Chapter 12 Luke
LUKE
It was only a matter of time.
The bridesmaids’ attention on me was snowballing, their shrill laughter and flirtatious remarks escalating as the bride grabbed my arm and declared, “You have to dance with us.”
I shot a desperate glance at Hal and Tom, my so-called bodyguards, but they were utterly useless, transfixed by the bridesmaids on the pool table.
At this rate, my disguise was as good as finished.
The studio would love a viral video of their supposed-to-be-behaving-himself lead getting dragged into a bachelorette party conga line.
And then, like an unexpected plot twist, her voice cut through the clamor.
“Mr. O’Toole, there’s a call for you.”
My head jerked toward her. Anna. Of course, it was Anna.
“It’s urgent.” She jabbed a finger toward the bar. “From Ireland.”
The bridesmaids and the bride reluctantly parted. “Who does she think she is?” one of them muttered, glaring daggers at Anna.
I barely had time to register my relief before Anna turned her gaze on me, her eyes flashing with something I couldn’t quite place. “Well? Are you coming, Mr. O’Toole?”
The words startled me into action, and I followed her, weaving through the crowd. On the way, she stopped at Hal and Tom’s table, their eyes still locked on the gyrating women. Her voice was steel. “Gentlemen, are we forgetting who you’re here to watch over?”
They jumped to their feet, looking sheepish.
“Right. Of course,” Hal muttered, while Tom adjusted his sunglasses.
By the time I reached the safety of the bar, my heart was still racing from the near disaster. I turned to Anna, trying to put all the gratitude I felt into words—or at least into my expression.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, my voice low. “That was... intense.”
She squinted, her expression unimpressed. “I’m just doing what I said I’d do and keep your identity a secret. You’re welcome, by the way.”
The bride’s shrill laughter pierced the air again, and I winced. “I’m already wearing a disguise,” I muttered, tugging on my brown, Hugh Grant wig. “I need a disguise for this disguise.”
Anna raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement. “Wait here,” she said, disappearing into the back room.
“Should I be worried?” I called after her, but she was already gone.
She returned, thrusting something lavender and fluffy at me. “Here.”
I blinked. “What is this?”
“It’s my hoodie,” she said matter-of-factly. “Put it on.”
I held up the purple hoodie, which featured an embroidered golden fleur-de-lis in sequins. “This is... very purple.” I tried to suppress a laugh.
“Exactly.” Anna’s tone dared me to argue. “No one will expect Luke Fisher, Hollywood’s golden god, to be wearing this.”
She wasn’t wrong. With a sigh, I tugged it on. It fit surprisingly well, and it smelled like Anna. Cinnamon with a trace of jasmine.
“Wow,” I murmured. “This is comfortable.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “It’s not a fashion statement. It’s a disguise on top of your already terrible disguise.”
“Noted.” I tugged the hood up over my wig. “How do I look?”
“Ridiculous,” she replied, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
Hal walked up to us. “We’ve got a clean path to the car. Let’s move.”
“Thanks for the save,” I said to Anna, pausing for a moment.
She gave me a look I couldn’t quite decipher, then nodded. “Don’t mention it. Literally. Don’t.”
“Time to move,” Hal muttered, his voice low as he clapped a hand on my shoulder.
Tom flanked me on the other side, his expression deadly serious despite the ridiculous tourist sunglasses still perched on his nose. “Let’s go before they connect the dots.”
I didn’t argue. The two of them ushered me toward the front door, cutting through the crowd with surprising efficiency. I caught a glimpse of the bride craning her neck to look for me, her friends buzzing around her like a swarm of bees.
“Keep your head down,” Hal instructed, his bulk acting as a human shield as we slipped out the door.
The second the steamy night air hit my face, I exhaled a shaky breath, relief washing over me. I leaned back against the wall, trying to make sense of everything. The humid air clung to my skin, but my mind was elsewhere, still back in that chaotic bar, back on Anna.
She hadn’t just saved me. She could have walked away, let me crash and burn, but she didn’t.
Why?
I glanced back toward the bar, and there she was, framed in the doorway, scanning the street like she wanted to make sure the coast was clear before heading back inside.
She caught my eye across the alley, and the rest of the city seemed to blur.
My throat tightened. I cleared it and looked away, but my chest was still racing.
Before I could tell if she felt it too, she turned and disappeared back into the bar, and I was left staring at the empty doorway, my chest tingling with something I couldn’t quite place.
For the first time since I got to New Orleans, I didn’t feel entirely out of my depth. More and more, it seemed like having Anna show me the city, and help me figure out how to connect with real people, wasn’t just a good idea; it might be the only idea.
She didn’t want to be my tour guide, though. That much was clear. But I could be persuasive when it mattered. And right now, it definitely mattered.