Page 168 of Naughty Dreams
“Oh shit. Sorry.” He hit connect. “Yeah, Jim. Yes, he’s fine.”
When he returned the phone to the table, DJ answered Julie’s curious look. “My security people won’t let anyone into your building unless I’ve said they’re okay. It’s something Roy told me to do. People will go to a lot of lengths to pretend to be someone I know, and some of them are good enough to fool anyone.” Except Roy.
The moment highlighted the differences between “normal” for him and the rest of the world, but he sensed more than that in Julie’s speculative look.
Before he could ask what she was thinking, Madison returned in the company of a man with long brown hair and piercing eyes. He wore a dirty T-shirt and jeans. DJ recalled there’d been a man on the roof when he arrived, replacing shingles.
His slim build was similar to DJ’s own. But when DJ met his gaze, there was a quality in his eyes, one that intensified when he looked toward Julie, which told DJ he was a Dom, as authoritative when the moment called for it as Roy.
He really missed Roy. Enough that he stammered during the introduction to Desmond Hayes, for fuck’s sake. But it was like having a deep craving for a specific food and being close enough to something like it that the craving became twice as bad. Because close enough wasn’t enough.
Fortunately, when Des gave him a friendly, man-to-man nod, the Dom-vibe dialed back and saved DJ from embarrassment. Des bent over Julie’s shoulder, gripping it, his callused thumbteasing the small curling hairs on her neck, as she hit play on the relevant section of the video she’d cued up.
Des had her rewind it several times before he straightened. Just like his wife, he fired off a handful of suggestions that would improve the scene, and its safety for the performers.
“Can my choreographer call you if he needs to do so?”
“Sure. Julie’ll give you my number.”
“Great.”
Madison grabbed them sodas and snacks from a backstage room. Julie had asked Des to stay, saying it looked like a good time for a break. He indulged her, straddling a chair backwards and giving the women a roof update.
DJ was content to listen. He needed a break as well. More of his nerves were involved in this piece than he’d realized. The women included him in their casual chatting, but Madison asked DJ a question that said they’d noticed his mood.
“Are you nervous about doing this in front of your fans? You’ve done edgy stuff on stage before, but this seems more personal.”
He was talking to two submissives and a Dom, so he understood that was the angle of her question. A caring and concerned one.
“Moss was worried that this might tank my career,” he said. “You know, doing it where I’m not the alpha, the top.”
“I think it’s going to rocket your career into a whole new stratosphere.” Madison’s serious look said she wasn’t blowing smoke up his ass. “Even if it’s buried deep, most people understand the craving to trust someone enough to surrender to them.”
“But hey, if you’re right, we always have an opening for you here,” Julie said. “The pay would be nothing next to what you’re earning, but how much money does someone need to make in a lifetime? Feeding your soul is the important thing. Though if it’sa pride thing, Madison can probably manage something slightly higher. Not bigger than my salary though, because I’d be pissed. I am top dog here, you know.”
“She never stops working an angle,” Madison informed a grinning DJ. “It’s why she’s as good at marketing this place as she is at running it.”
She leaned in and gave him a from-her-chair hug. He was surprised at how much he needed it. Julie closed in on the other side, muttering, “Hell, I’m totally getting in on that action.”
DJ held his hands out to his sides, not touching either woman, and looked toward Des, who raised an inquisitive dark brow.
“You came in here with a hammer,” DJ said. “I need my bones unbroken. And Logan could snap my spine like a pretzel stick.”
But Des gave him a this-is-what-women-do-and-why-we-like-them look, so DJ offered each woman a healthy andveryplatonic hug.
"Hang in there," Julie murmured. "It will be all right.”
Now he knew what he’d seen in her earlier thoughtful look. She’d recognized why it was more than a performance to him. Madison had, too, as her next question proved.
“Will he be there?”
“He doesn’t work for me anymore. I did think about sending him a backstage ticket…but that seemed kind of ‘thanks for your help, here’s a complimentary ticket to come to my show.’ As far as gifts go, he’d probably appreciate Kevlar jeans more. Or a lifetime supply of bullets.”
Maybe Roy would watch it on TV when the news outlets picked it up. But that felt inadequate. Much of a lyric’s power came from its delivery, the music, but when the message was for you personally, face-to-face was when the words were at theirmost powerful. God didn’t text Moses the Ten Commandments, right?
He could just imagine Marjorie’s take onthatcomparison.
Then Madison squeezed his hand and reinforced his thoughts. “The changes you’ve made? They’re about the two of you. Invite him to see it.”
