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“Well, that would be great if the security team was actually doing their job,” I grind out, fists clenched at my side. “Come on, Mack, you know this band is my life. We’re in the middle of the tour. Just let me finish it off.”
Mack shakes his head and sighs. “I can’t risk more incidents like this happening. We’ll set up auditions and interviews for your replacement in the morning, then you’ll be heading out to get your head on right.”
Brent and Evan walk onto the tour bus, and I narrow my eyes at the two of them. “Please tell me you don’t agree with this.”
Evan frowns but doesn’t say anything. It’s Brent who clears his throat and says, “Maybe it would be for the best, man.”
“There’s a retreat in Arizona I’ve looked into. They have great reviews, and I think it would be best if you go there for a little while,” Mack says softly.
I glare at him. “I’m not going to live on some retreat.”
“Then I’ll send the wellness coach to you, but that’s the best I can do.”
“Fine,” I spit, looking everyone in the eyes with the best death glare I can manage. “Send the glorified therapist my way. Sign the damn papers.”
The next day, there were images circulating of me and the fan, my face red as a tomato, while he tried desperately to push me off him, and three sets of arms were wrapped around my frame.
I shake the memory away and frown. It’s happened a few times, where I get so angry that I can’t remember what happened between that time frame, but I didn’t think it was bad enough to require someone watching me.
“You must be mistaken, I don’t need a therapist,” I snap, the anger already simmering through my veins. “Thank you for stopping by though, enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Wellness coach,” she corrects immediately. “You’ve got a short fuse, and most of the incidents that have happened with you are ones you can never recollect. If you don’t get this figured out, it could become dangerous for you and the people around you. I only want to help,” she says softly.
“Who sent you here, and how do I know your credentials are real?” I’m not about to let just anyone into my house without the proper verification.
She could easily be trying to get me to trust her, and once she’s inside, she’ll act like the crazed fan I believe her to be.
“Mack sent me. You can research Mindful Solutions if you’d like. I’m on their list of coaches, or I could provide you with their number.”
“What’s the number?”
I quickly dial the number as she rattles it off, then put the phone to my ear and wait for someone to answer.
“Hi, thank you for calling Mindful Solutions; this is Tracie; what can I do for you today?”
“Tracie, this is Ryker James, I’ve got Wren Grace at my home and wanted to confirm her position on your team – along with her qualifications.”
“Of course, Mr. James, give me one second to pull up your file.” I listen to her typing on the other end before she clears her throat.
“Yes, Wren is one of our most trusted counselors here on the retreat and has gotten employee of the month four times in a row with a ninety percent success rate. She’s also been with us for coming up on three years and has worked closely with other celebrities in that time frame with nothing but positive feedback from them.”
I eye Wren standing in front of me and watch as she chews on the inside of her cheek nervously, then nod slowly. “Alright, Tracie, thank you for all of the information.”
Before she can respond, I hang up and shove my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Seems as though you check out,” I mutter, then wave her through the large doorway ahead with a fake smile. “Welcome to my humble abode, but don’t get too comfortable because I’m figuring this shit out.”
She hums at my response, and I notice the corner of her plump lips twitch, but she doesn’t let the smile loose. For some reason I want to see it, which is why I quickly turn away from her and head down one of the long hallways toward my home office. As soon as I have the door shut, I pull my phone out and dial Mack’s number with determination.
There’s no way I’m allowing her to stay in this house and dissect me like one of those stupid biology projects.
“Ryker, I assume you made it to Arizona?”
“That’s the least of your worries right now, Mack, what the hell is going on?”
“Ah,” he says. “You’ve met Wren, then?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “And what I’d love to know is what the hell she’s doing at my house, claiming she’s my therapist. I don’t have a therapist, Mack.”
