Broken: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 3) Page 11

  Dylan peers around me, out into the hallway. “Where’s Jonah?”

  “He’s upstairs.”

  I glance at the dark-haired one sprawled on the sofa, his eyes glued to the flatscreen monitor as he manipulates his game controller. He’s walking down a dark alley holding an automatic weapon.

  He glances up just long enough to make eye contact. “Hey, Lia.”

  “Zeke, right?”

  He nods. “Bass.”

  That means the other guy on the couch with muddy brown hair has to be Travis. “Hi, Travis. Guitar, right?”

  “That’s right,” he says, his character joining Zeke’s on the hunt.

  “Why don’t you join us?” Dylan says, offering me his controller. “Do you want to play? Are you hungry? There’s more pizza.”

  “I’ll pass on the food, but I’ll watch you guys play.” I grew up playing video games with four older brothers. I know my way around a gaming system.

  The three of them are boisterous and just plain fun to be around. It’s clear that they’re a tight-knit group. I wonder why Jonah doesn’t join in.

  Dylan hands me his controller. “Don’t you want to play?”

  The one called Zeke snorts. “She wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I drop down on the sofa between Dylan and Zeke. “Prepare to get creamed, fellas.”

  I lose all track of time goofing around with them as we hunt down mutant aliens that have taken over the city. It turns into a race to see who can bag the most aliens. I also admit to drinking a beer or two. When I feel a pair of eyes on me, I glance at the doorway and see Jonah leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest as he observes us. He’s dressed up for a change, in black slacks and a white button-down shirt. His hair is tied back in a loose pony tail, and he looks very debonair.

  “I see you guys are getting acquainted,” Jonah says.

  “We like her, Jonah,” Dylan says, laughing as he nudges my shoulder. “This one’s a keeper.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” Jonah says, but his smile is flat. His gaze lands on me. “If you can tear yourself away from video games, Lia, it’s time for you to do your job. We’ve got to leave soon to go get Makayla, and I imagine you need to get dressed first.”

  “Sorry, guys,” I say, rising from the sofa and patting Dylan on the head. “Duty calls! You’ll have to muddle through without me.”

  As I head out the door, I’m serenaded by a chorus of boos and groans from the guys. I shut the door behind me, then plant my hands on my hips and glare at Jonah. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “You’re my problem!”

  “Me? What the hell did I do?” I narrow my eyes.

  “I’m not paying you to fraternize with my band.”

  “We were playing a video game, not having an orgy. Anyway, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough earlier, and I was bored.” His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s pissed. Oh, my God. Is he jealous? “Are you pissed at me for putting an end to your groping in the barn?”

  “Groping? Is that what you call it? If I remember correctly, you had your hands all over me. Yeah, I’m pissed. Our kiss was incredible, and you know it. I felt it, and you felt it. And yet you ran. You’re so tough on the outside, but inside, you’re a chicken. What are you afraid of, Lia?”

  I’m so mad at him, all I can see is red. “I should have tossed you on your ass in that barn instead of letting you kiss me. This is what I get for being nice.” My heart is practically in my throat.

  This is exactly why I don’t let myself get close to anyone. They always end up wanting more, and I’ll never want more. Not with anyone. I’m incapable of trusting anyone that much.

  “Go screw yourself, Jonah!” I say, as I head upstairs to change my clothes.

  Chapter 17

  In the Jeep, Jonah glances at me and says, “I’m sorry. I was out of line. And I didn’t mean what I said. I was... frustrated, and I took it out on you.”

  I shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too.”

  As we approach Makayla’s hotel, I scowl at the huge crowd gathered outside. And I do mean huge. There have to be a couple hundred girls milling around in front of the hotel, taking pictures and video, swarming with excitement. A half-dozen uniformed security guards keep the fans confined behind a barrier, to keep them from blocking the drive and the main entrance. I pull the Escalade up to the front revolving doors.

  One of the doormen comes around to my window and peers inside the vehicle. His gaze fixes on Jonah momentarily, then he looks at me. “Name?”

  “Lia McIntyre. We’re here to pick up Makayla Hendricks.” I flash him my ID.

  He glances at my badge and nods. “Good luck with that,” he scoffs, stepping back as I open my door. “The natives are restless.”

  I glance at Jonah. “Maybe you should wait in the vehicle. I’ll bring her out.” Thanks to the darkly tinted windows, Jonah should be able to lay low here in the vehicle. But that hope is quickly vanquished when the crowd presses forward against the security barrier. Dozens of phones are directed our way, and I see camera flashes going off like fireworks on the fourth of July. Some of the girls are holding banners and handmade signs with Jonah’s name on them, decorated with little red hearts and declarations of undying love. Jonah’s name, not Makayla’s.

  I frown. “Damn it, they knew you were coming.”

  Pissed, I pull up Twitter on my phone and look at Makayla’s feed. Sure enough, she tweeted an hour ago that she was waiting for Jonah Locke to pick her up at her hotel for their dinner date tonight. And of course she supplied the name of her hotel, as well as the name of the restaurant where they have reservations tonight.

  “She broadcasted your plans all over social media.” I shake my head.

  Jonah shrugs. “She lives for publicity. She needs the adoration, like a crack addict needs her fix. She can’t go five minutes without it. When we were together, she’d Tweet our every move. We had absolutely no privacy.”

  “You should wait here.”

  “No, I’ll go up. I need to have a talk with Makayla.”

  I study him, analyzing the relative risk of letting him go into the hotel versus waiting here in the SUV. The bottom line is, I don’t want to let him out of my sight. The hotel seems to be a little understaffed for dealing with such a large crowd. “All right. I’ll get out first and run interference, while you head straight inside the lobby. Got it?”

  Sure enough, as soon as I open my door and step out of the vehicle, all the cameras turn in my direction, flashes going off in rapid succession. I know my face is going to end up on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, and that pisses me off. I go out of my way to avoid publicity – I have for years. The last thing I want is for someone to recognize me. But right now, there’s no avoiding it.

  Jonah slips out the other side of the vehicle, partially hidden from the view of the crowd by the big SUV, and two security guards escort him inside the hotel. By the time the crowd realizes they’ve been pointing their cameras in the wrong direction, Jonah is safely inside the lobby. I follow him in.

  “Wait here,” Jonah says, as he heads for the elevator. “This won’t take long.”

  “Ha!” I chuckle, following him into the elevator. “You’re not going up there without me.”

  I escort Jonah upstairs to Makayla’s top-floor suite. We step out of the elevator into an elegantly appointed hallway with burgundy carpet and subtle, gold and white striped wallpaper. Gold-accented light fixtures adorn the walls. Jonah locates her room and knocks, and a moment later it opens. Makayla greets us at the door in a barely-there lingerie ensemble – a black lace push-up bra, a black lace thong, and a pair of black thigh-high boots with five-inch heels. There’s a large diamond stud twinkling in her belly button. And her thong is so skimpy, it’s obvious she’s waxed bare. She’s left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  For a moment, Jonah stands there gaping at her. I can’t help wondering if he’s had a su
dden change of heart about their break-up. Makayla’s obviously offering herself up to him on a silver platter.

  I should keep my damn mouth shut, but I just can’t. “It’s unclear to me what look you’re going for, Makayla. Hooker or dominatrix? I can’t tell. I think it’s the boots. Honestly, they could go either way. Maybe if you added chains or a whip....”

  Makayla glares at me. “What’s she doing here?”

  “She’s with me,” Jonah says to Makayla, finally shaking himself out of his stupor.

  And I swear to God, he actually steps between us, as if he’s protecting me from her. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

  His voice hardens. “Put some clothes on, Makayla. This isn’t a booty call.”

  She scowls. “Well, pardon me. I didn’t know you were bringing the help with you.” She smirks at me. “This is a date, honey. Jonah doesn’t need you. I have my own security.”

  I see a burly, muscled guy seated on a dainty sofa across the room. He’s perusing a Playboy magazine.

  Jonah sighs. “This isn’t a date, Makayla. I told you that. We’re just – ”

  Makayla grabs his shirt and pulls him into the room, then tries to shut the door in my face, but I wedge my boot in the doorway so she can’t shut me out. I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave him to the mercy of this barracuda. I shove the door open and step inside, letting it close behind me.

  “Sorry, honey, but this is a private party,” she says, eyeing me like I’m something she found stuck to the bottom of her boot. Then she turns her large, brown eyes on Jonah. “Tell her to wait in the car, baby.”

  “She stays,” he says.

  Makayla smirks at him. “Fine. Let her watch then.” She steps into Jonah’s personal space, standing nearly eye to eye with him in her high heels, her brightly painted red lips barely an inch from his. Her voice drops to a breathy whisper. “You know I don’t mind if someone watches.”

  “There’s nothing to watch, Makayla.”

  “Baby, I’ve missed you.” She brings her long, slender fingers up to his face. “So much.”

  Makayla leans forward and kisses him with her glossy, plumped up lips. I watch Jonah’s reaction, after all she does look fucking hot – even I can admit that. But he doesn’t react. Nothing.

  Jonah eases her back, steadying her when she loses her balance on those ridiculous heels. “No, Makayla.”

  She pouts prettily, but when he keeps her at arm’s length, her sultry pout turns into a real frown. “Jonah, baby.”

  Jonah shakes his head. “Finish getting dressed so we can go. The sooner we get this charade over with, the better.”

  “It’s not a charade! I want to see you, be with you. We haven’t spent any quality time together since – ”

  “Get dressed.” He points toward the bedroom door. “This is a publicity stunt, not a date. Don’t confuse the two.”

  “Fine!” Makayla stalks off in a huff to her bedroom and slams the door behind her.

  Jonah turns to me. “Sorry about that.”

  I shrug. “Don’t mind me. I’m just along for the ride. And to keep Ms. Diva from molesting you.”

  The muscle guy across the room snorts in amusement.

  Jonah grins at me. “I appreciate your dedication to your job. Thank you.”

  * * *

  Makayla saunters out of her bedroom dressed to kill in a black mini skirt that barely covers her butt and a diamond-encrusted top that’s little more than a glorified sports bra. Her flat midriff is bare, and the diamond stud in her belly button is clearly visible. Her lustrous long brown hair is pulled up into a top-knot ponytail, and the thick length of it hangs down over her shoulder. She looks stunning.

  I open the door to the suite for them, and Makayla sashays through it after telling her muscle guy he can stay behind. Jonah follows more sedately. The elevator ride down is beyond awkward, and rather entertaining, at least for me. Makayla steps between me and Jonah and edges me back into the corner of the elevator car.

  When we step out into the lobby, the hotel manager is there, bowing and scraping to Makayla and Jonah. Camera flash from the street fills the lobby. The manager, a short, rotund man with thinning brown hair, is clearly frazzled by the media circus out front.

  “Ms. Hendricks!” he says, scurrying over to her.

  Makayla catches a glimpse of the Escalade parked outside the revolving doors and stops abruptly. “Where’s my limo? I said I wanted a limo.”

  The manager – his name tag says “Mr. Roberts” – scurries over to Makayla. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry! Were we supposed to arrange for a limo?”

  Makayla glares at me, as if this is all my fault. “Where’s my limo? I told Dwight I wanted a limo.”

  “We don’t need a limo,” Jonah says. “Lia will drive us in the Escalade.”

  Makayla looks stricken. “An SUV? Are you kidding me? I don’t ride in SUVs. I need a limo!”

  I try to keep a straight face as Makayla flushes a deep red. She really does appear to be stressed by her mode of transportation. You’d think we were asking her to take public transportation. Surely a bullet-proofed Cadillac is acceptable transportation, even for her.

  To avoid completely losing my cool, I push ahead through the revolving doors and head outside. The hotel staff have created a corridor from the front doors to the Escalade, and it looks like we’ll have to run the gauntlet. I move out in front amidst a barrage of camera flashes and shouting paparazzi. Jonah’s right behind me, with Makayla, not quite steady in her towering heels, in tow.

  The crowd is shouting Makayla’s name, as well as Jonah’s. There’s all manner of screaming, and some of the girls are downright hysterical. The paparazzi press closer, their camera flashes nearly blinding us as they shout random questions at Makayla and Jonah.

  “Makayla! Are you and Jonah back together?”

  “Jonah! Are you seeing someone new?”

  “Jonah! Who’s the blond?”

  Several cameras point my way, firing off volleys of shots like automatic machine guns. It takes everything I have not to cover my face and dive into the vehicle. The last thing I want is my face plastered all over the Internet, and I sure as hell don’t want to get mixed up in the Makayla-Jonah drama fueled by the desperate hopes of teenage girls who have their hearts set on a sweet reunion between the two of them.

  Having reached the end of my patience, I open the rear passenger door of the SUV and practically shove Makayla inside. She scoots over to the far side, making room for Jonah to sit beside her.

  I look at Jonah. “Front or back?”

  He answers without hesitation, and I have to bite back a grin. “Front.”

  When I close the rear door and open the front passenger door for Jonah, Makayla leans forward between the two front seats, clearly annoyed. “Jonah! Why aren’t you sitting back here with me?” As he’s buckling his seat belt, she strokes the back of his neck with a glossy red fingernail. “You should be back here with me, baby, not up front with the chauffeur.”

  “She’s not a chauffeur, Makayla,” he says, pulling away from her touch.

  She’s still complaining as we pull away from the hotel entrance, moving at a painfully slow crawl as the hotel security guards try to move the crowd out of our path.

  “Why are there so many people here?” I ask Makayla, meeting her gaze in the rear view mirror. I’m sure it’s not a coincidence. “How did they know you were staying in this hotel? I thought your presence in Chicago was supposed to be a secret until Friday.”

  Makayla leans back in her seat, huffing indignantly. “I have no idea. I guess someone leaked it to the media.”

  “And who could that be?” I say.

  “How in the world would I know?” she says, pouting as she glares out her window.

  Chapter 18

  “This restaurant had better be good,” Makayla says as we pull up to the front entrance of the towering glass and steel building that houses Renaldo’s.

  “It is,” I tell her
. “Five stars, all the way.”

  Renaldo’s is located at the top of a high-rise office building downtown, with an unimpeded view of N. Michigan Avenue and Lake Michigan in the distance. They offer some of the finest Italian cuisine in the city. Beth’s former roommate, Gabrielle, works here as a sous-chef, and the owner – Peter Capelli – is a close friend of Shane’s. I almost feel bad bringing Makayla there, because I know she’ll turn the event into a circus somehow. Peter’s a nice guy, and he doesn’t deserve that. But the clientele here is upscale and used to seeing celebrities in their midst, so they won’t go crazy over seeing Makayla and Jonah there.

  A valet opens Makayla’s door, and then Jonah’s, while I let myself out and walk around the front of the vehicle to join them on the sidewalk. I hand the valet a spare key. We’re escorted by restaurant staff into the building and to the express elevator that goes directly up to the restaurant.

  The elevator opens into a grand vestibule. A gold-accented, crystal chandelier hangs from a high ceiling, casting sparkling light on burgundy velvet papered walls. A number of sleek black sofas and chairs give guests a comfortable place to await their coveted reservations. I walk right up to the host’s podium, where a girl who barely looks like she’s out of high school stands. Her long, sleek black hair is pulled back into a high pony tail, and she’s dressed in black dress slacks and a white tailored blouse, with a fine gold choker around her slender neck.

  Our hostess gives us a polished and professional smile, but her widening gaze quickly drifts to Makayla, and then to Jonah. She makes a valiant effort to act as if these guests are nothing out of the ordinary. Finally, she transfers her gaze to me, and her voice is a little shaky. “Mr. Locke’s table is ready, ma’am.”

  The hostess hands three menus to a young man who is hovering at her elbow, a tall young man with red hair and freckles who’s fairly vibrating with suppressed excitement. “If you’ll follow me,” he says, flourishing a hand toward the curtained entrance to the dining room.

  Makayla steps in front of me and grabs my arm in a bruising grip. “You are NOT coming in with us,” she hisses in my face. “Wait out here.”