Jessi smiled and presented her cheek, which Angel dutifully kissed.
The limo started moving again, and this time stopped directly in front of the hotel entrance. The driver exited the vehicle, opened the passenger door, and Jessi was first to step onto the red carpet. She received a welcoming cheer from the fans that were stationed behind the railing, and a flock of photographers immediately started snapping photos of her. Angel exited next, and the cheers turned into screams. He acknowledged the fans with a small wave and extended his hand to Tommy.
Once Tommy was on the red carpet, the fans went nuts. Female voices called his name and proclaimed their undying love. Someone even shouted that they wanted to have his baby.
“I’m still fighting off the girls,” Jessi teased.
Tommy pushed a long lock of hair behind one ear and chuckled softly, a little overwhelmed by the catcalls that were multiplying by the second.
They started toward the entrance, hands joined together, but didn’t get more than a few feet before paparazzi descended upon them. A journalist from a fashion magazine was the first to confront Jessi.
“Tell us about the designs the three of you are wearing, Mrs. Blade,” the man said, as the bright light of a camera scanned them from head to toe. “Are they all Jessi Blade originals?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Angel and I are wearing couture pieces. Tommy is wearing something from Jessi Blade Formalwear.” She looked directly into the camera. “Ladies, your man can wear the exact same suit that Tommy Blade is wearing right now.” She winked. “I don’t know if he’ll look as gorgeous, though.”
Jessi glowed at the attention and under the camera lens. She devoured the media with her charm and flashy personality as she described her designs to the journalist.
Her gown was solid black with silver grommets outlining the plunging neckline and thigh-high slit, which showed off just the right amount of flesh. Not surprisingly, Angel’s outfit outshined hers this evening. The two of them were known for wearing black leather and studs, but Angel was more of a rhinestone whore these days. His take on formalwear today included a pair of charcoal dress pants that hugged his assets perfectly. Above it, he wore a black leather vest and opted to forego a shirt. Instead of a suit jacket, he wore a fluffy, full-length faux-fur black-and-white leopard cape that would rival Cruella Deville. The thick, stand-up collar made him look like a fashion-forward Dracula. A black charmeuse lining, fully covered in multi-colored Swarovski crystals, added another layer of drama to the cape. The stones picked up the lights of the cameras and threw a prism of color across the red carpet. Tommy, whose usual attire was a rock T-shirt and jeans, got coerced into wearing a navy-blue suit by his spouses.
After the fashion police stopped photographing them, they only made it a few steps closer to the entrance before another set of journalists and camera crews jumped in front of them and started hurling questions with volcanic speed.
“Tommy, is there truth to the rumor that you left Immortal Angel because of writer’s block and that you lost your ability to write music?”
“Are you worried that Immortal Angel’s new guitarist will share the same sexual chemistry with Angel that the two of you had on stage?”
“Is it true that you didn’t leave voluntarily and that you were thrown out of the band?”
“Are you embarking on a solo career because your bandmates were holding you back?”
Tommy froze, unprepared for the onslaught of questions and accusations. Who were these jackals, and how the hell did they make it onto the red carpet? They weren’t journalists. They were from the tabloids. They were bottom feeders looking to exploit the truth to make a buck.
Damien was the one to stop the circus of gossipmongers. “Security!” he yelled. “Get these assholes out of our face!”
Immortal Angel’s security team quickly stepped in to shield them while event security shooed the paparazzi away. Seconds later, Tommy and the group were safely whisked inside and escorted to the Peachblossom Room for the cocktail reception.
“What the hell was that?” Angel barked. “I’ve never encountered such rude behavior at an upscale event before.”
“That was bullshit,” Damien added. “What the fuck kind of place is this? Don’t they know the difference between real journalists and gossip rags?”
Audra was livid and paced while tapping a message into her phone. “I’m texting Marissa Torres right now. She’ll take care of this. If not, I’ll do it myself!”
Tommy had been looking forward to the Rockstars’ Ball, but the fiasco on the red carpet shocked him. It brought him down, and he never hated the paparazzi more. They were everything that was wrong with the entertainment industry.
Jessi slipped her hand in his. “Relax. Take it easy. We’ve dealt with worse. We’re here to have a good time, and they’re gone. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
As if someone heard Jessi’s statement, the members of Bulletproof walked into the Peachblossom Room, led by their larger-than-life lead singer Brandon Bullet, and Tommy immediately perked up at seeing a man he idolized.
The guys all exchanged bro-hugs and slaps on the back and expressed their excitement about tonight’s nomination.
“Where’s the liquor?” Derek MacAlister, Bulletproof’s guitar player, asked as he looked at the lack of beverages in everyone’s hands.
“We’re not big drinkers,” Angel explained.
“I got it.” Brandon literally snapped his fingers in the air. “Can we get some Jack Daniels over here?”
Seconds later, a waiter arrived with a bottle of the bourbon and a tray full of on-the-rocks glasses, which Derek started filling and handing out. They weren’t measly portions either, and the bottle was practically empty by the time he finished pouring from it.
Damien declined, since he and Alyssa were clean and sober, and Brandon immediately got them two glasses of soda instead.
