Sebastian had mentioned thisget to know each othermeal earlier but Helen, expecting to be long gone by now, hadn’t paid attention. Her mouth went dry. How could she extract herself from this cute little gathering now without causing trouble and huge embarrassment to Sebastian?
“Would meeting in the restaurant at five be all right with you?” Evie asked Sebastian as he pulled sticky-looking children off his back.
“Sure it is. Okay with you, Cassie?”
“Absolutely.” Helen nodded brightly, fearing the buffet leftovers she’d scoffed an hour ago would make a reappearance if she didn’t leave this hotel immediately.
It made no difference to her when they ate. She was going now, never to be seen again. Inching her way to the door, she pulled her phone out of her bag, told everyone she needed to make a call then finally slipped out of the room.
Guilt pinched at leaving Sebastian none the wiser, but there was no way she could stay. She’d leave a message for him at reception with some sort of explanation then get the hell out of the building as fast as her stupid shoes would allow.
Helen checked the time on her phone. Tom would be outside in twenty minutes, but if she hurried, she could meet him by his office instead. The farther away she got from here, the better, and it would be a long time—as in, never—before she’d step into this hotel again.
Helen stumbled down the corridor, reached the fire door, then came to a stop, face-to-face with Gary Grice.
“Hi, sweetheart, you didn’t tell me your name earlier.” He held his phone high and took more bloody photographs. She backed away. “Are you staying here with Sebastian?”
Shit. What could she say to this man? And what if the real Cassie had turned up downstairs and he’d put two and two together?
She shook the paranoia from her mind. “If you want Sebastian, he’s in his room. I’ll get him for you.” Sebastian wouldn’t be at all pleased, but he—and Michael Adams—were used to this shit and far better equipped to handle this journalist than she was. She knocked on the door. “Sebastian?”
He opened up immediately, took one look at her face, then followed her gaze.
“Grice.” Sebastian stepped out and Helen slunk behind the shield of his body. “Can we help you?”
“Just looking around.”
Then Michael Adams, who was slightly taller than Sebastian, also stepped out. Helen, though tall herself in heels, was dwarfed by the two towers in front of her.
“Find anything interesting?” Michael asked.
Grice scratched his chin. “Not yet.”
“If you don’t have a room on this floor, I suggest you leave,” Sebastian said, a sharp edge to his voice.
Helen eyed Grice through the gap between the two men. He was rubbing his chin, as if weighing up his options. “Looks like I took a wrong turn,” he said finally. “See you at the press call tomorrow.”
They waited for Grice to leave before heading back into Sebastian’s room.
Evie was sitting on the bed, the children playing quietly around her. “What was all that about?”
“Just a reporter we had the pleasure of meeting downstairs.” Sebastian turned to Helen. “You okay?”
Helen nodded. “He took more photos of me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not you he’s after.” Then Sebastian turned to Michael. “All the other reporters today were from lifestyle publications or trade journalists, except him. I don’t even recall him being at the announcement. He looks and acts like a hack and I’ll bet my life he’s working for Sucroz, trying to dig up some dirt on me, but I swear, I won’t mess this campaign up for you, Mikey.”
Michael placed a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. Trust in his eyes. “I know you won’t.”
Helen winced.
Sebastian wouldn’t mess it up, but there was a strong chance she would.
When Mikey, Evie and their kids went back to their room, Seb joined Cassie by the window. She looked deflated and concerned. Had her encounter with Grice made her regret this whole fake-girlfriend job?
She hadn’t yet signed her contract, but bringing that up now, when she was still clearly shaken by that dickhead pap would only prove his past girlfriends right—that, yeah, he could be a tiny bit uptight and maybe slightly insensitive. Sometimes.
“What’s Sucroz?” Cassie asked.
