January 2012

MARK

I watch the cocky teen in front of me Google his own name. We only met ten minutes ago, and I can already tell we won't get along. Not that it matters—my job is to keep him safe, not be his friend. As long as he listens and keeps his head screwed on, we'll be fine.

"He's going to be huge one day," his manager had told me.

Judging by his self-obsession, that day can't come soon enough for the boy.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

Sitting on the sofa opposite me in the state-of-the-art recording studio, he doesn't look up from his phone. "Teddy."

I clench my pen and fight to stay patient. "Your real name."

"Teddy is what I'll be known as."

"Not with me. What's your real name?"

Finally, he tears his egotistical eyes away from his phone screen and grants me the honour of his attention.

"...Ed."

"Then that's what I'll call you."

He sighs and scrapes a hand over his jaw. Clean-shaven. Pristine. Tidy. He's not done a hard day's work in his life. This is going to be a shock to his system, and I'm not convinced he's ready for it.

"Problem?" I ask.

"No." His gaze flickers over my body, hesitant but curious. "It's just that Helen and I decided on the stage name last week. I need to get used to it."

"You also need to keep public and personal separate. If your career takes off, you'll need that barrier."

"Hm." His mouth scrunches in thought as he leans back into the forest green cushions. "So don't let anyone in my private life call me Teddy?"

"Other way round. Don't let the public know your real name. Keep it separate to maintain that boundary."

Otherwise you'll end up hooked on drugs to recreate a high in your private life because you can't tell the difference anymore. It didn't end well for Curtis, but this is a fresh slate. The boy is nineteen. I can mould him. Educate him. Stop him going down the wrong path before it's too late.

If he co-operates with me.

"You worked with famous musicians before?" He props one foot on the opposite knee and drums his fingertips against his thigh.

"Yes."

"Anyone I'd have heard of?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me who or...?"

"No. Now, I have a few rules—"

"Whoa." He holds up one palm with a short laugh. "I already had this meeting with your boss. Thought this was just a courtesy get-to-know each other session."

Fucking Des. He is the perfect example of how years in the job does not equate to experience. My time with Curtis has more than qualified me for this role, but Des is Team Leader because he tailed some Z-list property mogul for twenty years.

I argued the case with Helen—his manager—during my interview, insisted that I needed to be in a senior position to do my job well, explained how my lack of authority with Curtis meant he didn't get the support he needed, but still the stuck-in-his-ways 'experienced' guy got the TL role.

It's a hard pill to swallow. This 'courtesy get-to-know each other session' is my way in, though. I'm not doing it to prove a point. I'm doing it because I need to understand this kid if I'm to protect him effectively. And if that results in Helen reconsidering who's best placed to lead this team, then that's a bonus.

"I'm second in command," I say. "And I'll be in charge when Des is off, so I have my own rules."

His lips twitch. "Fine. Let's hear 'em."

"Drugs. If you—"

"I don't even smoke. No need to give me the lecture about drugs."

Patience wearing thin, I snap my notebook shut and toss it onto the coffee table between us. It lands with a smack and rattles the glass surface.

"Good to know," I say. "However, at some point during your career, someone is going to offer you drugs. Or you might be tempted to try them. When you get that temptation, you talk to me about it. Got it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "So you're a therapist as well as a protection officer?"

This is exactly why we're not going to get along.

"I'm not a therapist, but if you're going to try drugs, then I want to be aware of what you're taking and where you'll be taking it. Just in case anything goes wrong."

Surprise flashes across his face. Whether he's surprised at my response or at the idea of a bad reaction to drugs, it's not clear. It's shut him up, though, so I forge ahead with my next rule.

"Next: communication. I'm not here to control your life, but I do need to know where you're going and what you're doing."

"That seems like overkill."

"It might seem that way now, but if you do take off, we need that in place. Understood?"

He pumps his brows once in what I assume to be acknowledgment.

"Good. Next..."

*

It's been more than a decade since I was a horny nineteen-year-old lad prowling nightclubs for hot girls, and watching Ed Stone do it makes that feel like even longer ago. He's a good-looking guy, if a little lanky, but it's his confidence that seems to draw in the ladies. The prospect of being famous has gone to his head; he'll tell anyone who'll listen that he's got a single coming out.

I stand on the mezzanine, safely away from the chaos of the dance floor below, and watch him whisper into the ear of girl number five. He's efficient, I'll give him that. After observing him for two hours, I've cracked his pattern. A little dancing, some whispering, and then a kiss. Once that girl leaves or moves on, he's seeking out the next. The dance floor is crowded enough that he can get away with it. And to be fair, the girls don't look like they're searching for a husband.

Right on cue, he starts making out with the latest one. I switch my attention to scanning the room for threats. It's a habit I developed with Curtis. Those threats were usually inflicted by Curtis rather than towards him, but the instinct remains. It also gives me something else to do instead of watching a self-proclaimed god's gift to women stick his tongue down some poor girl's throat.

In the far corner of the club, there's an obvious drug deal taking place. The clueless bouncers here either don't notice or just don't care.

Not my job anymore.

I look back to the dance floor. Search for a tall dark-haired guy. The crowd blends into a sea of indistinguishable bodies, but I have him committed to memory. His height. The exact cut and shade of his hair. His gait. His facial expressions. His mannerisms. Even after our short time together, I can pick him out in less than five seconds. So when I fail to locate him, I know he's not there.

Where the fuck has he gone? If he's sneaked out to take that girl home—

"Looking for me?"

He sidles up next to me and rests a forearm on the mezzanine railing. Blue eyes sweeping over the dance floor, he lifts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a long swig.

"Having fun?" I ask, deadpan.

"Ready to go home, to be honest."

I cock an eyebrow. "You sure? There are still a few girls here you've not hit on yet."

He doesn't look at me, but he chuckles. "Don't judge me, man. I'm on the rebound."

"Is that so?"

I don't care to hear about his love life, but if it'll get him to trust me, then I'll feign interest. Besides, I could do with the reassurance that I'm not the only loser who's fucked up a relationship.

"Yep." His throat ripples with another gulp of beer. "She thought we'd go to uni together. Didn't like that I wanted to pursue music instead."

That could explain why he's trying to validate himself with all these girls here. He thinks he has something to prove. Or at least he wants to be seen as successful.

"It's only been a couple of months," he says. "I'll get through it."

"I can't fault your effort."

"Thanks," he replies, completely serious, like I've paid him a genuine compliment. "Anyway, I've got no intention of sleeping with anyone so you don't need to fret about me going home with a serial killer or a stalker."

I hum in acknowledgment. The bouncer has now clocked the drug deal, and he's deciding whether to turn a blind eye or disrupt it. My money's on ignoring it. Just like I should be doing.

"You with anyone?"

"Mm?" I drag my gaze back to the I'll-never-touch-drugs boy beside me.

"Got a partner?"

"No."

He furrows his brow at my short tone and smooths his thumb over the lip of his beer bottle.

"You said you're ready to leave?" I ask.

With a nod, he pushes off the railing. "Yeah. Let's go. I'm knackered."

Not the only one.

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

Poor Mark. Dealing with a broken heart and a cocky teenager who thinks he's going to be a star one day... At least this Teddy Stone guy will keep him distracted from Zoe, right...?

Chapter 42 was posted to Ream earlier this week, so head on over there and join any of my membership tiers if you want to read ahead!