Page 84 of Wicked Rockstar

She shooed me off. “I’m fine. My instructions were to escort you to where you needed to go. Not be by your side unless something happens or my orders change.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, you have my cell. Give me a call and I’ll let the doorman know that you’re on the approved list when I go in.” I opened my car door.

Before I got out, Jacquie asked slyly. “Are you ready to explain who I am then?”

My narrowed gaze met hers, erasing any possible doubt she knew the scoop about Peter, Killian, and me. “Uh, probably not.”

I hurried out of the car with her laughter ringing in my ears. There was no way I was ready to tell Peter about my ‘relationship’ with Killian. Without having a clear plan of what I’d say, the less I said the better.

Having done this many times before, I said hello to the doorman, told him to add Jacquie to the approved guest list, and headed towards the elevator. I was here often enough to have my own keycard to gain entrance. It made things easier when Peter needed something from home as he often did. Not for the first time, I was grateful that he had given me the power to add or take away from his list. At least I could add Jacquie without him knowing.

I let myself in, mentally reviewing the tasks for the day and wondering if forcing Peter to get up this morning would be one of them. I was so distracted on the way over I’d forgotten to call him. The click of his front door was loud in the quiet space. I debated slamming it shut to see if Peter was awake, even knowing he probably wasn’t.

“Hey, Trissa. We’re in here.” Wendy’s head popped out around the corner of the kitchen.

“Shit!” My poor little heart fluttered like a trapped bird.

“Oh, shoot. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Wendy rushed forward. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew I’d be here today.”

I probably should’ve known she’d be present since we’d be discussing an upcoming PR opportunity as well as other admin stuff. “It’s fine,” I reassured her, trying to get my heart to stopthe fast, erratic beat. “Peter’s awake?” Disbelief likely edged each word. Peter never willingly got up early.

Wendy tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Yes. But?—”

Peter stepped out of the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. I quickly headed to his side and laid the back of my hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

He batted my hand away and laughed. “I can get up early.” At my raised eyebrow he shoulder bumped me. “Okay, sometimes I get up early.”

“Sure.” I’d missed this easy-going teasing between us. If Peter was fighting a hangover, he was usually in a piss-poor mood. And today that was blissfully absent. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee. I want us to get started right away. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth with you up and ready to work.” I shot him a good-natured wink and he laughed again.

Wendy hovered awkwardly nearby. Her stance seemed completely out of character for the confident persona I’d seen from her.

“Where have you two settled in to work?” I directed my question to Wendy, wanting to include her. I knew what it felt like to be the person on the outside looking in, and I never wanted others to feel that way.

She smiled gratefully. “At the kitchen table. I’d only arrived a few minutes before you, and was setting up.”

“Great. Is this good mood an indicator that you’re on board with a little positive PR?” I asked, tapping Peter’s arm as I walked past him.

His immediate frown told me that was unlikely. “I’m doing it because I have to. I still think it’s a waste of my time. I should be writing songs, not giving away my time for free.”

Wendy settled at the seat with a laptop in front of it. “Any good PR is never a waste of time,” she responded primly.

Peter rolled his eyes and took the seat next to her at the head of the table. I sat to his left, across from Wendy.

We jumped straight into planning his social media posts and sectioning out our time over the next ten weeks so that we could tease the concert Peter’s band was hosting for the Rhode Island foster care system. Wendy had decided to partner us with a local group home and invite the kids from there to the concert as our guests. We also discussed the two-week mini-tour Jareth wanted Peter to go on to promote ticket sales.

We’d only been working for a half hour or so when there was a knock at the door.

Weird.

Only approved guests were allowed entrance. “Did you invite someone over?”

Peter shook his head. “I ordered a new guitar the other day. Maybe it’s that.”

Made sense. He had more guitars than he knew what to do with, and was constantly buying custom ones along with special one-of-a-kind picks.

I hurried to the door, opening it without bothering to check the peephole.

And froze.

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