Author's Note: This might seem pointless and a little short, but trust me. It's necessary. I can't believe people are actually reviewing thing! That's so cool!
"Mr. Stone, get your arse out of bed right this minute!"
The rock star grunted and didn't so much as move under the vicious onslaught of sunlight and verbal abuse. Shannon was left to glare uselessly at his bare back from her place by the curtains.
"Tommy," she snapped again, "Get up. You have an interview in two hours."
"Then why the fuck am I getting up so early," Tommy murmured, his voice as clear as if he had actually been awake.
That deceptive voice; Shannon knew it well. It could make anyone feel as if they were the extent of the entire world and then it could make one think its owner was not what he was. She'd heard that voice carry on a normal conversation just seconds before passing out, falling flat on his face without missing a beat. Oh, that voice could do things. Which was why, Shannon decided vindictively, she should probably threaten to rip her client's vocal chords out if he didn't let her keep him at the top of his game.
"Brian," she said awfully, "If you do not leave that bed, I will be forced to do something drastic."
She wasn't the only one who knew how to read voices. Brian Slade, mostly asleep and hung-over though he was, could read the deadly intent loud and clear. And he knew better than to distrust Shannon in that mood. He poked his head up and managed to flutter his eyelashes.
"I'm up," he muttered, "I'm up."
The woman snorted and made her way to the bathroom, throwing open the door before snagging the bathrobe that lay on the floor and tossing it at Brian's head. She disappeared out the door to give him time to get up and get dressed.
Superstar Tommy Stone sat up and shrugged into the fluffy robe, stumbling halfway to his feet before sinking back down with an erudite groan. His make-up was absent, for which he could only be thankful. But even the feeling of air on his skin was not enough to distract him from the pounding in his head. It did no good that he was craving again.
"Shannon," he shouted hoarsely, wiping at his tingling nose, "Shannon!"
"What?"
"Get Lesley on the phone."
The blond looked in with a concerned frown, the glare softening as she saw just how terrible he looked. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Now get me Lesley… please!"
"Good God, never tell me it's back," Shannon exclaimed, trotting in anxiously and wringing her red-tipped fingers, "How bad is it?"
"Shannon, get Lesley on the phone." A part of his brain was laughing at the rest of him, telling him that he was overreacting as usual. Always overreacting. Always thinking a crack in the ceiling meant that the sky would fall in on him. Brian shivered and huddled into himself, miserable because he wanted a hit and because it was only the vaguest of needs. Just his nerves spending a nostalgic moment remembering the dragging need that preceded the coke.
"Brian, stop this." Shannon grabbed his hands and chafed the wrists. She could read in his eyes that he was only scared. A little boy, really, that needed a mother. Or something. "Look up. Do you want some cocaine?"
Blue eyes widened in spite of his throbbing temples. "No!"
"Then relax," she soothed, "You don't need Lesley. Just take a deep breath and take a shower. I'll get you some coffee."
"But what if it gets worse?" he mumbled, whispering so he could deny the words later if need be.
"It won't," Shannon said bracingly, "By the time you get into that shower you won't even remember needing it."
He nodded solemnly and let her pull him to his feet. "What day is it? Do I have a show tonight?"
"No, you don't," his manager sighed, "You have a few interviews and a photo shoot. And you asked me to bring that reporter of yours to the hotel."
Stone visibly brightened up, turning his head to grin disarmingly at her. "Oh good," he said exuberantly, "We'll have company!"
Shannon only grunted. A most unlady-like sound, but there it was. She wasn't all long blond hair and high heels.
"What?"
"In there," she said shortly, shoving the lanky body through the bathroom door. "Wash up. And get dressed. I'll get coffee sent up here."
Stone poked his head back out, frowning a little at the implications in her voice. He owed a lot to Shannon- he'd be the first to admit it- and she did work her arse off to make sure he kept his feet on the ground; but he'd be damned if he let her control his life with emotional blackmail! "Stop right there," he growled, "What's crawled up your arse, luv? What've I done now?"
"Don't use those crude words on me, Tommy."
"The name is Brian, as I'm sure you remember." He knew when to push her buttons and when not to. At this point, he needed to get her to break her defences. "Come along, ducks, tell me all about it."
She halted and bit her lip, half-annoyed and half-guilty. "I think you're playing with fire," she said slowly, "It's none of my business. But the man knows who you really are. That could mean trouble." She noticed his watchful look. "Brian," she added.
Ah. He should have guessed it. "You want me to get rid of him, don't you?"
"He seems very… dangerous. With knowledge like that." Shannon bit her lip, but straightened her shoulders and looked determined. "I don't like it."
"I'm not doing it for you," Stone pointed out gently, "I happen to like the man. He intrigues me."
"Because he was a fan, Brian. I know it seems interesting now, but if you push him too far he is going to break and then I'll have to clean up the mess. Again. I always do that and frankly I'm tired. It will turn out like that fiasco with Curt Wild from four years ago, when…"
"Shut up, for fuck's sake! I don't want to talk about it! Just get the reporter here and mind your own fucking business. Fucking cow! Always thinks she bloody knows best…"
The vicious words were cut off as the door slammed shut.
Shannon blinked and tipped her head back, forcing the tensed muscles in her body to relax. How had she known it would end with him screaming at her again? He hated that she had forced him to give up his dreams. But she hadn't! He had asked for a clean break and what was she to do. She'd cleaned him up, set him back up with her own bloody savings and he hated that he owed her for that.
Ah well, she'd said what she had to say and that was all there was to it. She knew that glint in his eyes. Brian Slade was too close to the surface, now. If he had wanted to give a press release and confess his true identity, of course, she'd arrange it for him. But it would be tempered with bitterness for having arranged the change of names and all the other red tape that had preceded killing Brian Slade off for Tommy Stone. She would be blamed too, as per usual. She knew that. She was the bulldog, the cold hard bitch that jealously guarded Tommy Stone from the rest of the world. Fans were wary of her; business colleagues hated her. It worked well, mostly, until she decided to be human for a few minutes.
Twenty minutes later the pot of coffee was waiting for the rock star, steaming in the china pot and waiting to be poured. Shannon poured a cup and carried it into the bedroom.
At least this time there had been no need to get rid of whomever she had smuggled up for the night, paying off the cleaning staff not to talk about any stains on the sheets. She'd have to pay for the thorough raiding of the bar, however, but that was alright. People expected Tommy Stone to drink like a fish.
"Brian?" she called, "Brian, your coffee."
She knocked on the bathroom door and he opened it, halfway through his heavy make-up regime. He transferred the brush to the other hand and took a long swallow of the thick brew.
"Thank you, Shannon. Make an appointment with Sue again, eh? My roots are starting to show."
"They certainly are," she said, meaning it in more ways than one.
The man didn't notice. He finished off his first cup and went back in, humming something under his breath that he was itching to write down.
Shannon just watched him for a few minutes. She knew this- the good humour before the storm. And man, were the rain clouds gathering! Any minute now Brian would ask her to get Curt or Mandy on the phone, either that or absently dye his hair blue. And Tommy Stone would look like a cheat and a drunk and a liar. Worse, he would be gay! And to the American public that adored Stone's All-American Man act, that would be the worst sin ever committed.
Her work, in short, was gurgling ominously down the drain and she couldn't find the damned plug.