Part 21 (1/2)
”Ugh. And have the threat of hearing myself every time I turn on the TV?” Her nose wrinkles.
I cross my arms over my chest, bracing my feet wide. I'll be here for a while. ”We'll work in a clause to cover how long the commercial can run to avoid overexposure.”
”Missing the point, Scottie.”
”I believe you're the one missing the point, Mrs. James.”
”For the last time, call me Libby or Liberty, Scottie.”
”But you are Mrs. James now. I'm showing you the proper respect.”
She gives me a light punch on the arm. ”Your formality is killing me, Mr. Scott.”
”Stick to the matter at hand, please. We need exposure at this point in your career. Car commercials have launched many an artist simply because people hear the song and want to buy it. Need I remind you of Sia?”
”Like I can stop you,” she mutters.
”The program Six Feet Under played 'Breathe Me' for one b.l.o.o.d.y show, and it launched her in the US.”
Liberty's chin lifts on a stubborn sniff, but I see the capitulation in her eyes.
”I understand you want to keep things low key,” I say. ”This is a good way to do it. No talk show appearances, media junkets, and the like. You simply let another ma.s.sive media source do the work for you.”
I don't add that I'll work toward setting up a mini-tour when the public starts clamoring for her. Baby steps are needed with Liberty. But despite her protests, she does love the stage. Killian knows as much, which is why they'll be performing a few songs together on this tour.
”Fine. Tell them yes.”
”Enthusiasm, Mrs. James. It's what makes my day.”
She laughs. ”Yeah, I just bet it does.” Liberty stands and gives me a long look. ”And your nights? How are they doing now that you've got yourself a roommate?”
Sly little s.h.i.+t. I want to tell her to mind her business. But now I'm thinking of Sophie. How are things? I wake with my hands full of luscious, warm woman. I smell her on my clothes throughout the day. I barely have a moment's privacy once I'm on my coach or in a hotel room, and I look forward to that. I'm beginning to hate silence, because it means she's not there.
And I'm surrounded by all things Sophie. Her battered little trainers. Camera equipment. Makeup, hairbrushes, lotions, and hair products.
My collar suddenly feels too tight.
”Tell me, Mrs. James,” I find myself saying. ”Is there a reason you women feel the need to wash your underthings in the sink and hang them over the shower like some sort of profane Christmas decorations?”
I was treated to this particular form of visual torture earlier, when I went to have my morning shower, only to find lacy bras and delicate little knickers strewn about the place. What was I supposed to do? Take them down? I'd have to touch them.
If I'm going to put my hands on Sophie's knickers, she's b.l.o.o.d.y well going to be in them when I do. My collar squeezes my throat yet again.
Liberty laughs. ”It's not as though you can toss good bras and undies in the laundry. They're hand wash only.”
”But must you leave them hanging out in the open?” h.e.l.l, now I know exactly what size Sophie's bras are. I'm only human. I looked. How could I not? Particularly when she left that pretty white lace one trimmed in scarlet ribbon, so well constructed, it seemed to hold her shape even though she wasn't in it.
”You've pulled your tie all out of whack,” Liberty says, bringing me back to the present.
I blink down at her for a minute, trying to clear my mind of the fact that Sophie favors satin panties with lace panels that hug her peachy b.u.m to perfection.
Liberty gives me a soft smile. ”Here, I'll fix it. I know how you hate being rumpled.”
She moves to straighten my tie, but I wave her off. ”Leave it.”
I hate being fussed over more. But I don't bother fixing my tie either. I want to pull the d.a.m.n thing off and toss it in the nearest bin before it strangles me. Liberty looks at me as if I'm off my nut.
”Well,” she says, clearly struggling not to tease. ”You could always ask Sophie to send her things out to be dry cleaned.”
And miss the post-wash show? ”That would be rude,” I mutter.
Liberty's expression is too neutral to be serious. ”It's probably a good idea not to tick off your new roommate.”
I shrug, tug at my tie again, then leave off-because f.u.c.k all, I will not fidget. ”It's fine. I simply hadn't thought there would be quite so many...accessories. I've never roomed with a woman before.”
It's too silent. I glance at Liberty to find her grinning. Her grin grows when I glare.
”It's cute to see you with a girlfriend,” she says.
”What are we, sixteen?” I sneer. ”She's not my girlfriend.”
”Fine, your lover.”
”Christ. We're friends. That is all.”
”Right.” She rolls her eyes.
”I told the lot of you to mind your business.”
Liberty laughs. ”Oh, come on, Scottie. You brought a woman into your Fortress of Solitude. Did you really think we wouldn't talk?”
”And what is your role here?” I ask. ”Did you draw the short straw to come fact check?”
A grin spreads across her face. ”I volunteered. Everyone else is too chicken to ask.”
”Lovely. You can go back and tell the rest of the clucking hens that Sophie and I are just friends.”
”Hey,” Jax says, sauntering up. ”That rhymes.”
He gives Liberty a kiss on the cheek. ”Killian's looking for you. You giving Scottie a hard time for us?”