Page 7 of Layla

“Not really,” G.I. Joe says, his eyes on me. “You were too busy yelling at me.” He holds out a hand. “I’m John Whitmore.”

God, even his name sounds uptight. I reluctantly take his hand, trying not to think about how warm his skin is or how completely his palm dwarfs mine. “Layla Perry,” I mutter.

He releases my hand and I take a long sip of my drink. “So, what’s the plan?”

Louis clears his throat. “I know you don’t want the rest of the band to know about this—”

“Theywon’tknow about this,” I snarl. “That’s non-negotiable.”

Louis nods, looking tired. “I agree that it’s better to keep this as quiet as possible, for Haylee’s sake at least.”

My stomach clenches at his words. God, the last thing my best friend needs is to start worrying about this. I’m well familiar with Haylee’s issues. Familiar enough to know that she’ll freak the fuck out if she thinks there’s even a chance one of us is in danger.

Louis is still talking. “So, we tell the band the label is upping security as a matter of course, that this is standard procedure when a band starts to get a bigger following.” He nods over at John. “Mr. Whitmore is going to be in charge of the team. You’ll have security when you’re with the band or out on official business, just like normal, but it will be ramped up.”

I nod, staring down at my drink.

“But you’ll also have individual security whenever you aren’t with the band.”

My head snaps up. “What doesthatmean?”

Louis looks to John. “Mr. Whitmore is authorized to take whatever steps he sees fit to keep you safe.”

I glare between the two men. “And what steps might those be?”

John clears his throat. “Any time you’re not in your hotel room, on the bus, or on stage, I’m with you. Or someone else that I assign.”

I stare at him. He has got to be kidding me. There’s no way in hell I’m going to have a security guard shadowing me every single place I go. But he merely holds my gaze, not even blinking. I turn to Louis. “Are you fucking serious with this?”

“Layla—”

“You just got through saying that it would be better for Haylee not to know about this. You don’t think she’s going to notice that I have a fucking tank following me around?”

“When you’re with Haylee, or the rest of the band, you’ll all have security. How will she know that you’ll continue to have security on your own? She won’t be with you, that’s the whole point.”

I glare at him. “Someone is going to notice.”

“Security will be increasing for everyone,” he argues. “That should keep any of them from getting suspicious.”

I shake my head, turning back to John. “When you sayanytime—”

“Why don’t you tell me what a typical day on tour is like for you,” he cuts in smoothly. “That will help me figure out exactly what protocols to put in place.”

I run my hands through my still-wet hair. “There’s no such thing as a typical day.”

Louis cuts in. “That’s not exactly true. We can generally divide the schedule into travel days and performance or rehearsal days.”

John nods. “Travel days will be the easiest to plan for. I’m with you on the bus.”

I gape at him. “The other security guards ride on the crew bus.”

He merely shrugs. “Not anymore.”

This already has disaster written all over it.

“On rehearsal days,” Louis continues, “the band is typically at the hotel, the venue, or occasionally doing promotion work. These are the most likely days for them to do any sightseeing, if there’s time.”

I snort. Like Louis ever gives us enough time to sightsee. We’ve been all over the country and barely seen any of it.