Her eyes flick to the photo and the annoyance melts, which is quickly replaced by a mixture of fondness and pain. "Yes. She died a little over a year ago."
I actually knew this, as Midge had filled me in on a little bit about Emma's background to appease my curiosity. Of course, Midge thought my interest in her adorable, and I, of course, think it's adorable that Midge finds it adorable, because I know damn well she sent Emma Peterson over to that jailhouse because she figured I'd be interested in her. Not many would know Midge is an old romantic at heart, but I know her better than most.
"I'm sorry," I tell her softly.
She nods with a slight smile of thanks, but then her eyes turn business-hard again. "What do you mean we don't have time to meet next week?"
I turn to face her fully and jam my hands down into the pockets of my jeans. I give her my most charming smile, which I've been told has the power to incinerate panties, and tell her, "We leave tomorrow evening for my tour. Thought I'd give you some basic background today, especially since your publicist duties will start the minute you step foot on that bus with me."
Emma's face actually blanches. She sucks in a rasping breath through parted lips before practically choking out in a near-hysterical voice, "Tomorrow? You want me to leave with you on tour tomorrow?"
"Yup," I say simply. "So you might want to get your laundry done."
"I can't just go with you on tour tomorrow," she hisses at me. "I have a job you know."
"Your job is to work for me full time on my issues," I tell her. "Surely Midge made that clear."
"Yes," she says in confusion. "But I just assumed she meant from the comfort of my desk."
"No can do, pretty lady," I say with a grin, and then I take a seat on her couch, laying an arm over the back. "I need you with me to field reporters, and we also need to get cracking on those legal issues. Responses are due soon, so I'm going to need you with me so we can get this knocked out as efficiently as possible."
"That's ridiculous," she stammers, and her voice starts to rise again. "I have bills to pay. I have freaking animals to take care of. You cannot expect me to just leave this all behind without any notice or planning."
"I'm giving you notice now," I tell her with a shrug. "I'll have your bills covered, and you can board your animals or something, and speaking of which... what else do you have besides that hell beast in the cage there?"
I glance over at the puppy, which has long, shaggy hair with the cutest poof on top that looks slightly like Tina Turner's hair.
"I have a cat too," she mutters, and then starts to nibble on a fingernail. I can practically see the gears in her brain whirring.
"So find a kennel to take them, get your laundry done--although I'll be the first to tell you that those prim little business suits are not allowed on a rocker's bus--and you'll be all set."
"You are a certifiable nut job," she grits out at me. "And I am not boarding my animals, nor am I leaving them for God knows how long."
"The tour is three months," I provide helpfully.
Emma growls at me under her breath, then squares her shoulders. Her eyes are blazing with anger and resolve. "I am not going on tour with you. I have a life and that wasn't part of the deal."
"Your life isn't going to fall apart if you leave for a bit," I chastise her. "This is the twenty-first century. The world is flat. We're a mobile generation. You can run your household from your smartphone, Emma."
She knows this is true, so she changes tactics. "I'm not leaving my animals in a strange kennel for months. It's cruel."
"I have to say," I begin with thoughtful contemplation, kicking my legs up onto her couch although I politely let my Chucks dangle over the edge, "I didn't take you as an animal person."
She blinks at me. "Why not?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Just a feeling."
Which isn't true. What I'd like to tell her is that she seems like the type of woman who's happiest with her face pressed close to a book, where she can play with words and written nuances, and not have to deal with people. That sort of applies to animals, I guess.
"Well, I am an animal person. I love mine, and Sirius is just a puppy and we're bonding so I'm not leaving him," she says adamantly.
My gaze cuts over to Sirius. He takes up most of the big kennel, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as if he's grinning at me. "What kind of dog is that?"
"A Newfoundland," she replies, her voice still filled with annoyance.
"He's awful big," I note.
"He'll get bigger," she says. "Probably a hundred and fifty pounds or so."
I give a whistle through my teeth as I look back to her. "That's a lot of dog."
"That I refuse to leave," she enunciates very clearly to make her point with arms crossed over her chest.
I glance back to Sirius, then back to Emma, and make a command decision. "He can come with us."
Emma's eyes round in surprise and her head sort of hangs forward as her jaw drops. "Bring him on tour with you?"
"Well, with you," I clarify. "He's your dog and you have to take care of him."
I can see those gears starting to whirl in her head again as she tries to figure out another excuse to lob my way, so I cut her off before she can think of something, "Come on, Emma. Remember your dream job awaits you at the end of this little odyssey you're getting ready to take. How about be adventurous for once, get this job over for me, and then you can come back and play around with contracts and other boring shit for the rest of your life?"
"It's not boring," she snaps at me. "It takes a keen intelligence and ability to interpret--"
"Fine, it's not boring," I rush to reassure her. "And it can all be waiting for you once you fulfill this tiny little obligation to me."
"I want a time limit and I want it in writing," she says sternly. "I'll agree to one month only with you on the tour. That should be plenty of time to field the initial media interest in the lawsuit and plenty of time for me to review those label contracts and give you advice. Then I want to come back home and I can do any remaining work from Raleigh."
"Fine," I say quickly, because the time doesn't matter. I'll either have her figured out and my attraction to her well fulfilled by then--because fuck if I'm going to wait thirty days to get in her pants--or I'll be gladly sending her back to Raleigh because the attraction I was imagining was really nothing to begin with.
"I can't believe I'm even entertaining this notion, but what about my cat?" she adds on. "I'm not leaving her either."
I haven't seen this cat yet, and frankly, I don't want to. "No can do on that. I'm allergic to cats."
"It's what they make Zyrtec for," she throws at me stubbornly.
"Seriously, Emma," I tell her truthfully. "I can't be around cats. They get within five feet of me, and my eyes swell shut and my throat closes off. Do you want me to die on that tour bus?"
I'm disappointed to see a bit of light shine in her eyes at the prospect, but she finally says, "Fine. I'm sure my dad will watch her."
"Perfect," I say enthusiastically as I swing my legs off the couch and plant my feet on the floor. "We'll be by to pick you up tomorrow around six PM."
Emma's face pinches with stress over the prospect. "You mean... you're just going to pull a big bus up to my house to get me?"
I chuckle, pleased she's a little off balance right now because she needs a little disruption in her orderly little life.
"It's a bit more than just a bus," I tell her vaguely. "Just be ready to go by then."
She nods but doesn't say anything, turning away from me to stare at her dog's kennel in contemplation. I've already been dismissed from her mind, and she's trying to figure out how to deal with everything she needs to handle before tomorrow afternoon.
I head toward her front door, intent on letting myself out. But when I pull it open, I look back at Emma, still staring at her dog.
"Oh, and Emma?" I say, and she startles, turning to look at me with wide eyes. "You might want
to bring ear plugs. Lots of stuff goes on while we're traveling on the bus that you might not want to hear."
"Like what?" she asks with naivety, her brow furrowing with worry.
"You'll figure it out," I say slyly, and then I step out of her house, shutting the door behind me.
I think Miss Emma Peterson's ordered little world is going to be shaken up soon, and I can't wait to see how she handles it.
CHAPTER 6
Emma
There's a freaking huge bus parked in front of my house. Massive and colored metallic brown with sweeps of light bronze and gold on the diagonal with the name "Evan Scott" written in graffiti-style letters, and under it in small letters "The Come Again Tour".
Pulling my blinds open just a bit more, I angle my head to the left to see better, and I can't contain the gasp that comes out when I see the rest of the spectacle lining the street.
"What?" my dad asks from behind.
"No words," I whisper, shaking my head. "There are just no words."
My dad gives a chuckle and comes to stand beside me. Instead of surreptitiously peeking out the blinds like me, he grabs the cord on the right and pulls on it, causing the blinds to shoot upward and exposing us standing there.
With a shriek, I jump back from the window and then take several more steps backward. My dad just stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and takes it all in.
Not only is there the massive "Evan Scott" bus, but there's a matching bus just behind it. Same colors, same announcement on the side, so there's no doubt as to the fame of the person inside.
And behind the two buses... two tractor-trailers. These are non-descript with full-length, white trailers behind them and I have no idea why they're sitting there.
"Looks like he'll put on quite a show," my dad observes thoughtfully.
I don't answer, but instead look around my living room. I've got two large suitcases filled with my clothes, a smaller rolling case with my toiletries, and a separate duffel filled with necessities for Sirius. He's currently lying beside it sleeping, as my dad wore him out about half an hour ago playing a vicious game of tug of war.
Am I really doing this? Am I going to join that caravan of musicians and God knows who else, and travel around the country?
I guess I am and still can't quite wrap my head around the prospect. I've never done anything so spontaneous... so ill planned. So... adventurous?
"You'll have an amazing time," my dad says softly, and my head snaps toward him. He's looking at me with a keen paternal understanding. "This will be good for you, Em. You need a little excitement in your life."
"My life has plenty of excitement," I mutter, and then my eyes slide back to the window as I see movement outside. The doors open on the first bus, and Evan comes trotting down the steps.
I can't explain the light, fluttery feeling deep in my belly as he cuts across my lawn. He's wearing a pair of faded khaki shorts that hang low with frayed hems, a green Mountain Dew t-shirt, and a beat-up old baseball cap done in light blue with UNC's mascot on the front. I remember reading he actually went to Carolina for three years before he dropped out to pursue music full time. It's a warm spring day and I notice he's wearing flip-flops, just as I notice his legs are tanned and muscled. Of course, that leads me to check out his arms, which are also corded with lean muscle, and the fluttering in my belly picks up its pace.
Within moments, Evan's knocking at my front door. My dad merely takes a few steps to the side from my front window to let him in. Sirius bolts up out of his sleep when he hears we have a visitor and he tries to shoot past me. I lunge, grab onto his collar, and give him a stern, "Sit". Miraculously, his butt hits the floor where his tail sweeps back and forth along the hardwood with excitement.
"Evan," my dad says as he extends his hand out. "I'm Cary Peterson."
Evan shakes my dad's hand with a smile as he says, "It's good to meet you, sir."
"Likewise," my dad says, and then he steps away from Evan toward me, his hands coming to my shoulders. "Okay, honey... I'm going to head out, but you have a great time on this trip."
"I'm working, Dad," I remind him primly. "It's not a vacation."
"Well, enjoy yourself anyway," he chides as he leans in to kiss me on the cheek. When he pulls away, he looks at me somberly for a moment before adding on, "I'm proud of you for doing this. Trying something new."
"I'm doing this to get a new job," I remind him, because I had a long talk with him yesterday after Evan left, told him about this "offer of employment," and that Evan assured me that Midge would help me secure a job in another firm when I completed my duties. He seemed neither shocked nor disappointed by this proclamation, and I suspect that's because my dad just wants me to be happy and he knows I'm not with Knight & Payne.
"Okay, honey," my dad says softly and he releases my shoulders. "I love you and we'll talk on the phone soon. Call me if you need anything at all."
For a brief moment, I panic at the thought of him leaving. My life is secure and safe and there aren't any surprises. My dad is my rock and well... since mom died, he's become my best friend.
I have to physically bite down on my tongue so I don't inadvertently call out for him that I've changed my mind and I watch as he bends over to pick up Kiki's travel cage. She's a Maine Coon cat and huge, so the cage is substantial. She gives out a long meow of surprise to be moving.
"Need some help with that?" Evan asks, still standing just inside my doorway with his gaze dubiously pinned on Kiki's cage.
"I'm good," my dad tells him. Evan looks relieved, moving several paces away from the door to give a wide berth. I guess he wasn't kidding when he said he was allergic to cats.
My dad and I exchange "I love you's" one more time and then he's gone, leaving Sirius and me alone with Evan.
"You ready?" he asks me.
I don't answer him directly but instead say, "You didn't tell me you had an entire convoy for this tour."
"Does it matter?" he counters.
I merely shrug my shoulders as I let go of Sirius' collar. The puppy immediately jets toward Evan who locks his body in anticipation of a collision. There's a smirk on my face as I watch Sirius jump up on Evan, paws going to his shoulders and I don't bother trying to retrieve him.
"Oh-kay," Evan chuckles as he pushes Sirius off him, only to have him leap back up again as he desperately tries to lick Evan's face. "Get down, buddy."
Evan struggles. Sirius leaps. Drool flies.
"Little help here," Evan calls to me with a quick glance.
"Push him down," I instruct calmly. "When he tries to jump up again, raise your knee up to prevent it and tell him to 'sit'."
Evan immediately does as I suggest. He pushes Sirius down, who immediately leaps back up. Evan raises his knee and hops on one foot with his hands warding off Sirius, whose tongue is flopping about in a mad attempt to lick Evan's face.
I have to cover my mouth with my hand to not bust out laughing, and then almost pee my pants when Sirius--clearly bored with this new game now--sits very briefly only to reach out and snag the flip-flop off Evan's foot that's held in the air while his knee is still raised.
Quick as a flash, Sirius turns around and shoots out of the living room and down the hallway, where I can hear him leap onto my bed.
"Son of a bitch," Evan mutters, and I can't even look at him. I'll lose it.
Instead, I call over my shoulder as I trot down my hallway, "I'll get your shoe. Just hold on."
"Fucking mutt," he mutters. While I cringe at his casual use of the "F" word, I can't contain the snicker that pops out of my mouth.
I find Sirius on my bed furiously working at something inside of his mouth. When I look down to my mattress, I see the flip-flop with half the heel gone and immediately hurry to the crazy puppy to pull it out of his mouth.
"Bad dog," I say sternly, knowing my voice will carry down the hall to Evan, but then I whisper to Sirius and ruffle the fur on his head, "Good dog."
His tail thumps in a
bandon over my praise, and I have to say... while I'm not looking forward to getting on that bus and traveling the country, I am relishing just a bit how much Sirius will probably torment Evan.
There's more cursing by Evan after I hand him half a flip-flop, but it doesn't last long. He pulls his other shoe off, grabs one of my large suitcases, and walks out door. I take that as my cue to get moving, and I work to get Sirius on his leash to bring him out to the bus. A big, burly man who is bald on top but has a long, red beard walks into my house and gives me a nod of his head, before walking over to my other luggage. Correction... he's not big. He's massive. Tall and wide with a bit of a gut hanging low and hands the size of dinner plates. He tucks the duffel under one arm and takes the other large suitcase in one hand, as well as my rolling case in the other, and walks back out my door.
Turning around once, I take a last look at my living room, and I have a moment of sadness to be leaving. I love my house. My little sanctuary where every spare wall is covered with bookcases, and filled with books. I've got fiction and non-fiction. Poetry. Self-help books. Romance. Thrillers. Law books.
I'm going to miss my books.
"Come on, Sirius," I say as I give a little tug on his leash. While he's a hellion at almost all other times, the minute he's on a leash, he displays perfect manners and for that, I'm grateful.
We leave my house and I lock up, at least secure in the fact my dad will check on it frequently for me. My bills are all covered, as those were all on auto draft and the only other thing to worry about was my mail, but my neighbor's going to collect it for me and give it to my dad. He'll handle any emergencies.
My life is zipped up tidily and now I'm free to go on this... well, whatever this journey is. I still haven't quite figured it out, because I'm just having an almost impossible time trying to accept that this massive bus in front of me is not only my home for the next thirty days, but my office as well.
Evan waits for me--barefooted--by the open bus doors. I can see the red-bearded guy behind the wheel as I walk Sirius across the front yard, with his nose to the ground sniffing. He pauses, squats, and pees--only because he's still a puppy and hasn't figured out how to raise his leg yet--and then we walk up to Evan.
He motions with his hand for us to walk up the steps and says, "Your chariot awaits."