Code red, p.6
Code Red, page 6
Maddox grinned at me, and it struck my insides much the same way he plucked the strings. He played a few riffs and it sounded so good.
I could have watched him play all day.
But we were running out of time. Maddox was expected at the stadium soon, so he asked for it to be delivered to the hotel, and after he’d handed over his card and everything was settled, he slid onto the seat at the keyboard and proceeded to play some of his songs. Familiar melodies with his incredible vocals . . .
It was stripped bare and genuine, and all Iver could do was smile and shake his head. “Guess no one can accuse him of using Auto-Tune,” he said to me.
I almost snorted. “Ah, no.”
There was a light knock on the door, and Steve poked his head in. “We’re getting some attention.”
Which was his way of saying it was time to go, and it was time to go now.
Maddox posed with Iver for a quick photo or two, he signed a guitar on the wall—alongside Slash, Dave Grohl, Robbie Williams, and a few others—and we said our goodbyes. There was a bit of a crowd growing, though they were outside. The driver had the van pulled up out front, so Steve took the lead and I stayed by Maddox’s side, between him and the curious crowd.
People called his name, but thankfully they kept a respectful distance, and he waved for their photos before he darted into the back of the van. I followed him, the door slid closed behind us, Steve got in the front, and we were gone.
Maddox was beaming. He was so happy it was contagious. “I can’t believe I get it today. You know some people have to wait weeks or months, and I get it today. A freaking Iver Rigby original. I get to take it on tour with me.”
I loved that he was so happy, thrilled even. But it meant he made no attempt to hold my hand, and that was disappointing. But was he sitting a little closer than necessary? Or was that wishful thinking on my part? His knee bumped mine, his shoulder, his thigh . . . and suddenly holding his hand seemed irrelevant.
Focus, Roscoe.
Needing a distraction, I pulled out my phone and let Amber and Ryan know we were on schedule and on route to Pasadena. Maddox pushed his side against mine to read my phone screen. “They’re on their way now too,” I said, desperately trying not to think about his body against mine.
“You have thirty-four unread messages,” he noted.
“Most of those will be from Ambrose.” I opened Messages, and yes, Ambrose’s name appeared a lot.
“Christ.”
“Well, we’re on tour, it’s concert day, our first concert, mind you, and we’re off on our own,” I explained. “With one security guard.”
Maddox’s eyes met mine, his face so, so close. “Is he bitching at you? Because this was my idea.”
“Not really. He’ll just be stressing out until you’re all at the stadium. You know how he is.” I opened the first message and held the phone so Maddox and I could read it together.
He slid his hand up my wrist, tender and scorching hot, until he half-held the phone, and half-held my hand. “Do you mind if I read this?”
“I don’t hide anything from you, Maddox,” I replied, my voice rougher than I’d intended.
He looked at me, our faces just a few inches apart. He was devastatingly handsome. Ridiculously beautiful. His flawless skin, dark eyelashes, and it was hard to tell where his pupils ended and his irises began.
He was a work of art.
His lips were pink and slightly parted, perfect for kissing.
All the magazines and websites that had voted him sexiest man alive had no freaking idea just how hot and sexy he was up this close.
“You have the cutest freckles across your nose,” he whispered, blush tinting his cheeks. “They’re kinda faded, but those are definitely freckles.”
Oh god.
“And your eyes are so blue,” he whispered, and I was almost certain I wasn’t supposed to hear it. His gaze went from my eyes to my lips and back up to my eyes.
Fucking hell, was he about to kiss me?
I realized, somehow, that his hand was now on my thigh. It was burning through my jeans.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured, barely audible.
“Like what?”
He smiled, smug and beautiful. “Like you want to kiss me.”
My heart banged against my ribs so hard it almost hurt. I tried to tell him no, he was wrong. I wasn’t looking at him like that. He was looking at me like that.
But I couldn’t get the air out to form words.
He looked at my mouth again, then slowly drew his gaze up to mine. He licked his lips. “I wouldn’t say no,” he whispered.
Steve’s voice from the front of the van startled us both. “ETA, one minute. We’re coming up to the stadium entrance now.”
It was like a bucket of cold water, snapping us both out of whatever trance we were in.
Except his hand stayed on my thigh.
And when I dared risk a look at his face, he smiled.
Fuck.
Chapter Five
The boys went straight into rehearsals as soon as we arrived at the stadium. There were long lines of people outside already, and many had been there since late last night, apparently. Maddox never spared me another glance for a few hours, and I had to wonder if I’d imagined the whole incident in the car. But I swear I could still feel the burn of his hand on my thigh and see the shine of his dark eyes so close to mine . . .
I didn’t imagine that.
But we got busy doing a hundred things, so I put it out of my mind and got to work. It was just hours before the concert, after all.
This was the final dress rehearsal to make sure jackets and pants were fine with the dance routines and not likely to split or tear on stage. They danced pretty hard—they were famous for it—and their clothes needed to stretch and move with their bodies accordingly. Of course, the wardrobe team had everything perfected.
And when I say perfect, I was referring to their pants in particular.
Made of some black latex denim worthy of a Spiderman suit, they looked like jeans but they fit . . . well, they fit like a second skin. They allowed the boys to move and dance, run and kick, flip and sit while looking like streetwear. They cost a fortune, of course, but they were worth every cent.
Those pants showed every thigh muscle, every curve, every line, every bulge.
Like I said. Perfection.
“I heard Maddox talking about his new guitar,” Amber said, nodding to where the boys were now walking off the stage. I hadn’t heard her come over. God, did she catch me staring again? Had I been staring?
“Yeah, he got the one he wanted. There were a few customs in store and one that suited him perfectly, so he got to take it today and he doesn’t have to wait, so he was stoked. How did it go for you guys?”
“Good. We left before the crowd started to get too big.”
I nodded. “How’s Blake’s knee?”
“Yeah, he said it feels good. But we’ll see how long that lasts.”
I checked my watch. It was two hours till showtime. “We better make sure these boys eat.”
Catering always offered a range of carbs and proteins before a concert, and the boys knew by now how much to eat. But it was our job to make sure they wanted or needed nothing else before, during, and after a concert.
It was summer in the US. The tour was planned to optimize the good weather. But that meant we had to contend with heat. Even when the concerts were held at night, dehydration was a real concern. Not just for the boys on stage—who would come off stage drenched with sweat—but for the staff who ran themselves ragged behind the scenes.
So while the five boys ate and were supposed to rest before the make-up and wardrobe teams moved in, Amber, Ryan, and I went through our lists twice to make sure we were good to go. “Water, energy gels, tubs of ice,” I said, double-checking the supplies off the list. “Ice packs, towels, cans of oxygen.”
We had last minute meetings with the security teams, with the sound teams and the stage crew. Everything was good to go. Everyone was pumped for the tour to officially begin. When the opening act went on, the noise of the crowd in the stadium was deafening, the excitement was contagious.
When we walked back into the main dressing room, they were all in various stages of undress. Maddox’s shirt was undone, Blake wasn’t wearing a shirt at all. Jeremy was pulling his pants up, thank God. And Wes had his pants and shirt on, no socks or shoes, and Luke was the only one who appeared fully dressed.
Wardrobe people fussed around them, trying to get them dressed, much like helpless parents with five toddlers. But the five of them were too busy looking at something on their phones, laughing and talking excitedly . . . and then they saw me.
“Here he is,” Blake said, grinning. “The man of the hour.”
“You trying to take Maddox’s title?” Wes asked. “Well, he’s no longer the sexiest man alive, and you’re part of the band now, apparently.”
“Can you even sing?” Jeremy joked.
“We should get him fitted for these pants,” Luke said with a laugh.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know. “And that’s a definite no to both the singing and the pants, just so you know.”
Maddox turned his phone around for me to see. There was a photo of me escorting him into the guitar shop under the title, And the sexiest manager award goes to . . .
The what?
“The sexiest manager?” I scoffed. “Is that some spoof newspaper? What’s it called? The Onion?”
“Oh no,” Blake said cheerfully. “You’re on every website, and you’re all over TikTok.” He pointed his chin to the TV on the wall. “Entertainment Tonight even had footage.”
What the actual fuck?
“Of me?”
Wes nodded. “The reporter wanted to know if you’re related to the Hemsworths.”
“Oh Christ,” I grumbled. I took my phone out and found dozens of hits in half a second. Amber and Ryan had their phones out too, scrolling and reading.
This wasn’t good.
“You know,” Maddox said casually, “I don’t mind one bit. It means they’re leaving me alone.”
I looked up at him then, to find he was buttoning up his shirt with a sexy-as-hell smirk on his face. But this wasn’t funny. This was just another hassle we didn’t have time to deal with.
I went back to my phone, scrolling through the pics. Someone had obviously taken photos of us when we were in the guitar store. It was after Maddox was told he could have the guitar and we went back out into the showroom. The crowd had begun to gather, and while they kept a respectable distance, they obviously took photos.
Everyone with a damn phone was a paparazzi these days.
The images were kinda grainy but clear enough to see who it was. Maddox Kershaw inside the shop with me. With his hand on my arm, with him grinning, laughing. Me smiling back at him. Me standing beside him while he paid at the counter, us talking, his hand on my back . . .
Did he always touch me like that?
Did I really look at him like that?
Then there were photos of us leaving. Maddox was waving. I had my hand on his back, ushering him into the van and following close behind him.
The headlines were all variations of the same. Maddox’s hot manager. Manager or boyfriend? Sexiest men alive.
The grab lines weren’t much better.
Maddox Kershaw was seen at Iver Rigby’s custom guitar store today ahead of their first LA concert looking very cozy with his manager.
Just who is Roscoe Hall, and how is he sexier than Maddox Kershaw?
I read the beginning of one article on an entertainment site.
Given he’s six foot tall with sandy blond hair, rugged good looks, and has the body of Thor, you might be mistaken to think this is footage of Chris Hemsworth with superstar Maddox Kershaw today in LA. But long-time fans of the supergroup Atrous know him as Roscoe Hall, Maddox’s personal manager . . .
Christ all-fucking-mighty.
“Wait, wait, this one’s my favorite,” Luke said, standing up and reading off his phone. “‘The hottest bodyguard hall of fame just got another inductee.’”
They all laughed.
“Bodyguard?” Wes asked. “Does Steve know?”
I resisted the urge to swear. Barely. I’m glad they could laugh. I turned to Ryan. “Where’s Ambrose?”
“He was with the concert director. Said he’ll be back to see the boys before it was time.”
“And we’re trending on Twitter,” Jeremy called out. “From what I can see, it’s a mix of the concert, all of us going out in public this morning, and hashtag Roscoe.”
“Pretty sure it’s the polo shirt, Roscoe,” Luke added. “It shows off your Thor body.”
Maddox grinned right at me, broad and beautiful. “Hashtag Roscoe. I like it.”
“It’s not funny,” I said.
“Mm,” Amber said beside me. “Well, it is a little bit.”
I stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Until Ambrose decides it’s not. Like he has time to deal with this right now.”
“You’ve heard of ‘all publicity is good publicity,’ right?” Ryan said.
Yeah, well, I wasn’t convinced.
Why was no one else concerned? Worst of all, why did they think it was funny?
Maddox came over to me. “You know, I honestly don’t mind,” he said. “If the world thinks you’re sexier than me. They wouldn’t be wrong.”
Christ. Both Amber and Ryan heard that.
“It’s not that,” I replied, running my hand through my hair. “You’re already a big enough target, and I just made that worse.”
Maddox had an oh-shit moment before he frowned at me. “You didn’t do anything. The media did it; the people with cameras and ridiculous headlines and tweets did this. Not you.”
I withheld a sigh and remembered the time and place. He didn’t need this right now. “You should finish getting ready,” I said. “I’ll go find Ambrose and we’ll get this mess cleaned up. You just focus on you.” I made a point of showing him my watch. “T minus thirty.”
Thirty minutes until they walked on.
I left them and went in search of my boss. There were people running everywhere, talking into earpieces and walkie-talkies, and despite the concert chaos, I knew where to look. Ambrose would be in the thick of it.
Sure enough, he was under the stage surrounded by no less than five people, giving orders and instructions. His assistants, a stage crew manager and a logistics guy, and a stadium official were trying to talk over the sound of the opening act on the stage above us.
Ambrose saw me and gave me a nod, so I waited for him to finish. When he came over, we began the walk back to the main room where the boys were, hopefully, now ready to perform. Fully dressed would be a good start.
“What’s up?” he asked as he walked. “Everything okay?”
He really was an organizational machine. The reason why he was the manager of the biggest boy band in the world was because he was incredibly good at it. He’d been with Atrous for five years, and his skills for managing them expanded with their fame.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. There was some media hype this afternoon I wanted to give you a head’s up about.”
“The sexiest bodyguard bullshit?”
Of course he knew about it already.
“Yep.”
“I saw it.” He stopped walking as we got to the door. “Look, Roscoe. It’s harmless hype at the moment, and quite frankly, getting the band on every entertainment site and social media platform two hours before kick-off wasn’t a bad play at all.”
“Ambrose,” I began.
He put his hand up. “I know what you’re thinking. I said it’s harmless, at the moment. Let’s just see what comes of it. You know how this industry is. It’ll be about someone different tomorrow.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then we deal with it.”
I gave a nod. “Good.”
“How’s our boy, anyway?”
Our boy . . . God, I really hated how Maddox was singled out by everyone, from the media, his fans, to his own management.
“They’re pumped,” I said, including all five members of the band.
Ambrose was about to say something, but before he could, I said, “We’ve got twelve minutes.” I opened the door and stood aside.
Ambrose walked in, all excitement and confidence, offering words of support and gratitude for everyone’s hard work. The thing was, I liked Ambrose, and the boys respected him. They’d been together a long time, especially in this industry, and there was a deep level of trust.
There had to be.
And Ambrose worked hard, no one could dispute that. But at the end of the day, he was the right hand of Arlo Kim, the boss of Platinum Entertainment, and these five boys were a product of the company.
Did Arlo treat them well? Yes.
Did Atrous make Arlo Kim a fuckton of money? Yes. Did they put his company at the forefront of entertainment management on a global scale? Also yes.
It was a symbiotic relationship of sorts. Platinum Entertainment started small and moved heaven and earth to give Atrous the exposure they deserved. Atrous took the world by storm by putting in grueling hours and dedication, and in doing so, made Platinum Entertainment the success it was.
One couldn’t have done it without the other. And Arlo Kim did respect the band. I knew that. But sometimes I just felt like these boys were the hamsters running the treadmill that made the whole hamster factory work. Platinum Entertainment owned these boys. They were just kids when they signed, with no idea of the success that lay before them. No one could have known.
They also couldn’t have known how tied up their lives would be in those contracts. Were they happy ninety-nine percent of the time? Yes. Did the boys have creative control over their music? Mostly. Did Platinum Entertainment dictate their personal lives in the name of their public image? Yep.
