Page 1 of Veiled

PROLOGUE

Waylon

“Where have you been?”

Justin doesn’t look all that surprised to see me in his apartment when he walks in. A trick I’ve learned from my good friend Jenny. Though I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been dodging me for months now.

I’m his goddamn manager. It’s my job to manage him, but I can’t do that if he won’t talk to me. I don’t get it. He was riding a damn high. Immoral—his rock band—has been back on tour all summer. He should be happy, but now he doesn’t want to be bothered?

It makes no damn sense.

Grady Bell, the lead singer for Immoral, was happy as hell to be back with the band over summer break. But now he’s back at home with his kids and husband who came on the tour with him.

Maybe that’s why Justin is mad. Because the tour ended. I mean, it was only supposed to be three months. He knew when he signed up what it would be, but I don’t think that’s it.

He tosses his keys on the table by the door with a heavy sigh and closes the door behind him. Stalking into the living room where I’m currently camped out on the couch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I shrug. “I have a key.”

“For emergencies,” he deadpans and walks over to the bar tucked into the corner in his apartment.

“Yes well, I haven’t talked to you for months. It damn well could have been an emergency. I had to check to make sure you didn’t slip and fall getting out of the shower or something.”

He rolls his eyes at me, pushing his dark hair back with his fingers, his sharp green eyes hitting me from across the room as he grabs a bottle of scotch and pours some into two glasses. He screws the lid on the bottle and walks over to me, holding out one of the glasses.

“It wasn’t months.”

I take the glass as I respond, “Seven weeks. Almost two months since the tour. I’ve texted back and forth with you maybe twice since then. And you gave one-word answers every time.”

I hate that my voice sounds hurt. But I’ve been his manager for a decade. Off and on, yes, because Immoral has taken some hiatuses, but still. I was there when he needed me, but now he’s shutting me out.

I’m not sure why it hurts so badly. But it does.

He sits down in an armchair near the couch, his long legs spread as he leans back with the drink in his hand.

My eyes trail over him slowly. He looks ready for a concert—complete with ripped black jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. It’s the look he’s known for. His dark hair and bright green eyes make the fans squeal in delight.

Doesn’t hurt that his face is so pretty, it could make you weep, and his hair is thick and full, always looking like it’s been swept with his hand and blown by the wind. He’s mastered the I don’t give a fuck look.

“I’m fine. The tour is over. What do you want from me?”

“What do you want from me? I’m your manager. I work for you. But I’m the one who’s been chasing you down to see what you want the next step to be.”

He laughs bitterly, taking a long sip of his drink and swallowing it down, keeping his eyes on me as he lowers the glass from his full red lips. “Next step? What next step? I’m one step up from a former boy-band member.”

“Hey. Don’t knock boy bands. Their fan bases are unmatched.”

He rolls his eyes, and I can’t help but smirk, knowing boy bands drive him crazy. “I don’t want anything, Waylon. I want to drift off into nonexistence.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I place my glass on the side table and lean forward a little, hoping to keep his attention.

“Don’t worry about it.” He downs the rest of his scotch and stands up, going to the kitchen and placing the glass in the sink. But I’m right behind him.

“Don’t worry about it? Are you kidding me?” I ask angrily when he turns around. “You can’t say something like that and then just walk off. What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t want to be famous anymore. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being told what I can wear. Where I can go. What I can do. Someone runs my social media.” He’s standing close to me now, and I resist breathing in his clean scent.

“You hate social media. You wouldn’t even have it if someone didn’t run it,” I point out.

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