I snort, kissing his bottom lip. “Very effective. I may have to move you in here permanently.”
He nuzzles my cheek. “This is not at all how I imagined this morning would go.”
“Me neither. But I’m pretty happy about it.” I pet his chest. I really do feel so much better. Maybe all I needed was a good night’s sleep. Maybe finally opening up to the guys helped ease up my anxiety. Or maybe Glen’s dick has magic healing properties. Whatever the reason, I’m pleased.
“Thank you,” I mumble, twisting a curl around my finger. “For staying with me.”
“Any time, lass.”
There’s a sudden footstep in the corridor outside, and I hear Matt’s voice, calm and clear, as he argues with someone on the phone.
I cringe. “Jesus. Did he hear all of that?”
Glen just chuckles, pulling me into his chest. “Don’t worry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to my hair. “He’s got much more important things on his mind.”
“Like what?”
“We got the premiere details from your studio last night. Matt’s having kittens, trying to work out how to get you in and out of America without getting shot.”
I groan. “He’s going to lock me in my hotel room, isn’t he? Booby-trap the corridor and interrogate all the maids?”
Glen smirks. “You think he’s overprotective now? You’ve seen nothing yet.”
Nineteen
Kenta
?
The preparations for getting Briar to America take almost the full week to perfect. The studio has already booked hotel rooms and plane tickets for the cast, but they’re obviously insecure. Instead, we pick out a new hotel close to the premiere spot. We book a whole floor of rooms, and manage to convince hotel security to place a block on the elevator system, so none of the lifts can stop there. They give us permission to install cameras in the hallway, and agree not to send up any cleaners or maintenance staff during our stay.
We also have to change the flight arrangements. We don’t want Briar flying commercial, so we call in a favour with an old employer and wrangle a flight on his personal jet.
To my surprise, Briar is very unhappy about having to fly privately. I’ve never seen a celebrity get so worked up about carbon emissions.
“One hundred people could be taking this flight, for the amount of damage we’re doing to the environment,” she says to Julie as we step inside the cabin. I’ve been in plenty of private jets before, usually on political jobs, but this one is particularly impressive. The aisle is wide, and the seats are essentially plush leather armchairs, set in clusters around small tables. Everything is tastefully decorated in buttercream leather with dark wood accents. A handful of flight attendants in short red skirts and jackets greet us, handing us all drink menus.
“One hundred.” Briar continues.“Right now, every single one of us has the same carbon footprint asone hundred and fifty train passengers.Each!” She gesticulates too widely and accidentally drops her phone. “Crap.” She bends to pick it up, and I try not to look at the miles of soft, white thigh revealed as the hem of her plaid skirt rides up. She’s paired the skirt with a matching pink blazer, knee-high socks, and impossibly high heels. I overheard Julie calling the outfit ‘Clueless-chic’, whatever the Hell that means. All I know is those heels make her legs look unbelievable.
“Pity.” Julie frowns at the stewardess. “Please tell me this thing has Wi-Fi.”
The stewardess blinks. “Of course, ma’am.”
Briar straightens and glowers at her friend. “Don’t you get how hypocritical this is of me? I did all that work with ecological organisations, and now I’m putting a whole goddamn plane up in the sky?”
“Stop complaining,” Matt orders, as he assesses the seating arrangement with narrowed eyes. “You need this.”
Briar looks up at him, irritation flashing across her face, but doesn’t respond.
We all find our seats; Julie parks herself near the front of the plane with her laptop. Matt, Glen and I all seat ourselves in the middle section, huddling around one of the tables. Matt immediately pulls out some paperwork and spreads it out in front of us, but Glen ignores it, jamming his cap down over his face and settling in for a nap. Briar disappears towards the back, pulling the blue privacy curtains across the aisle to partition herself away from us.
“Leave that open,” Matt calls over his shoulder. “We need a clear line of sight on you.”
“Don’t worry,” she calls back through the curtain. “If one of the flight crew tries to stab me, I’ll scream really loud.”
The flight attendant pouring my soda water straightens, alarmed, and I wave her off. “Ignore them,” I advise, and she smiles uncertainly, sashaying away.
I wait until she’s out of earshot before turning to Matt. His jaw is clenched tightly as he flips through blueprints of the hotel.
