Charlie intercepts her, grabbing Rosalie’s biceps as she forces the musician’s attention to her. “Don’t freak out. I told them they have to leave.”
“I’m calling another company,” Elijah reassures her as he presses his phone to his ear. He turns away from us, going out into the hall for some privacy.
“What’s going on?” Rosalie asks, outraged.
Charlie’s eyes bounce between her best friend and us. “Look, it was an obvious mix-up. Elijah didn’t know…”
Rosalie crossed her arms, her eyes flickering to us. “They can’t be here.”
“I know,” Charlie says softly. “Let us handle this, okay?”
The raven-haired woman nods, still seeming rattled beyond comprehension. Part of it is our presence, but there’s something much deeper there. Whatever happened with her last security detail has shaken her, and we pick up on it instantly.
“While we’re here, do you mind telling us what happened? If you’re out of options, then we need to know what we’re investigating.” Roman suggests.
Rosalie’s eyes cut to us, harsh and unforgiving. “I’m not telling you a damn thing.”
Kairo’s chuckle is condescending and low as it bounces around the meeting room. “You will if you need protection. We didn’t fly all the way out here for nothing.”
There’s a tense staring match between the four of us. We’re eating her alive with our gaze, but she isn’t backing down as she breathes deeply with simmering anger.
Elijah pokes his head through the meeting room doors, his expression concerned. “Charlie? Can I talk to you?”
The manager glances between us before stepping in front of Rosalie and blocking our view of her. “Do you want togo back to bed?”
“No,” The singer’s jaw grinds.
Charlie nods. “Okay, try not to kill them.”
When it’s just us, Rosalie sighs before pulling up a chair and easing onto it. She crosses her legs, a sliver of pale thigh showing as she folds her hands in her lap and glares at us.
“It’s good to see you—” Kairo starts before she interrupts him.
“Fuck you.”
He only smirks, his eyes lighting up in that sick way that says he’s ready for a fight. If there’s one thing he loves, it’s always an argument.
Roman tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. I can see the urge in him clear as day. He may think he’s immune to whatever hold this woman has had on us for almost a decade, but he has no idea just how fucking whipped he is.
Control is his power, and he wants to bend Rosalie to his will just the same as we do.
Songbird kicks her foot, a sign of her discomfort as she peers around the meeting room. She’s treating us as if we aren’t worthy of being in her presence, and she has every right to.
“Being rude isn’t going to get you protection,” Roman bites.
She gives him a tight, go fuck yourself smile. “And I would rather chew off my own ankle.”
His jaw works. “You’re being a fucking brat, Rosalie.”
Her mouth falls open. “Oh, go to hell!”
“Only if we can take you with us,” Kairo croons harshly.
Her face twists in disgust, sincerity glinting in her eyes. “You make mesick.”
Roman scrubs a hand across his mouth, practically vibrating with contained energy that I know he’s itching to get out. “This isn’t fixing anything. Why is your PR manager reaching out to a company that doesn’t operate in Los Angeles?”
She huffs. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
