“If it walks like a duck,” Saint snapped. “Why can’t you just keep your mouth shut? Maybe Jacob didn’t want to broadcast his private information. Jesus, Talia.”
A slow smile spread over Tally’s face. “Well, check you out, going all Tammy Wynette on me and standing by your man. I didn’t fucking know, did I?” Her gaze slid to mine, and she shot me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry.”
I shrugged. “No harm, no foul.”
“What are you all standing out here for, anyway?” she asked, swiftly changing the subject.
“My bag’s missing,” Saint informed her. “It’s got my keys, phone, and credit card in it.”
Talia sighed audibly. “Oh, great. Let’s hope stalker weirdo wasn’t here and nabbed it. The last thing I need is my star act getting kidnapped in her sleep, although I doubt my star act will be sleeping alone, huh, Saint?” Her lips stretched into a suggestive grin. “Jacob Costner will keep you safe when he lifts you into his strong, beefy arms and carries you to safety, just like in the movies.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Saint murmured. “Excuse my manager’s dramatics.”
“I’m heading out,” Talia announced, pulling her phone from her purse and checking her messages. “Sam and Jolie already left, and Jonny disappeared somewhere ages ago, too. Boomer’s waiting for Gambit, and he’s going to the after-party. I’ll cancel your credit card and get a new one ordered, and I’ll get a new cell phone delivered first thing in the morning. The security company will need to change your locks, too. Are you going home now?”
Scanning the foyer, I noticed people were starting to leave. “Yeah. I was going to take Saint to a hotel tonight and sort the lock issue out in the morning.”
“I’ll do it now,” she argued. “Go home and hang fire.”
I checked my watch. “It’s just gone midnight.”
Talia’s eyebrows furrowed. “And?”
“How will you get a locksmith out tonight?” I asked.
“I can get the President of the United fucking States out if I want to, Jacob.” Her mouth stretched into a cocky smile. “Don’t you know who I am?”
I glanced at Gambit, who was looking down at his boots, grinning. “I’ve no doubt you can work miracles, but let’s not disturb the POTUS over Saint’s locks. I’m sure he’s got better things to worry about.”
Talia nodded and began typing on her phone. “I’ll make some calls. You just look after Saint.” Her eyes never left her screen as she began to move toward the exit, calling out, “Later, bitches.”
“She’s a trip,” Gambit muttered, his eyes following Talia out of the door.
I tapped a message out to our driver to call him around. “She’s a fucking ballbuster, but I can’t say I hate it when she uses her powers to look after my girl here.”
“Thanks,” Saint murmured sweetly. “But I could look after myself.”
“You pay her a percentage so that you don’t need to, baby,” I pointed out, pocketing my phone. “Let her earn her cake.” I dipped my chin to catch my girl’s eyes. “You ready to jet?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, pulling the lapels of my jacket closer around her, flashing me a grateful smile. “It’s been a long day.”
I gave Gambit a fist bump before placing my hand on the small of Saint’s back and guiding her through the thinning crowd.
As we approached the door, she glanced up at me and murmured, “Brace.”
The second we stepped outside, blinding flashes went off, and the crowd of photographers began yelling.
“Saint. Where’s Hunter?”
“Is it true you sang with the band tonight?”
“How’s the new album coming along, Saint?”
Saint instinctively moved closer to me, seeking refuge from the chaos around us. I could feel the tension in her shoulders by the way they stiffened as I hustled her toward the waiting car that had just pulled up. She remained composed, her gaze fixed ahead, and a polite smile plastered across her face as she ignored their bellowing and intrusive questions.
Leaning forward, I went to grab the door handle, glancing back at Saint to make sure she was okay, and that was when I saw him.
A photographer was behind my girl, on his knees, trying to take a picture up her skirt.
