“Sullied her?” Kane repeats. “Jesus, dude. You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” He looks at me, puzzled. “How the hell did someone like you come from someone like him?”
I can only shrug. “I do not know the answer, my darling. Let’s go, now, please. I am tired of this ridiculous game. I should have known better than to think he could actually care about me.”
I turn away and walk for the exit, knowing Kane will follow. He does—I feel him. When I turn the wrong way, he chuckles and turns me the other way, walks with me. We pass a garbage bin on the sidewalk, and he tosses the gun into it carelessly.
We had to park quite a distance away, in a parking garage some two blocks from the building. As we near the parking garage, however, we are confronted by a commotion. A large crowd of people outside a boutique—the crowd is all men with cameras and microphones, shouting questions, pushing closer and closer to the doorway of the boutique. On the other side of the crowd, there is car waiting, with a pink Lyft logo. The crowd is surrounding a woman, who is cowering against the doorway, shrinking back from the assault of questions, from the crushing intensity of the chaos. She has her hands up, as if to ward them off.
She is rather tall, nearly as tall as me, quite a bit more curvy, with curly red-blond hair and very brightly blue eyes.
“Please—please back up. Give me space,please,” she begs. “You got your photos and I’m not going to answer any more questions. Please, just back up!” I can tell she is trying to remain polite but fear and frustration are putting an edge of hysteria into her voice.
I recognize her, but cannot place her until one of the men in the crowd—paparazzi, I realize—shouts her name. “Miss Grace—over here, Miss Grace. I’m with the Hollywood Star—are you pregnant again, Harlow? Is that why you’re shopping at a maternity store?”
Harlow Grace. I know her, now. A movie star, very famous indeed. She is more famous in some ways for being very private, and endeavoring to live as normally as possible despite her great fame.
I touch Kane’s chest. “Can you not help her? She looks very frightened.”
Kane frowns down at me. “Help her? How?”
I shrug. “I do not know. Pretend to be her bodyguard, perhaps?”
He nods. “I guess I could. Go stand by the car, by the back door. Be ready to open it, and when I get her in, you jump in after her. These fuckin’ piranhas try to get in the way, slam the door on ‘em.”
I nod. “Very well.” I move to do as he says, standing by the door at the curb, hand on the handle, ready to yank it open.
I watch as Kane shoves his way, not at all gently or politely, through the crowd, sending the cameramen and the question shouters stumbling away. He curls an arm protectively around Harlow Grace, sheltering her with his huge frame. The path he cleared remains open, and I have a view of them as they approach. She is puzzled by the turn of events, but clearly recognizes help when she sees it.
The moment Kane has her close, I open the door, and he all but shoves her in. I slide in after her and slam the door—nearly catching a hand in the process.
Kane is in the passenger seat beside the driver, then. “Go. Just drive.”
Without comment, the driver, an older white man, pulls away from the curb and into traffic.
Beside me, Harlow Grace is shaking. “I…thank you. Whoever you are, thank you.”
Kane twists in his seat, holding his hand to her. “Name’s Kane Sutherland.”
She shakes his hand. “Mr. Sutherland, I’m Harlow Grace.” She looks to me, then. “And you are?”
“Anjalee Sharma, Miss Grace. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Call me Harlow, please.” She lets out a shuddery breath. “I don’t know how they got wind of me being there. I’ve been in town for a week and have managed to avoid any issues.” She wipes at her face with both hands. “Thank you again. I’m not sure what prompted you to step in like that, but I’m glad you did.”
Kane just grins. “It was her idea. But I’m in the security business.”
She eyes him. “Big fella like you, I can imagine.” She addresses the driver. “The Bellagio, please.” To us, then. “You have to meet my husband. He wanted to send security with me, but I just hate having someone hover around me all the time.”
“So. What are you doing in Las Vegas, Harlow?” Kane asks, by way of making conversation.
“Oh, work. There was a press junket for my latest film, and my husband is hosting a convention to promote the release of some new bots.” She waves a hand, dismissing it. “That’s mostly done with now. Xavier is wrapping some business while I got a little shopping in, and then we were going to have lunch.” She brightens. “Oh! You two should join us. We have a table…somewhere. Xavier’s assistant made it. I’m sure we can accommodate you two. We’ve been running around like chickens with our heads cut off the whole week, and we’ve had no time for fun. How about it? Our treat, obviously, as a thank you.”
“No thanks needed, Harlow,” Kane says. “Not the type of man to stand around watching someone get mobbed.”
“Well, I insist. Unless you have other plans.” Her smile is bright and warm and friendly. “I have a feel for people, and I feel like you’re people I could be friends with. Do say yes, please?”
Kane eyes me. “How about it, Anj?”
I smile. “We would be delighted to accept your invitation.”
