Page 49 of Faking Ties
Eventually, after my second yawn in a row, he asks, “Shall we get out of here?”
I nod, and before I can blink, we’re already outside. Brian scans the street with a practiced eye.
“Car's not here,” Brian says, voice low and urgent. Hunter’s immediately on guard, and panic sparks in my gut.
“What’s going on?” Hunter asks.
Brian curses as a flicker of movement catches my eye. A sea of flashing lights descends upon us. Shouts rise and we’re swarmed in seconds. Paparazzi. And from the looks of it, they orchestrated this.
Shit. I grip Hunter’s arm and Brian’s already spreading his, trying to keep them back. But thepaparazzi keep pushing toward us, led by two I recognize. The ones from LA that Hunter put in their place.
They pelt rude questions at me, their camera flashes blinding me. Hunter grips my hand and pulls me back to the door of the club, but the paparazzi cut us off.
I try to center myself and take deep breaths. The car has to be here soon. We’ll be okay. It’s overwhelming, but no one will hurt us. I’m pretty sure they can’t touch us, that it’s a rule or law. But the safety I thought I had disappears in the next instant when someone shoves me hard. I lose my balance, and Hunter rights me.
“Back the fuck off,” he yells, but no one listens. A jolt of true terror shoots through me. This is getting out of hand. We’re jostled again, and Hunter uses his body as best as he can to protect me.
“Stella,” Brian’s voice cuts through the chaos. I glance at him, and his face is full of fear. “Run.”
HUNTER
Idon’t have to be told twice to run. I barrel through these fuckers, throwing my elbows to get through.
Anyone who gets hit deserves that and more. Stella squeezes my hand in a death grip, and I squeeze hers right back as I drag us both through the crowd. When I can see past the paparazzi, I push the last few feet and break into a sprint. Stella stumbles and tries to keep up with me, but she’s been drinking and is wearing heels.
They shout our names, but I don’t bother looking back. Not when we need to find somewhere safe to regroup and call the police.
I scan the empty streets, looking for something, anything, but I’m so fucking lost. I don’t know New York well enough to even know where we are. The paps are chasing us, and even though we’re putting some distance between them, we can’t run all night.
“There,” Stella says, pointing to a building. The bright lights of a hotel have never looked so good.
“Stop them from entering and call the police,” I shout at the doorman.
The lobby passes in a blur as we rush to the elevator. I press the button for the eighth floor a million times.
“Come on, come on,” Stella mutters, both of us watching the lobby. Two men in black spin in a circle looking for us. When they spot us, they sprint toward us, cameras bouncing around their necks.
Shit. I smash the close-door button a million more times, and they finally slide shut just before the men make it.
“We’ve got to find somewhere to hide,” I say. “They’ll probably run up the stairs once they figure out what floor we’ve stopped at.”
She nods once, and when the doors open, we burst out of them, but there’s just room after room and no place to hide.
“Up.” Stella points to the stairs. It’s risky, but we can’t be on this floor. I nod and press a finger to my lips to remind her to be silent. We race up the stairs as fast and as quietly as we can.
“Shit,” I say when we arrive to another floor with nowhere to hide. “What now?”
“Here,” Stella calls. She pushes through the door marked housekeeping. Inside are two carts. Stella opens another door and pulls me inside. It’s pitchblack, so I fumble with my phone and turn on the flashlight.
We’re in a cramped closet with extra towels, linens, and toiletries.
“How did you know this would be here?” I whisper.
“Nina works at a hotel,” she says, just as quietly.
“Are you okay?”
She shakes her head and tears fill her eyes. “Can you help me take my shoes off?”
