Twenty
Briar
?
I’m already in a bad mood when we land in LA. Jet lag is kicking my ass, my head is hurting, and I’m covered in plane grime. On top of that, the journey to the hotel is taking forever.
First, our plane gets stuck in the air for half an hour because some idiotic billionaire is parked in our spot. Then we have to stand in the burning heat for fifty minutes as Matt checks the car the studio sent for me, interviews the driver, sends the poor guy away because he ‘has a bad feeling about him’, and orders a new car to come pick us up. LA traffic is even worse than I remember, and Julie spends the entire drive ‘catching me up with the locals’, which essentially means scrolling through other women’s Instagram accounts and telling me who’s gotten a nose job, like I give a shit. When we finally arrive at the hotel, all I want to do is collapse into bed, order some room service, and sleep for twelve hours, but of course, I can’t. Instead, we have to wait around for another forty minutes while the guys sweep the corridor, the suite, the fire escape, and probably the inside of the toilet’s U-bend. Eventually, when I watch Kenta and Glen painstakingly checking thewainscotingof the hallway, I snap.
“For God’s sake, can I please just go inside? I’ll take my chances with dying, at this point. X could sneak in through the window and slit my throat in my sleep, and it would be the highlight of my fucking month.”
Kenta blinks, but holds open the door for me. I stomp into the suite. It’s big; three bedrooms, a lounge space, a kitchenette, and a balcony with a stunning view over Hollywood Hills.
I ignore it all, heading for the master bedroom.
“Yours is the room with the fire escape,” Kenta calls after me, and I have to fight the urge to growl at him. Or maybe run back, grab his face, and snog him until I run out of air. My head has been all over the place since I kissed him. I don’t know why I did it, other than he’s really nice and hot and he kept staring at my mouth. Which is a dumb reason.I step into my room and slam the door, leaning heavily against it.
I feel terrible.
I know I’m being a bitch. And I’m not angry at the boys, really. They’re just doing their jobs, and they’re doing them well.
I’m angry at X. I’m angry that my life has become this stifling. I’m angry that one anonymous man can have such a massive impact on my safety that I need private planes and a special suite. I’m angry that I can’t stop myself from checking my socials every few minutes, to see if he’s posted anything about following me to LA. I’m just angry.
There’s a knock at the door, and I fight the urge to scream. “Briar,” Matt says. “Unlock the door. You need to keep it open at all times.”
“Pissoff,” I hiss.I don’t want to talk to him. He hasn’t said one word to me in the last week that wasn’t an order. It’s getting on my nerves.
He pauses for a moment, then I hear him mutter something that sounds an awful lot likefucking celebrities. I rub my eyes, looking around the room, then walk over to the bed and flop my aching body onto the mattress. I’d like to take a nap, but I don’t think I can sleep alone anymore.
I’ve spent the last week sleeping with Glen. We’ve had a few cuddles, but we haven’t fucked again. He usually gets into bed after me, and he’s always gone by the time I wake up.
I hope that he’s just an early riser. Although I certainly can’t blame him if he’s lost interest. I wouldn’t shag someone as annoying as me.
Fumbling in the pockets of my skirt, I pull out my phone to check twitter. I go to the ‘Search’ function, typing in my name and the word ‘angel’.
Actress Briar Saint looks ANGELIC in this white Valentino evening gown!
Is it just me or does Briar look preggo from this angel?
Does briar really think this charity stuff will help her career? We all know she’s no angel.
Outside my room, I hear footsteps and raised voices. I ignore them, clicking on a new tweet. It’s a response to a promo picture for the movie; I’m standing in red lipstick and a flapper dress, pouting at the camera, my elbow-length gloves spattered in blood. Someone has responded:
Briar you look so beautiful, my angel. X
I stare at the words, my chest getting tight.
There’s another light rap on the door, and I jump, dropping my phone. “Briar,” Julie calls. “The studio director is here to talk to you about your schedule.”
“In a minute,” I mumble.
“Now,” she orders. “Before your Angels murder him.”
“What?”
“Come see.”
When I open my bedroom door, I’m confronted by the sight of my security team in a heated debate with Derek, the studio director. Everyone is crowded around the large dining table, red-faced and scowling. They all look up as I step into the lounge.
