“Who do I talk to on the committee to make this not happen? I’ll make a massive donation. Anything,” he said to Anna as he combed his fingers through his hair.
“Um…” Anna shifted her gaze away from his. “I’ll go find one of the committee chairs. It’ll be fine.” She didn’t sound like she believed it would be okay.
Something settled deep down inside of him—that intuition that told a person whether something was a good idea or a bad one, the instinct he relied on when picking a play and a receiver. It told him that this wasnotfine.
His heart continued to thump unnaturally fast.
“Is there a room? Somewhere I can have a moment?” he asked, his words more clipped than he’d intended.
A private place where he could contact his business manager, agent, and anyone else who would listen and might be able to stop this from actually happening without wrecking his reputation along the way. His agent was exceptional at coming up with solutions created from nothing but chicken wire, a plastic cup, and sparkling tree lights. At least, that’s what he’d thought when the evening began.
“Follow me.” Anna tugged on his elbow, her fingers digging into the fabric of his suit jacket.
He hated the situation he was in. Despised the taste of frustration coating his tongue. But he did not mind at all that Anna had a grip on his arm. She led him through the other guests and around an excessive number of white poinsettias and sheer fabric curtains that draped from the ceiling to the floor. She was a woman on a mission who didn’t stop for autographs.
The look on her face must’ve been effective because she managed to get him through without stopping just as well as a team of his best security gets him to his truck after a game.
They moved behind the stage, Anna flicking the curtain aside as he followed behind.
“Where are we going?” he whispered.
“There’s an empty room back here you can use to call whoever you need.” She slowed, pointed out the cables taped along the floor so he didn’t trip, then moved a precarious stack of what appeared to be empty boxes wrapped to look like extravagant Christmas presents, and opened a door.
He followed as she led him into a storage room. Chairs stacked ten high lined the walls, and round tables that had been torn down and set against the wall. Long strands of extra unwound Christmas lights were draped over a couple of the tables.
“Will this work?” she asked, hands on hips as she surveyed the space.
“Perfect.” He pulled his cell from his pocket.
“Then I’ll just leave you…” She grimaced, blew air from her cheeks, and walked back to the door. “…to go let the committee know you didn’t agree to this.”
“Anna.” His throat was thick with her name.
She turned.
He futzed around with the cell in his hand. “We need to talk once I sort this out.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He pulled up the contact for his agent and pushed the call button. No signal.
Shit.
He turned to ask Anna if he could borrow her phone, but she was pushing and pulling at the door. It wasn’t opening.
Four strides and he was beside her. She glanced at him, eyes wide. “It’s jammed. It won’t open.”
No. He did not accept that.
He turned the handle and put his weight behind his effort to pull the door open. It didn’t budge.
“We’ll just call the front desk. They’ll send someone right over.” Anna wiped a whisp of hair from her forehead. “Where’s your phone?”
“No signal.” He held up his no-signal phone in illustration.
“What?” she asked, as though she had never heard of a phone not having any signal.
“I don’t have service in here—” which was totally okay, because “—if we’re locked in here, they can’t sell me out there.”
