Page 6 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)

Harvey

I woke up at four a.m. to run. I wake up every morning at exactly four and run five miles before going to the closest gym and finishing my workout.

After that I eat breakfast and start my day by six a.m. Having a routine grounds me.

I’m not one for change and the mere thought of change makes my stomach twist into knots.

Sure, my job requires me to move around a lot, but what I’m actually doing on the job stays the same.

The job never changes aside from one client being trickier to tame than the next, though even the strongest of wills all crack eventually.

They’re all challenges to me and I love to be challenged. That’s why I love my job so much.

My routine and my job are the most important things in my life aside from Lucy.

She’s the only thing in my life that I would move Heaven and Earth for.

Anytime I get stressed I think of her and suddenly the stress dissipates.

For example, last night when Brody tried to talk down to me like I’m the one with a live-in babysitter, I thought of Lucy and suddenly, I wasn’t furious anymore.

I don’t care about the fact that Lucy is a huge Satan’s Angels fan, -something I’m gonna have to put a stop to after doing my homework on these girls- I’m not going easy on the little rockstar.

The amount of cocaine I found in her room was enough to tranquilize a wooly mammoth.

I shake my head at the thought as I spoon my daily oatmeal into my mouth. I like it plain and flavorless.

I knew it wouldn’t be a problem if I left Brody alone from four in the morning to six.

She was just on tour and from what Selene told me, the girls went to bed at four to six in the morning anyway and woke up around five in the evening.

I scoff at the choice in lifestyle. I guess when you have absolutely zero responsibilities in life and sense of direction the lifestyle works, though no normal functioning person can live that way.

When I’m through with Brody, she’ll be going to bed at eight p.m sharp.

After my morning run in the blaring heat of California, I used Brody’s home gym that met every fitness need with thousands of dollars’ worth of machines that look like they’ve never been touched.

When you have millions and millions of dollars to spend, celebrities like to spend it on gym equipment when everyone knows they get surgeries and procedures to look perfect.

I like to think of myself as an exception to that even though I’m not a celebrity.

While I’m in the same tax bracket they’re in, I actually use my home gym in each of my homes across the country when I’m not under contract with a client.

I rinse the bowl of oatmeal and load it into the dishwasher once I’m finished before making my way upstairs and into one of the guest bedrooms. I chose this one for myself because it’s close enough to Brody’s that I’ll be able to hear noise that comes from the room and check on her quickly.

I change into a pair of black slacks and a white button up shirt that I cuff on the elbows.

I wear the same outfit every day. My closet consists of dozens of pairs of the same slacks and dozens of the same shirt. Like I said, I’m fond of my routine.

After changing, I head downstairs and pull out my laptop.

I have a couple of hours before Brody decides to wake up and until then, I could use the time to go through work emails.

I get lost in the dozens of messages and suddenly come to attention when I hear footsteps padding down the stairs.

I’m seated at the island in the kitchen, but I can still hear her walking into the room.

She enters and when her eyes land on me, she scowls.

“Good morning,” I greet her, feigning politeness.

I know my presence gets under her skin and I can’t help but admit that I enjoy it.

It makes the challenge all the more challenging.

She ignores me and shows me her back as she starts pressing buttons on the five-star restaurant grade coffee machine.

She places a mug below it and continues her effort and I can’t help but take her in.

My eyes betray my better judgment and travel down her body.

Her sunshine-colored hair is streaked with black all throughout and it’s messy as it falls down her back.

She wears a pair of scarlet colored silk sleep shorts and a matching tank top.

Her arms are bare, and I notice the small tattoo on the back of her left arm, right above her elbow.

There are two small angel wings, slightly shaded but they almost seem to shine.

I roll my eyes. Of course she would get a tattoo for her band, how pathetic.

Tattoos are meaningful and should give insight into someone’s personality.

Brody has no personality traits aside from the fact that she’s in a band.

Everything about her is bland and average aside from her income.

I don’t have any tattoos myself, but if I did, they would be meaningful unlike Brody’s.

Almost as if she feels my eyes on her, she turns and looks at me over her shoulder, her scowl never fading or budging. “You know, I’m not really a fan of strange men living with me, let alone staring at me in my own kitchen when I’m trying to make myself coffee.” Her voice comes out harsh.

My lips curl into a small smile at the sound. “You have nobody to thank for that but yourself and your behavior.”

She turns fully and leans against the countertop, crossing her arms over her chest. “My behavior wasn’t a problem until yesterday.”

I tilt my head at her cockily, “Your behavior was always a problem, but you just got yourself into God only knows how many lawsuits which resulted in my presence.”

She ignores me, at a loss for words, as she turns and grabs her fresh mug of coffee and tries to exit the kitchen. I stop her, “We have a few things to discuss and then you can be dismissed.”

Brody practically chokes on her coffee as she turns, brown liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the mug with the force of her movement.

“Dismissed? I’m sorry, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to me like that?

I’m not your child nor will you speak to me like one. ” She snaps sharply.

Getting under her skin is something I’m so good at and I barely have to try.

It’s becoming a game to me, one that has the potential to get addictive.

I ignore her outburst knowing she’ll only get angrier.

“There are some rules you’ll have to live by during the duration of our time together.

In our contracted three months, you will not do drugs, nor will you drink any alcoholic beverages of any kind.

The only places you’re permitted to go are the recording studio for work along with events Selene has booked for you.

If there is another place you would like to be, you can request I accompany you.

You are not permitted to go anywhere without me.

Until I feel confident in your ability to follow my rules, you’re not leaving this house or venturing past the recording studio.

We’ll see how you do and then if you behave, I’ll consider accompanying you to other places. ”

Her jaw drops. “That isn’t reasonable! You can’t demand I stay in my house like a hermit!”

I shrug, “I didn’t. I said you were permitted to go to the studio. If you behave and fall into line, I’ll consider other places.”

“No!” She snaps, practically tossing her coffee mug onto the counter. Liquid spills over the sides and covers the countertop. “Those rules are unreasonable and you have another thing coming if you think I’m abiding by them.”

“Big word. I’m impressed you know it.” I mock her.

She scowls, “Are you calling me stupid?”

I smirk, “Perhaps. It isn’t like I lied.”

She grimaces, her mouth popping open with her shock. A gleam of what looks like hurt crosses her eyes before she quickly forces the anger to take over her expression. “Fuck you and fuck your rules.” She charges out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to her bedroom.

Once she makes it to the top I shout, “Get cozy in your room unless you plan on going to the studio because otherwise, you aren’t going anywhere.” Her door slams in response and my smile widens. Oh, how easy it is to rile her up. I could get used to this game.

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brODY HASN’T COME DOWN from her room all day.

Not to eat or drink anything. I’m sure her stubbornness is to thank for her absence and the thought that I got so deep under her skin that I ruined her whole day appeals to my pride.

My job is to babysit her and make sure she stays sober and clean.

She’s making that pretty easy by staying in her room.

I knew she’d fall in line, but I didn’t expect it to happen this quickly.

She strikes me as the type to give me difficulty at every step, so her absence seems a little bizarre.

Something seems off, she wouldn’t make it this easy for me.

I leap out of my seat where I’m eating dinner and charge up the stairs to her bedroom.

I knock in case she’s undressed but there’s no response from the other side.

“Open the door.” I command her but still I hear nothing on the other side.

No Brody and no footsteps walking towards the door to open it.

She hasn’t eaten or drank anything aside from the coffee she didn’t finish this morning, too hellbent on being stubborn and hiding in her room away from me.

What if she got dehydrated and passed out?

My job is to keep her sober and well and I can’t do that if she’s unconscious and malnourished.

Shit . I panic. I shouldn’t have let my pride get in the way of checking on her.

I bang on the door one more time and there’s still no answer.