Page 2 of Layla

“That’s her,” Louis says grimly. “She thinks it was taken a week ago, in Denver.”

I nod, flipping through to the next picture. It’s a closer shot this time, and her head is turned almost directly to the camera. My breath catches a little—she’s fucking gorgeous.

I push the thought away, concentrating on the facts I need to know. “Did she have security that night?”

He shakes his head. “She went alone after the set. That’s pretty common.”

“It needs to be not common.”

He nods, looking even grimmer. “That’s why you’re here, Mr. Whitmore.”

I flip back to the first letter. “What’s with theWicked Loverbit? He signs it on every letter.”

Something twists on Louis’s face. “It’s the title of one of their songs. You should probably listen to the lyrics—it’s about an uncontrollable, destructive love.” He clears his throat. “It’s one of the few songs Layla sings lead on.”

Before I can respond to that, the door opens behind us, sending another wave of noise into the room. I tense immediately. I haven’t been to a concert in years. How had I forgotten how loud they could be? Then again, I’d never heard one from this side of the stage.

“Sorry,” someone says behind me. “Johnson is on the phone.”

“I’ll call him back,” Louis says, his eyes flashing at the intruder. I shift slightly in my seat so I can see the door—I’d made sure to position myself in such a way that this would be possible. I never enter a room without knowing exactly where I need to be to see all the entrances. The guy at the door is dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, skinny and tall, with a backstage pass around his neck. He seems reluctant to follow the instructions.

“Tell him I’m dealing with security,” Louis says, his voice sharper. “I’m sure he’ll agree that should be my priority.”

The guy doesn’t look at all like he believes Louis, but he nods and ducks back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. The noise diminishes a little and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders.

And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t take this job, I tell myself. Let’s just say that loud noises and I do not get along. I try to imagine myself enduring several of these concerts and my palms start to feel clammy.

“Does the subject know about your security plans?”

Louis shifts in his seat, looking more than a little annoyed. “Oh, she knows,” he mutters.

I raise my eyebrows at him and he sighs. “She’s not thrilled about it.”

I nod, looking back to the pictures. “They rarely are.”

He clears his throat and now I can tell that he’s uncomfortable. “I need to warn you about Layla Perry,” he says, then pauses, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “She is not going to make this easy on you.”

I don’t respond, watching him closely. I’ve had plenty of clients before who weren’t inclined to make things easy.

“She’s a very…independent person,” he says. “Likes pushing boundaries.” He draws a large breath. “To be perfectly frank, she’s pretty opposed to this whole thing.”

“Will she go along with it?” I don’t have a lot of desire to spend my time trying to convince some spoiled celebrity that she needs to listen to me.

He straightens. “She will or she’ll be leaving the tour. The label isn’t messing around with this.” His expression hardens. “And neither am I.”

Well, that’s a good sign, I suppose. If the people in charge are taking the threat seriously that makes my job easier. Still, I’m hesitant. In my experience, the hardest people to protect are the ones who don’t think they need protecting.

And there’s the matter of the noise…

I push that thought away—there’s no way in hell I’m going to let my own stupid neurosis prevent me from doing a job.

I look back down at the pictures, flipping through them. The third image is the closest of all, and I feel a little chill thinking about some crazy asshole getting this near to her without her knowing. In this shot the laughter has slipped from her face. She’s looking down, brushing back her hair, and there’s something in her expression that has my chest tightening. Something soft, maybe a touch vulnerable. She’s still beautiful, but she also looks…sad? I can’t put my finger on it, and that’s not like me. Part of my job is reading people, reading situations.

So why can’t I get a read on Layla?

“I want total hiring authority for the team.” The words are out of my mouth before I’ve consciously decided to take the job.

“Done.”