Feverish (Bullet #3) (8 page)

Because
that
was one thing she had no
doubt about—playing PA to a spoiled rock star would get really old
really fast. She only hoped she could stick it out long enough to
make it an experience she could make look great on her resumé.

* * *

Might as well get up.
It seemed like
this young woman was going to make him regularly get up before
noon. He supposed that wouldn’t always be bad, but there would be
no avoiding sleeping later on tour, and she wouldn’t be able to say
a damn thing about it.

He heard Mary doing something in the kitchen.
She usually didn’t work today, but she’d spent the last two days
helping him prepare for and conduct interviews, so her regular work
was behind. He’d agreed to pay her extra that week. Hell, he was
ready to pay for a vacation to Hawaii after all the additional work
she’d done over the past several days.

More than anything, he appreciated that she
tried to be quiet while cleaning until she couldn’t help it
anymore. She might have given him rations of shit on occasion, but
deep down she really was respectful and supportive of Clay. He
suspected it was because she could see who he truly was. She saw
straight through Jet and into Clay and knew he was a sensitive and
good guy, the kind of man who’d do anything for someone he felt
loyalty toward. And Mary was one of those folks.

Eventually, though, say around one in the
afternoon, she’d have to get the vacuuming done. She would put off
the noisy tasks for as long as she could, but if she wanted to get
home to her family, she’d have to finish up at some point. Once in
a while, she’d just skip doing something and save it for the next
time. Clay usually had her there three days a week, and she used to
have other jobs with other homes, but Clay had eventually increased
her salary enough (and asked for extra work several times) that she
ended her employment elsewhere. It made Clay glad, because it meant
that she could help him whenever he needed it. He’d had a couple of
parties and Mary had brought her kids along as well. Her two oldest
helped while the youngest was cute and entertaining. Recently,
though, it had afforded him the ability to ask her to help with the
interviews. Even though he wound up making the final decision, Mary
assisted with the process. She liked Emily too, so that helped,
because the two women would have to work together on occasion. And
sweet Mary had also contacted all the other folks who were
scheduled to interview today and let them know that they weren’t
needed. Mary was frustrated, telling Clay he didn’t know that Emily
would even accept the job, and what if—in the long run—it didn’t
work out? What if she was only with them a week and decided she
couldn’t hack it? What then? They could have at least scouted out
other possibilities.

Clay had pulled rank then. He’d told Mary he
didn’t want to do the other interviews. He’d decided Emily was
perfect for the job, and he wouldn’t settle for less. “I’m trusting
my gut, Mary. It’s what got me here to where I am today, and I’m
not going to ignore it now.” She sighed but nodded. He didn’t know
if she’d told the other interviewees that they’d already filled the
position or if she just told them the position was no longer
available, but he supposed it didn’t matter. She’d done what he’d
asked and cancelled them. It was bad enough that he’d had to endure
the remainder of interviews yesterday, knowing in his heart he’d
already made up his mind. Actually, it wasn’t too bad, because even
though all the candidates seemed competent enough, they just
reinforced Clay’s belief that Emily was already his PA.

So he got out of bed and, after taking a
piss, threw on the first pair of jeans he found and walked out to
the kitchen. Ah, Mary was a goddess. He’d never cared much about
coffee either way until Mary had come into his life. He’d been
nursing a horrible hangover not long after she’d started working
for him. It just so happened he also had a phone interview with a
radio station on the east coast later that day. Mary ran to Walmart
and returned with a coffee maker and all the accoutrements—creamer
and a sweet liquid vanilla flavoring, along with coffee cups.
Clay’s mom had always done black, and he hadn’t cared for it, even
with spoonfuls of sugar stirred in, but Mary’s concoction had
pulled him out of a hangover abyss and into the land of the living.
He’d survived the interview and discovered he liked coffee when
done right. He’d even ventured into the occasional latte. He could
still live without it, but some days, especially when he had to get
up earlier than he’d liked to, he relished it.

Today was one of those days, and goddamn did
it smell good.

He poured himself a cup and Mary walked back
through the room. “What? Sleeping Beauty is up already? Did you
have a nightmare or something?”

He smiled and looked up from stirring the
creamer in. “No, but I have some news.” She paused, resting her
hand on the counter, and looked at him. “Ms. Emily Brinkman called
to say she’s taking the job.”

Mary nodded. “Well, I’ll be damned. I thought
she’d be smart and run.”

Clay gave her a fake laugh. “Ha ha. No, she
actually seemed pretty eager.” She gave him a look. “No, not like a
fucking groupie. It’s cool.” Mary started walking toward the
doorway to the basement. He imagined she was in the middle of doing
laundry and now that he was out of bed, she could put his clothes
away. “How are the two extra bedrooms, by the way?”

She took her hand off the doorknob. Why was
she taking so long to turn around? “Oh, no. You didn’t.”

“Didn’t
what
?”

“She talked you into letting her board here,
didn’t she? And you just couldn’t resist.”

Jet—yes,
Jet
—smirked. “Actually, it
was
my
idea. She’s getting ready to move down here from
Boulder, and it sounds like she hasn’t even started looking for a
place to live. I just thought if I wind up being as demanding as I
think I might be that it could be easier having her nearby.”

Mary shook her head. “Bad idea, Clay.”

“Why’s it such a bad idea?” He took his first
swallow of coffee. Mmm. He’d needed that.

She frowned. “You know why just as well as I
do.”

As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew she
was partially right. He was already feeling feverish for Emily.
That woman had in such a short time stirred his loins in a major
way. He didn’t just have an itch; he had a smoldering fire that had
been growing since he’d first laid eyes on the woman. But he wasn’t
going to act on it. She was going to be his employee, and he needed
her trust and loyalty, and so—even though deep down he wanted her
badly—he was going to keep his mitts off. So, even though he could
admit it to himself, he wasn’t about to say it to Mary. “Have some
faith in me, Mary. Yeah, she’s hot, but didn’t you see she’s
wearing a ring on her left hand?”

Mary took a deep breath. “Oh, I hadn’t
noticed that. Is she married?”

Clay shrugged and walked over to the table.
“Hell if I know, but I’m pretty sure she’s in some kind of
committed relationship. Hands off, Mary. I swear.” She nodded.
“But…if I can get her here sooner, I can make her pay all those
goddamned bills she stacked on the desk.”

Mary laughed and shook her head, grabbing the
doorknob again. “That’s what I like to hear.” Clay smiled as he
heard her continuing to laugh as she made her way down the
stairs.

Chapter Seven

IT HAD ONLY been a week, but Emily already
felt like she’d learned most of what she’d needed to playing
Personal Assistant to Clay “Jet” Smith, guitarist of acclaimed
heavy metal band Last Five Seconds.

Actually, she knew there would be more for
her to learn, but she had the basics down. She’d also won her first
battle. She’d convinced him to get a landline. She didn’t want to
answer his personal cell phone when it came to matters of business.
It was unprofessional. He kept insisting he didn’t mind, so she
asked his permission to borrow his phone. She immediately went to
contacts and started swiping down the list, naming names. When she
got to the Hs, he gave in to her request. What else could he say
when she asked how she should answer the phone when
Hot Chick
who offrd the bj
called? She couldn’t figure out if he looked
sheepish because he felt bad that she’d found it or if he felt
awful that he’d been piggish in the first place.

She hoped it was the latter, because Clay
actually seemed like a pretty nice guy. He had been nothing but
respectful to her. But that didn’t change the fact that she’d
caught him looking at her once or twice, and those looks…
holy
shit
. They gave her shivers. And, aside from the fact that she
wasn’t sure if he was a lady killer or a woman lover, she couldn’t
help feeling the same way. It sucked for many reasons. One was, of
course, Bryce. On some level, she loved the guy and thought she
might even be missing him. She felt guilty even thinking Clay was
good looking. Another reason, though, was that she didn’t know if
she liked Clay as a person. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of
the guy. On the one hand, he seemed to have a great relationship
with Mary. They got along well and she seemed to keep him in line
on some level. On the other hand, every time she started to think
he was all right, she’d find something like the denigrating
description of the woman on his phone or a picture on his computer
of a girl flashing her tits for him. Uh, yeah, just another reason
she didn’t want to even
touch
his phone. The final reason,
though? She knew how she was deep down. Clay was definitely the
kind of guy she’d love to romp with. Everything about the guy did
it for her, from his cocky attitude to his toned torso complete
with pierced nipples (that too sucked—he walked around the house
shirtless…
a lot
), to his long, flowing hair and tattoos. She
loved the way his jeans hung around his hips—not baggy or too loose
but not tight—but they were just right on his ass, accentuating how
cute it was.

Yeah, she hadn’t been able to get him out of
her head, and that sucked. Living in his house didn’t help. She
couldn’t get away for fresh air. She was surrounded by him. And
there would be days when she’d be going through his emails and
she’d hear him in his music room working out riffs. That part was
pretty cool, actually. Over the past week, she’d heard him
developing a song. Well, she imagined it would become one. He’d
gone in that room on Monday and played a few chords over and over
again. It was catchy. And over the next few hours, she could hear
it progressing until it became what she imagined would be the
chorus to a song.

He spent a lot of time on the phone too,
mostly talking to bandmates and friends, she imagined. He wasn’t
too demanding of her time. After she’d settled in, they came up
with a list of daily and weekly to dos, but it would all start with
getting him on track. Emily had told him she would need, at the
very least, a planner and a desk calendar. He gave her a handful of
cash and told her to “Go to town.” He didn’t even want to go
shopping with her, and he apparently didn’t care what she spent the
money on. As she was making purchases that day, she realized that
any supplies she bought to help her perform her duties would
probably be tax deductible, and so she broached the subject later
that afternoon. Of course, Clay didn’t monitor any of that stuff.
Again, that would become her job—keeping receipts for the tax
guy.

That was the funniest part of it all, that as
she settled in and got Clay organized in a way he’d never been
before, she realized additional things she needed to do to help
him, things he hadn’t even thought of.

Part of her wondered if she was inventing
ways to made herself invaluable. Maybe she was, but she also
realized that Clay hadn’t been joking when he said he needed
someone to “organize his shit.” She wondered how he’d gotten along
without an assistant for this long, and she figured it was mostly
thanks to Mary.

Mary was amazing. Emily already loved the
woman. She was good at her job, but more than that, she was patient
and kind and she kept Clay’s house from falling in disarray. It
didn’t take long for Emily to realize how disgusting Clay’s house
would be if not for Mary. That was another thing that drove her
crazy, but she’d get past it.

Clay had already thanked her too. His bills
were now caught up and all his paperwork organized. His email was
almost caught up as well, and he had mentioned that maybe next week
he would have her help him out with Facebook and Twitter. His
bandmates had kept telling him he needed to participate online at
least semi-regularly. Fans liked to reach out and they would think
he was stuck up if he didn’t post at least occasionally. He told
Emily he was pretty sure he hadn’t ever tweeted—at least not
sober—and the last time he’d been on Facebook had been around New
Year’s. Brian was also a regular Instagram addict, often posting
semi-nude selfies and getting five-hundred likes from what they
assumed were rabid teenage girls in less than an hour.

She’d also bought a Rolodex and started
organizing the contacts she knew about, and she’d put most of his
computer files in order to make sure what she needed would be
easier to find. There wasn’t much. There was more porn on the
computer than anything else. She’d almost deleted it and had
decided against it. It didn’t stop her from filing it away in its
own folder, though, and she’d marked it
PORN
in big letters
so she wouldn’t accidentally open it later.

She didn’t get guys and their porn
fascination. She didn’t hold it against him, but she didn’t want to
see it.

The hardest part was settling into her own
room. She didn’t plan to be here forever, so she didn’t want to get
used to it. Instead of setting up her room like she would have if
she’d been a student again, she treated it like a hotel room. She
unpacked her clothes and everything she’d need for day-to-day
living, but decorative things and other items like most of her
books stayed in boxes, tucked away in her closet. Fortunately,
having been a student for the past several years, she didn’t have
much to her name. Most of her keepsakes were still in her father’s
house. The plan was to someday move it all out, but she wasn’t
ready yet. She wanted someplace permanent before she fully
extracted herself from her dad’s house. As it was, she was afraid
it would kill him when she’d have to. She’d been his whole life for
way too long.