Hence the security, which I had very little faith in.
When we got to the stadium, the crowd waiting there went wild. The swarm of people around Brady had been the hardest thing for me to get used to. Senator Matherton had drawn crowds, too, but only when we were out on the campaign trail. Plus, they were planned events with politically like-minded people. Calm, listening. Matherton had never been one to draw the hate crowds. Brady’s screaming fans popped up at the drop of a hat. Like when Brady had literally dropped his hat outside his apartment building the other day, and one person had realized who he was and had started screaming his name. What had followed was a whole host of people scrambling in our direction and the bodyguards hustling us into a nearby building.
It had been disconcerting. The security had been almost as nervous as us.
Now, Brady waved at the crowd being held back by nothing more than ropes. The screaming was at such a high pitch I swore there were only females in the throng. But as we neared the back door of the stadium, a man in a cowboy hat jumped over the ropes and came running at us.
Marco and another bodyguard, Trevor, tackled the fan before he got too close.
“Brady, Brady, I just need you to sign my hat, man. Just my hat,” the guy shouted with his face in the pavement and a knee in his back.
Brady stopped, picked up the hat which had become dislodged when the fan was forced to the ground, and held out a hand to me. I dug in my bag and came out with a permanent marker. I’d started carrying a whole host of them when I realized Brady signed something everywhere we went. He wrote his name on the felt hat’s brim before handing it to Trevor as they pulled the man away, and we continued inside.
“You’re never going to get that to stop if you always do what they ask,” Lee said with a sigh.
“Those people put me here, Lee. I’m not going to forget it.”
Lee gave me an eye roll behind Brady’s back, and I had to stifle a laugh because I was ninety percent sure Lee had never eye-rolled at all until he’d met me. Once Brady was ensconced in his dressing room with his team, I had the venue rep take me to the backstage party which was already in progress for the VIP ticket holders.
Thank God I’d dealt with senators who thought they were better than anyone else and deserved extra special treatment, because the majority of the VIPs weren’t any better. They’d paid a lot of money for the experience and expected it to meet up to every dollar they’d spent. I’d worn my burgundy jacket to balance their perceived sense of power with my own. I still ended up kissing butt and making sure they all had their favorite drinks in hand before I turned to the two families who I’d personally arranged to come. The first family was a single mom with her two children. They’d been following Brady since his initial single had hit number one coming out of Juilliard. The second family had a child who was battling cancer. Making his day come true had been a no-brainer. Good for the family, and good for Brady’s image. But when I’d told Brady, he’d made me promise not to use the second family’s tragedy for his gain.
It was why I already appreciated working for him more than I’d thought I would. He wasn’t just a sexy flirt. He was a good guy, all the way down to his core. It was something I should have known because of the way Ava and Georgie spoke of him, but hearing and seeing were two different things.
I set my shoulders back and prepared for a long night.
???
The crowd in the stadium was still screaming when Brady joined us in the VIP lounge. He was rubbing the sweat from his body with a towel someone in the crew had given him. He handed it back to them, and all I could think was that man needed a raise.
“Thanks, babe,” Brady said.
I hit him on the arm, and Brady smirked. Lee had told me that, even after three years, he was still having a hard time breaking Brady’s casual use of the nickname that some of his initial crew had taken offense to. Brady hadn’t disagreed. He’d only said, “It rarely slips out anymore. Mostly when I’m tired.”
I led Brady over to the most uptight assholes first so they wouldn’t stew and boil over. Then, we made our way around the room until we hit the cancer family. Brady spent extra time with them. I took pictures with all their phones before pulling out the guitar I’d had Brady sign ahead of time. The little boy went nuts at the gift, and Brady took a couple of minutes to show him how to play a few chords. It was super sweet and would have gotten a million likes if he’d let me share it on social media. But it was a hard no.
By the time we made it out to the limousine, it was around midnight. We were just about to enter when I was hit in the back of the head with something hard enough to make me stumble forward in my wedge boots. My hands went out to catch myself against the limousine door. As if in slow motion, loud pops started from right behind me, making us all duck, and Marco and Trevor leaned their bodies over Brady, shielding him.
My shoulder started burning, and I twisted around to find my burgundy jacket smoldering. I unbuttoned it and dropped it to the ground where a rope of firecrackers was going off, sparks, flames, and sounds filling the night. I jumped into the limousine, closing the door for protection, while the bodyguards hustled Brady around to the other side, pushing him in and stumbling in after him. The driver took off, causing me to slam back into the seat, but not before I’d looked back to see two of the remaining bodyguards twisting their bodies through the night, looking for whoever had thrown the firecrackers to begin with.
“Are you hurt?” Brady asked, eyes wide.
My head was pounding, and my shoulder was stinging, but I thought I was okay. I hadn’t recovered enough to be able to talk. But the random attack, the ache in my head, and the adrenaline rush pounding in my veins gave way to images of me staring at myself in a mirror in The Oriental’s bathroom. My cheek had been bright red, and the back of my head had pounded from where it had hit the wall of the elevator with the force of his slap.
My body started shaking.
“Dani?” Brady repeated, his voice full of concern, and it brought me back. I wasn’t at The Oriental. I was in a limousine with the country star, two muscled bodyguards, and a muscled driver. I was safe. Brady was safe. But Lee hadn’t made it into the car with us.
“I’m okay,” I said. I put my trembling hand up to the back of my head, rubbing. It came away clean, no blood. Then, I twisted to look at my shoulder. There was a small welt developing where the spark had sizzled through my jacket and burned my skin.
Brady saw the welt at the same time as I did. He opened the limousine’s small refrigerator, coming up with a soda can he placed on the burn for me. The cold metal brought me further back to the car and the people I was with and away from the last time my body had been pummeled unexpectedly.
Marco and Trevor were talking back and forth into their mics with someone on the other side. Either Tanner, the person in charge on-site, or their boss in their office in New York.
“Well, that wasn’t quite the planned pyrotechnic finale we wanted,” I said, trying to lighten the mood and Brady’s worry. It worked on Brady but not the others in the vehicle.
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “That was a fucking nightmare.”
It was bad. Pretty damn bad.
