Chapter 71: Nice Guys Kill In the Worst Way

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Here we go!  (Old school Alt-Rock song by Tonic is good for Adam's feelings in this scene!)

Adam

This enormous, Italian-style castle is beautiful, but I don't stop to admire the masonry or the turrets or the impressive wooden doors.

The ride from the airport took three times as long as it should have. I realized Dawes was trying to delay me, when I checked my Google maps and saw the driver was completely off-route. My suspicions were confirmed by the fact that I haven't been able to get Dawes, Mac, or even Kat on the phone in all that time.

Something is up here. I just don't know if Dawes is fucking with me because he thinks my presence will be a distraction to Mac on the shoot, or if there is a more nefarious reason for delaying me. Either way, I'm done with his run-around bullshit. He is never blocking my access to Mac again. Mac, Dawes and I are having a sit-down and setting the boundaries as soon as this shoot is over.

I stride right in and stop the first person with authority I see—a pony-tailed girl carrying a clipboard and a radio. From the looks of her, a production assistant, but a very young one.

"Where is MacKenna Lawson?"

She recognizes me at once. She's also experienced enough at her job to recognize a rock star in a bad mood.

"Oh, Mr. Heartley!" she bleats, looking around, like saying my name is going to bring someone else to deal with me.

"Where.Is.She?" I growl.

"She's...uhm..." her eyes shoot up the sweeping staircase behind the hall filled with costumed dancers, lights, cameras and sound equipment, but then she summons her best professional manner. "Ms. Lawson is indisposed. If you'll just wait by the hospitality tables—"

"Indisposed?" I cut her off, raising my left hand where my wedding ring is. "She's my wife. She's never indisposed to me."

The girl's eyes widen.

Yeah, I guess I shouldn't be confirming our marriage to low-level industry insiders, but it irritates me that Mac took her ring off when she came to LA, and that no one but her inner team knows we are married.

Another thing we've been arguing about—not publicly confirming our marriage. The label thinks the mystery of are-we-aren't-we will help promote Mac's celebrity status and elevate all the tracks she's working on.

I make for the stairs. The production assistant earns my permanent dislike by getting on her radio and calling security. They move to block me at the stairs. I push one of the security guards and do the thing that's much more Trace's style. "Get the fuck out of my way, man! Do you know who I am?"

Dawes is hurrying down the wide, red-carpeted stair. "It's okay," he tells the guards, waving them away.

"Adam, you're here," he says. He sounds nervous. Dawes never sounds nervous.

"What was the drive-around bullshit about?" I say bluntly.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he says, his flat, dark eyes revealing nothing. He puts an arm around my shoulder and tries to turn me around. "They are nearly ready to start the last shot. Come on, let's get a drink. You said you wanted to talk things out, right?"

I whirl, shirking his shoulder and jogging up the stairs ahead of him. He's on my heels, "Adam, come on man. She'll be down in a few."

Instinct alone makes me turn to the right at the top of the stairs. I'll check every damn door on the hall if I have to, but three doors down I see a placard stuck to the door that says, "Ms. Lawson." Dawes dodges in front of me.

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