“It wasn’t a text message,” she said. “It was a note in my purse.”
“In your purse? Reagan, that means this is someone close to you.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?” she yelled and realized how thin the walls were in this place.
“Who could it be? One of the band members? The crew?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what it means. You took what’s mine. I haven’t taken anything from anyone.”
“It still sounds like a jealous ex-lover to me, Reagan. Maybe you should ask Trey if he’s dated any psychopaths.”
“Ha ha, Ethan. Will you be serious?”
“I am serious. Did you tell him about the last message?”
“No.”
“This one?”
“He saw it, but I played it down.”
“Maybe it’s a practical joke. One of the guys messing with you the way guys mess with each other. Maybe the joker didn’t realize how inappropriate it is.”
“Maybe,” Reagan said. Eric did have a strange sense of humor. Maybe he was behind it. It didn’t seem like something he’d do though. Put saran wrap over the toilet bowl, yes. Send threatening messages to his bandmate’s girlfriend, no.
“Well, stay close to Trey. Let him know you’re worried about it. Bring the note to me tomorrow and I’ll see if I can find any telling clues.”
“Thanks, Ethan.” Just talking to him made her feel safer.
“See you tomorrow.”
She hung up the phone and left the bathroom to find Trey standing just outside. “So what did Ethan say?” he asked.
Caught. Reagan swallowed and decided to take Ethan’s advice. “He said to tell you that I’m worried about this and that this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten this message since I started dating you.”
“What?”
“I got a text message a little over a week ago. Said the same thing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me someone was threatening you?”
“Because I wasn’t sure it was real. I can’t deny that it is now. That note had my name on it. It was in my purse. The message was exactly the same. Eric wouldn’t pull a prank like that, would he?”
Trey shook his head. “Not his style. It’s not funny.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“When did you get the last message?” Trey asked.
“The morning I called my father.” She hadn’t told him about that either. “Um, after your first concert in Topeka.”
Trey nodded. “I’ll make some calls in the morning. See if I can find out anything. We have no way of knowing for sure how long that note’s been in your purse.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. He stepped closer and hugged her. “I can protect you, you know. You don’t have to keep going to Ethan.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t usually frighten this easily. Something about this sends chills down my spine.”
Chapter 19
The next afternoon, Reagan slipped into the backseat of Exodus End’s limo. The man inside resembled someone’s grand-father more than someone who had made a metal band like Exodus End superstars. Sam Baily was talking into his cell phone but looked up and smiled at Reagan warmly when she settled into the seat closest to the door.
“I’ll call you back. I have my work cut out for me here,” he said and disconnected.
What exactly did he mean by “work cut out for me”?
“So I take it you’re Reagan Elliot,” he said and reached across the console to shake her hand.
She was half-tempted to say, “who? I just wanted a limo ride,” in an attempt to break the ice, but she didn’t think this guy fucked around.
“Yes, sir.”
“My assistant is dying to get her hands on you. She likes that girly sort of stuff. She’ll take you shopping for some decent clothes, get your hair fixed, help you with your makeup.” He tilted his head and assessed her more closely. She was five seconds from popping him in the mouth and telling him to go fuck himself. Who did he think he was?
Exodus End’s exalted manager, that’s who.
“How would you feel about getting breast implants?” he asked.
She was too stunned to answer at first, and when she finally could speak, the most she could muster was, “No.”
“The band would pay for it.”
She met his pale blue eyes steadily. “I’m not interested.”
“That’s too bad.” He opened a tan leather folio on his lap and wrote something down. He clicked his pen with finality and closed the folio again. What was he writing? Something about her? Had she totally blown it?
She looked down at her small breasts. Would it be the end of the world if she got a little augmentation? No. But if she ever did get cosmetic surgery it would be because she wanted it, not because someone pressured her into it. “I just want to play guitar.”
“That’s fine. I thought you’d rather be an asset to the band instead of a liability, but we can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
Having small boobs made her a liability? She didn’t know if she should be offended or hurt, so she settled on pissed. “I know I’m a nobody, but that doesn’t mean you can talk to me that way.”
“Forget I offered.” He opened his folio and she half-expected him to pull out a sign that read “reject” and hang it around her neck. Instead he pulled out a thick piece of off-white paper and handed it to her. “That is your itinerary for the next week. Today is reserved for finding you the right look both onstage and in public. The rest of the week you’ll be rehearsing for the show. Questions?”
She scanned the sheet but didn’t really internalize anything it said. She was still upset about becoming a sex object, or whatever it was this guy was trying to convert her into. “Why are you so fixated on my look?”
“You’re an entertainer, Reagan. It comes with the territory.”
“I’m a musician.”
“In the studio, you’re a musician. Onstage, you’re an entertainer. Get used to it. It’s not up for negotiation.”
She stared down at her itinerary for the day. In ten minutes, she had an appointment with a hairstylist. She rubbed a hand over the short hair at the back of her head. Was her twenty-dollar haircut that bad? And why did she need a pedicure? She wore combat boots on a daily basis.
“Reagan?”
She glanced up at Sam.
“Instead of fighting it, try having fun with it.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t have to worry about the size of his boobs being a liability.
Chapter 20
Trey started awake when the front door of Reagan’s apartment closed. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d been on the phone most of the morning, calling every contact in every city they’d visited in the past two weeks. He wasn’t a detective, but no one seemed to know anything about Reagan’s threatening messages. Not that he’d been stupid enough to ask them point-blank. He’d been more discrete than that. Trey sat up and rubbed his eyes, wishing he had better news for her. “So how did it go?” he asked her.
“How did what go?” Ethan asked.
Trey pried his eyes open and glanced at the man removing his boots by the door. Great. Just what he needed. To be alone with Reagan’s sexy alpha male of a roommate. Trey decided he should head for home. He could catch up with Reagan later. No telling how long her makeover would take, and this guy made him think all sorts of things that had nothing to do with Reagan and everything to do with being fucked. The last time Trey had seen Ethan, it had been days since he’d last had a male lover. Now he’d gone weeks without being penetrated and he wasn’t sure how strong his resolve was.
“I thought you were Reagan,” Trey said and climbed to his feet.