Chapter 6
chapter
six
Stella
O ne of the advantages to being not only new to the paparazzi circuit but also a young, pretty woman was that I could gain access to places that the greasy, overweight old-timers parked outside couldn’t get into. In just a few months, I’d built up quite the closet of various uniforms after discovering no one blinks twice when you show up at the back door and claim to be with the caterers.
Sure, I couldn’t really wander around a private party taking pictures, but it did allow me access to vantage points that others couldn’t get to. So while the morning after a lavish party there were fifty-seven different versions of the same celebs standing in front of the same doorway, wearing the same thing and looking equally irritated by the flash cameras, I was submitting my totally unique perspectives looking into the garden or up at a balcony or, my favorite, couples sneaking out the service entrance to “avoid being photographed.”
My hot target for the evening was supposed to be Seven and Clara Belle, but in the fallout from the cheating scandal, neither of them attended the party. Instead, I found myself snapping a few not-for-sale pictures of Olivier Griffiths smoking a cigarette in the garden. It wasn’t newsworthy; he was just a beautiful man to look at through the lens. Tall, broad, raven-black hair and eyes to match, he made the perfect action-movie villain. The kind of character women secretly hoped would turn out to be endgame for the heroine.
His smile was utterly to die for as he spoke with an older gentleman, and I zoomed in to keep him the main subject of my frame. Simply stunning.
Part of me sort of hoped that Gemini might be at this party too. He and Olivier were best friends, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to attend industry events together, so I’d have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t quietly hoping I could catch a glimpse.
No such luck, though.
After some hours, I wandered back around to the staff entrance and sat on the tail of a refrigerator truck while waiting for drunk celebs to wander into my frame. Mostly they were just stars sick of smiling, but every now and then I’d catch a pairing that hadn’t yet gone public.
“Bingo,” I whispered, clicking a few sneaky shots of a silver-haired gentleman leaving with a woman who was very definitely not his wife. The hand planted firmly on her ass said they weren’t just sharing an Uber home too.
Pleased with the results of my work, I hopped down off my spot and silently applauded my decision to wear chunky-soled boots rather than heels. Most of the guys out the front were probably long gone, having grabbed their shots as celebs arrived, but I was patient.
“I thought that was your car,” a familiar voice came from the shadows as I crossed the street.
My footsteps faltered, and I drew a quick breath before continuing on. Never show fear to a predator—they’ll rip you to shreds. Not wanting to engage in a verbal sparring match, I ignored my violent ex-boyfriend and popped the trunk to store my camera equipment safely.
“Ignoring me, are we? Come on now, Stella, don’t be like that. You know you miss me.”
I just barely closed the trunk before he grabbed my hip, shoving me forward against the car and boxing me in. Fear rolled through me, but I clenched my jaw and refused to shrink away.
“Get your filthy hands off me, Dillon,” I snapped, spinning around and giving him a hard shove. He stumbled back a couple of steps, just enough to show that he wasn’t totally sober. Fuck . I’d have happily gone ten rounds with sober Dillon, but drunk Dillon was another matter entirely.
His eyes narrowed and his lips twisted in a sneer. “You think you’re too good for me now, Stella? Now that you’ve whored yourself out to the big-time action star? Huh? Yeah, I recognized you in those photos, you slut.”
“You’re drunk.” It was better to not confirm or deny. Keep the focus on him. One thing he liked was his ego being stroked, and he hated to look like a fool. Why the fuck he was drinking when he was supposed to be working was none of my business.
Instead of fumbling for a defense though, he closed the distance between us and gripped my throat. Fuck. One minute I was on my feet, the next, I was slamming into the trunk of my baby.
The angle made kicking him impossible. The pressure from his hand against my throat cut off my oxygen. I dug my nails into his forearms, but it was easy to forget that he worked out enough to build up muscle. He also had a solid seventy pounds on me, none of which was flab.
Mouth breathing the liquor fumes into my face, he glared at me. “Bet Daddy is real proud of his little whore spreading her legs to snap the story.”
The flat look in his eyes made them seem almost devoid of humanity. The twisted look on his face robbed it of all its attractiveness. Of all people, you’d think I would recognize that, in this town, beauty really was just skin deep and not fallen for the tousle-haired bad boy with the striking eyes, chiseled jawline, and rugged appeal.
“Yeah, bet your daddy doesn’t know what a freak in the sheets you are.” He flexed his fingers on my throat as I tried to get a foot up and between us. “Maybe I should tell him?” He punctuated the last five words by banging my head against the trunk.
Each blow sent pain lancing into my skull. Even worse, my vision was going spotty. I had to breathe. The more he squeezed, the more difficult it became. Nothing I did had an effect on him. Nothing…
Suddenly, he yanked me upward and just as abruptly let me go. I sucked in a desperately needed breath and damn near choked on it. Coughing, I staggered toward the sidewalk. A series of grunts penetrated my oxygen-deprived brain and I half fell as I twisted to see two figures locked in a struggle a few feet away.
One was definitely Dillon, but I couldn’t make out the other. I sat abruptly, trying to focus. It was like I had a dirty lens and everything was smudgy. A series of hard blows rained down on Dillon.
Both men had dark hair. Dillon wasn’t in a full suit. The other guy was. I wanted to cheer when my knight in whatever the hell designer suit he was wearing landed an uppercut that clacked Dillon’s teeth together.
I was still trying to get enough air back into me. Between the blurry eyesight and the fight to breathe, it was hard to get a fix on what was happening. But then the guy in the suit literally leapt and slammed both of his feet into Dillon’s chest.
Holy shit.
I gaped as Dillon went down. He tried to get up, but the suit was already on his feet. With a pivot, he slammed his foot into the side of Dillon’s head and that was all she wrote for the slimy piece of shit I used to date.
Just a head wound, I thought almost bitterly. Maybe they’d find some screw loose in him. I blinked and the suit went from standing over Dillon to squatting right in front of me.
Oh, those were some pretty damn eyes. The light was hitting them and made the blue in them practically shimmer. No wonder he was getting more roles as a sexy romantic lead. Olivier Griffiths was a hell of a lot better looking up close.
Even the indistinct, hazy version of him. Kind of reminded me of when they would put Vaseline on a camera lens to give women a more ethereal look.
“Hey there,” the sexy bastard said in that sexy beast of a voice that sounded like a melodic growl. He could play all those hot-man-of-privilege roles or even the urbane, suave spy while still getting rough.
Perfect guy really.
“Hey there,” he repeated. “You still with me?”
“Hi,” I answered him belatedly. “You’re bleeding.”
The red on his shirt was not from wine. Wrong color. It was dripping from his nostril too. He swore and pulled a handkerchief out of his inner pocket and blotted at his face.
“Huh,” I said, kind of bemused. “Didn’t know people still carried those. Sorry that the dickwad got a couple of shots in.”
“Don’t worry about it. Dickwad is unconscious. Hopefully he wasn’t a boyfriend or something.”
I waved that off. “Ex. Very ex. I wish he were a thousand miles behind me ex.” Maybe that was going a bit far. The harder I tried to squint to look at Olivier, the more my head hurt. “I should get up.”
“Maybe not yet.” Olivier put a hand on my arm to keep me in place. My legs weren’t really cooperating anyway. “You okay? You look a little out of it?”
“Not drunk,” I told him and held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Not the Scout’s sign,” Olivier said. “But I believe you.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Dillon lay in a crumpled heap. Maybe we should drop him around the corner with the rest of the garbage. “Still, we should probably get you to a hospital.”
“No hospital,” I said with a snap and gripped his arm. “Absolutely not.” Dad’s bills were more than enough. Our insurance barely covered a dental cleaning, much less an emergency room visit. “I’ll be fine. Totally had worse.”
I had no idea when, and I was kind of croaking when I spoke, but fuck it. I surged to my feet and Olivier followed me up. That might have been a mistake on both of our parts. My stomach rolled as the world spun.
“I think I’m going to puke,” I warned him. I wasn’t able to focus on much but he could definitely get out of the way. One minute I was standing, the next he swept me up and got me over to one of the dumpsters. The smell was repugnant, but it decimated what little resistance I had left and I threw up.
Thankfully, it’d been a few hours since I ate, so it was mostly water. But it still hurt like a bitch and burned my throat. The dry heaves that followed sucked even more.
“Easy,” Olivier said, he had the handkerchief up to my mouth and dabbed at it. “All good?”
“Sure, peachy.” I even managed to give him a thumbs-up.
“You need a doctor,” he informed me. “Your pupils are huge.”
“Thank you,” I told him. “I think you’re sexy too.” I patted his chest. “But not tonight.”
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Right. That’s it, definitely the doctor.”
“No,” I told him and pulled away. “I can take care of myself. No doctors. No emergency rooms. No doc in the boxes. Just…let me take care of me.”
“Lady,” he muttered, “I need to get the fuck out of here, but no way in hell am I letting you just stagger off with a concussion.”
“You can’t go home with me,” I told him. “I don’t take strangers home. Even if you’re technically not a stranger cause I know you…but…you know I think I’m gonna be quiet.”
The more I talked, the worse my throat hurt. Olivier gave me a hard look. “If you pass out, I can just take you to the hospital.”
“Please don’t.”
“Goddammit,” he swore again, then looked over at Dillon before looking back at me. “Too many damn vultures here tonight to argue about this. If you won’t let me take you to the hospital or home, you’re going home with me.”
“Okay.” Then I frowned. “Wait…why do I have to go home with you?” He was talking too fast. He whipped his jacket off and pulled it over my shoulders before he slid an arm under my knees. The ease with which he swept me up sent my head spinning.
“Don’t throw up,” he ordered as he strode away from Dillon and my car. “I can’t fucking believe this.” The last came out a mutter. “Jerry’s gonna fucking kill me. Seven’s gonna kill me. No fucking way am I sticking around for the bottom-feeders to get their shots.”
“Oh.” Right. The other paps. “None out here,” I told him and patted his chest. “I was alone.”
“Good to know no one was around to help you. Anyone ever tell you to not park out back of big hotels?”
“Nope,” I said and then we were suddenly at a car. There was a click of locks and he pulled open the door of the low-slung Jaguar. “Pretty kitty.”
Olivier settled me into the passenger seat as I transferred my petting from him to the seats. The leather was really soft. He snapped a seat belt across my chest, then popped open the glove compartment. A rustle of paper brought me back to the present and he put a bag in my hands.
“Hang on to this. If you need to puke again, throw up into the bag and not the floor.”
“Good plan,” I told him as he closed the door and circled the car. Cleaning this car would probably cost a fortune. The engine purred to life. Really sexy kitty. Then he was backing out and we were leaving the hotel, Dillon, and my sweet baby behind.
I’ll be back , I promised my baby mentally. Dillon would surely be found and they could scrape his drunk ass up off the ground. Head against the seat, I closed my eyes. All the headlights were kaleidoscoping or streaking past me.
They hurt my brain.
“You know,” I said. “I probably shouldn’t be driving.”
“You don’t say?” The sarcasm raked against me.
“You’re funny,” I said. “And cute.”
“I thought I was sexy?” The teasing growl made me laugh. Oh, that fucking hurt. No more laughing. I put a hand up to my head.
“Sure, I should probably say thank you too, but it’s getting hard to focus.”
“Close your eyes, Snow, I’ll have you somewhere safe soon.” I was half out of it, but I swore he also said, “And Gem better be home when I get there or I have no idea what I’m going to do.”