He matches my stance, his eyes warm. “You know, I think I might.”
Clark clears his throat, making me dislike him a little more. “Harper, we’re ready for you.”
Sighing, I stand and fetch my duffel bag. The department-store bag looks like an eyesore against the beige leather seats. HopefullyIdidn’t look the same way.
“See you soon,” Mason promises, holding my eyes before I leave. I follow Yvonne through the airport, trying not to look overwhelmed. As a family, we’ve flown a few times for vacations. But never on privately leased flights, obviously.
“I have a question,” I say to Yvonne as we near the exit. “We were in a tiny plane—why didn’t we choose a smaller airport and avoid all the fuss?”
Yvonne smiles. “Clark likes the fuss—it’s great publicity for Mason, especially now that he’s starting his solo career. He wants as many eyes on him as possible.”
Right.
It’s well past eleven o’clock in New York, and even if it’s not as frigid as it was in the Rockies, it’s still plenty cold. A car waits for us. The driver smiles at Yvonne and opens my door. Mason’s assistant ends up in the front with him, leaving me to gape at the city lights from the backseat as we drive.
“What in the world?” I ask as the driver slows in front of our hotel.
There are girls—hundreds of them—shivering on the sidewalk. They’re bundled up in multiple layers, and they watch the street with eager eyes.
“Fans,” Yvonne explains, turning in her seat to look at me. “No doubt Clark made an announcement on the website that Mason would be arriving tonight.”
“Wow.”
“We’ll have to go around the back,” Yvonne says to the driver. “Some of them might recognize Harper from the show.” She turns to me. “Once we’re inside, you should be fine. The hotel has strict security policies, and that’s why Mason likes to stay here.”
I nod absently.
Yvonne makes a call, and we drive for another few minutes, taking several alleys before we reach a parking garage.
It’s a long process, one that seems a bit ridiculous considering I’m justme, and I’m yawning into my hand by the time we step into the hotel. Yvonne must have requested a doorman escort us in a back way, because we seem to be in a staff hall.
“Thank you, Emile,” Yvonne says, gently setting her hand on the man’s forearm.
He nods, perhaps a bit besotted with the sleek, blond-haired woman. “Do you require anything else?”
“No, you’ve been very helpful.”
“My pleasure.” With the way he’s beaming at her, I’m pretty sure he means it.
Yvonne leads me through to the nearest elevator. Her heels click on the marble floor as she walks. I remind myself not to gape and try to commit every moment to memory. After all, when will I ever find myself in a luxury, five-star hotel again?
Never.
Unless Mason was serious about hiring you.
Which he wasn’t.
He looked serious.
And now I’m arguing with myself.
“You’re very quiet,” Yvonne says with a warm smile.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
She nods with understanding. “I’m originally from Iowa—my parents are farmers. I moved to LA fresh out of high school to be an actress of all things. I remember pinching myself several times when I first started working as Clark’s secretary. The people I met, the places we went… I gave up acting fairly quickly.”
“You work for Clark?”
