There’s no tint on these windows, and if I go into hysterics now, I’ll be trending by dawn.
Instead of opening my door, the driver grips the wheel.
I can’t tell if he’s an ass or just easily spooked by the ten-thousand-watt limelight.
Fine. I’ll get it myself.
I draw in a steady breath and open the door.
Cameras explode, flashes firing as if I’ve stepped into a lightning storm. My anxiety spikes clear to Neptune, but I paste on my well-trained smile. Wave. Pivot. Sidestep a dozen questions carefully engineered to bait me into a headline.
Then a hand slides around my waist and clamps down.
Every muscle in my body locks.
“You look good enough to eat,” a voice murmurs near my ear. Familiar in that deeply unwelcome way.
I’m ready to weaponize both of my Sophia Webster butterfly stilettos and drive them straight up his ass, but I keep smiling for the cameras.
“What are you doing here, Pierce?” I murmur without moving my lips.
“As if there’s anywhere in the world I couldn’t find you.” He chuckles, saying it just loudly enough for half the Eastern Seaboard to hear.
I roll my eyes, teeth clenched behind a polite smile.
“If you don’t remove your hand from my waist, I’ll”—I lower my voice—“tell everyone you spray tan your balls.”
His face drains. “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.” My smile sweetens, all saccharine and venom. “But I might casually mention which tanning salon you frequent.”
His hand vanishes.
Then I do.
I slip into the venue, fast.
Unfortunately, the obnoxiously loud bassoon is hot on my heels.
“Ava, my love. Wait!”
God. Can’t he take a hint?
I cut through the crowd, duck into a side hall, and shove open the first door I find, slamming it shut behind me.
Breathless and panting, I swallow.
“Holy… fuck.”
CHAPTER 12
Harrison
“Love you,” I say, blowing a kiss at the screen.
Not that my three hellions notice.
Connor, Ollie, and Snook are too busy losing their minds in the kitchen with Delilah Donovan. Or, as she’s affectionately known worldwide, Mrs. D.
