Page 78 of Naughty Dreams
Roy was surprised Moss asked him the question, but he gave him a straight answer. “Time. And eventually, distraction. Something to jumpstart him toward movement again. Are you okay? I know that was rough.”
“Yeah. It’s all rough. On all of us. But especially him. And Marjorie. I sure as fuck wish he’d call her.”
“Sounds like she expected him to turn inward like this,” Roy ventured. So had he.
“Yeah.” Moss picked up the drink Roy had poured him and took a sip. He leaned against the wet bar. “Their wills put me in line for the executor role after DJ. For DJ it was Steve, then me. At the time, Steve told me it made the most sense. Because, and I quote: ‘In case we ever go down in a flaming ball of metal, like awesome legendary bands often do, you’ll know how to handle our stuff.’”
Roy winced. Moss wasn’t done. “DJ laughs, but then he says to me, ‘This is a shitty business, with people who take advantage of talent, and talent who act like they don’t have to worry about business, driving their managers crazy.’”
Moss took another swallow of the drink. “So DJ leans forward then, and says, ‘You’ve always been straight with us, but time can change people. Will you give me your word that you’ll execute our wills the way we’ve laid them out, and not pull any bullshit?’ You know how he can look at you, like he sees right into your soul? I promised. Then Pete says, ‘Great. Hold out your arm, Moss. We only need a gallon of blood to make the oath official.’”
Moss put the drink down and his hands over his face. His shoulders shook once or twice, hard.
When Roy splashed more alcohol into his glass, Moss dropped his hands to watch. “Talking to Lonnie’s parents was godawful,” he said dully. “They’re caught between grief and wanting someone to blame. But they cared a lot about Steve, thank fuck. Not sure what I’d do if I had to deal with a lawsuit right now.
“Her dad…there was this lost quality to his voice, like a kid when you tell them something that just can’t be true. Like Santa Claus doesn’t exist, Mom and Dad don’t have all the answers…your daughter is dead.”
He blew out a breath. “When he’s able to get a handle on this stuff, I know DJ will want to go see them. I’m going to keep telling myself that he will get a handle on it, that he’ll be okay. Like I said, he’s the most mature twenty-six-year-old I’ve ever met.”
Roy blinked. “He’s thirty-one.”
“I’m off my game. One of Survival’s best kept secrets.”
Though Moss gave himself a weak head smack, the manager didn’t act as if it mattered too much. Not with everything else they were facing. Or maybe he knew Roy could be trusted with it.
“When they started playing bars and nightclubs that were twenty-one and older, DJ was seventeen. Steve and Pete were twenty-one. Tal was twenty-three when he joined them.
“DJ got a good fake ID and doctored birth certificate that said he was twenty-two, and he had the attitude to carry it off. I signed him when he was nineteen and thought he was twenty-four. He didn’t tell me until he turned twenty-one, but he said to leave everything like it was, because it didn’t really matter now that he was legal age, and he didn’t want any of the early gigs to get in trouble after the fact.
“I’m going to grab some sleep. I’ve reserved a room down the hall if you need me for anything.” As Moss rose, his normal sharp-eyed look surfaced. “The way he looks at you; he trusts you. He doesn’t give his trust easily. That shit in the bedroom? Even with me, after all these years, he watches. Waits for the other shoe to drop. You think the bodyguard thing leapfrogged you to the front of the trust line?”
“Maybe.” Roy thought that was a very small part of it, but he wasn’t going to betray DJ’s privacy on the whole Dom/sub thing.
“He doesn’t let his dick take charge of his head,” Moss observed. “Not usually.”
Roy stiffened, but Moss lifted a placating hand. “His relationships aren’t my business unless it affects his business. Your reputation says you won’t let that happen.”
He gave Roy a knowing look. “I felt the pull between you two at your first meeting. I made myself a private bet on how long it would be before he convinced you that you could mix business and pleasure without compromising his safety.”
“Much sooner than I would have expected.”
Since the genuine smile that crossed Moss’s face seemed to ease some of his pain, Roy didn’t regret the admission.
“Don’t give yourself too hard a time over it,” Moss advised. “He won over a jaded business manager who wasn’t looking for new clients, and especially not a no-name band. He actuallyispretty irresistible.”
“So I keep hearing. Mostly from him. Do you have any concerns that I might take advantage? Or piss on your turf?”
“Not based on everything I know of you thus far. And I’m his manager, Roy. Not his lover. They’re very different categories. If your intentions are good, if you value him as he deserves, you and I have no problems.”
Then Roy saw the tough core that had helped Grant Moss succeed in a cutthroat business. “If I’ve misjudged you, I’ll ruin your reputation and fire myself right after, because I’ll have failed him.”
Roy held his gaze. “Protecting him is my highest priority, Moss. The professional priority is to keep threats away, but take a bullet for him if necessary. When it comes to the personal, the priority is never sacrificed, not physically or emotionally. Take that as it’s meant.”
Moss nodded. “Get him home, Roy. And let me know if he needs anything.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
On the plane to Asheville, while DJ slouched in a seat with earphones and sunglasses on, Roy reviewed G’s reports and studied DJ’s home and grounds. The house had a lot of windows, but all with glass break sensors. Feed from the profusion of cameras was accessible at the driveway gatehouse and in a control room inside the residence. It was wi-fi based, but the firewalls were good and the monitoring company was on an even higher alert than usual.
