of millions of girls across the world. “It’s a pleasure.”
“I love your music,” I shake his hand.
