Chapter 7
Ismeralda
I toss and turn all night, wishing that I hadn’t fled back to my room so quickly. I have relationship phobia—in other words I avoid relationships like I do going to a big box store—and it was feeling like Gabe and I were getting a little too cozy. He’s my employee and nothing else.
Surprisingly, I enjoyed every minute of sharing a meal with him. He’s funny and likes to tease once you break through that grumpy demeanor. Plus, my secret craving for a burger and fries is safe with him. If I trust Gabriel with my life, surely I can trust him not to spill the beans about my weakness for fast food and sweets.
Five o’clock comes far too early. In fact, I hit the snooze on my phone alarm a couple times before I finally roll out of bed. Scrambling, I decide that since the book signing at my uncle’s Phoenix location isn’t until tomorrow, my outfit can be a tad bit more casual for this leg of the journey.
Grabbing a black pair of pants and a light blue blouse, I dress quickly. After applying my makeup and wrangling my hair into another tight bun, I slip on my high heels and jog to the lobby, dragging my suitcase behind me.
The lobby has several small seating areas consisting of comfy brown leather chairs like the one Gabe is already sitting in, relaxing with a cup of coffee and a donut by his elbow. My mouth waters when I see that the donut is a chocolate iced one—my favorite.
I glance over some oversized potted plants and a huge gold globe sporting the hotel’s logo to see two women on the other side of the lobby talking behind their hands as they stare intently at me. Do they recognize me? Should I have worn a different outfit? Have I smudged my lipstick?
“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” I say in a formal voice, sliding into a seat beside him and settling my bag next to his. He’s looking ever the hunk in his tight-fitting blue jeans, slouchy sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. No matter what the man wears, his masculinity shines through, and the impact makes my heart do a little flip in my chest.
“Good morning, boss. I thought we agreed you would text me when you were ready so I could accompany you?” he says with a scowl.
Oops! “I promise to follow your instructions to a T next time,” I say in an apologetic tone, although I have no intention of doing so.
He rolls his eyes, seeing through me like I’m as transparent as a piece of glass. “Dressed for a business meeting, I see,” Gabe says with a smirk, then takes a big bite of that donut.
Since I know I’ve got an audience, the donut is off limits. I tell my tastebuds to calm down, but my mouth waters despite the warning. “Where did you get the to-go cup?” I ask, nodding towards his coffee.
“There’s a coffee bar over there. I’ll watch your stuff if you want to grab a cup.”
I want to screech, What I need is a donut! but I compose myself, then head over to the self-service bar. I snag a to-go cup from the stack and fill it; the aroma of hot coffee helps to wake me up as I stare at the brown liquid trickling into the cup.
“Are you Ismeralda Harrington?”
I jump, then turn to address one of the women who were talking behind their hand. Wondering whether I’m staring into the face of my stalker, my heart rate ticks up a notch. However, Gabe is watching our interaction closely, so I force myself to relax. Praying that my makeup is still flawless—just in case this woman is another influencer—I plaster on a fake smile and say, “Yes, I am. Are you one of my followers?”
She leans in, shaking her index finger right in my face, not more than an inch from my nose. “You’re dead wrong about Kat V’s Glam makeup!” she hisses. “It’s high quality, and it’s worth every penny!” Her voice rises, and heads turn as she continues her tirade.
Is she wearing Glam right now? Because her eye shadow is starting to flake. Should I mention that to her?
Before I can open my mouth to respond, Gabe is standing between us, shielding me from the woman’s ugly rampage. It happens so quickly; both my accuser and I blink in shock. I swear the man moves like a ninja.
“Miss Harrington needs to catch her ride,” Gabe says, taking my arm and propelling me towards our suitcases. He grabs both, and in five strides we’re out the door. My feet barely touch the ground as we sprint across the parking lot. Gabe opens the limo’s back door and thrusts me into the vehicle, then slams the door. My entire body shakes as I sit, breathing heavily while grasping the to-go cup (which I had the presence of mind to take).
When he flops into the driver’s seat, the car rocks back and forth as he slams the door, starts the engine, and pulls away. Tires squeal as we quickly turn the corner onto the busy street. In seconds, we’re surrounded by other vehicles as we head out of the city.
Silence fills the car for several minutes. I finally quit trembling enough to sip my coffee, which is hot and comforting. The warmth spreads throughout my body, making me feel much better.
“Izzie,” Gabe says, the partition between us still rolled down from our stop at the burger joint. “We need to be more diligent when you’re out in public. I was lulled into thinking everyone in the lobby was harmless, but how do we know that for sure? Your stalker wants us to think they’re going to approach you at one of your signings, but then they’ll catch us by surprise and confront you somewhere else.” He delivers his speech in a commanding tone.
“Like at a hotel coffee bar?” I snipe, still stinging from the recent encounter.
“Exactly.”
“Do you think she was going to do something worse than just yell at me?” I squeak, wondering if she was going to try to do bodily harm. Those tremors start up again and I feel nauseous.
“I honestly don’t think so. She wasn’t carrying a purse where she could hide a weapon. I believe she just wanted to chew you out. But we might not be so lucky next time.”
“How about I stay out of sight except for the book tour events? I’ll just cower in my room,” I murmur.
“We’ll figure something out so you don’t feel like you’re in jail,” Gabe says in a surprisingly sympathetic tone.
The rush of adrenaline from our mad dash out of the hotel dissipates, leaving me feeling as limp as a wet noodle. Even the jolt of caffeine isn’t having its usual uplifting effect. I suddenly feel hungry and exhausted.
“Thank you for intervening so quickly,” I add in a low voice. What if he hadn’t been there?
“I didn’t even get to finish my donut,” he grouses, the grumpy expression returning to his face.
Mention of the donut perks me up—that’s exactly what I need. “Let’s stop and get some more.”
His eyes widen. “Really? We just passed a Dunkin’ Donuts. Hang on and we’ll turn around!”
After he executes a tire-squealing 180-degree turn, I feel certain that he passed his tactical driving class with flying colors.
Seconds later we’re waiting in the drive-thru lane. “What flavor do you want?” Gabe asks.
“Flavors,” I correct. “I’ll have two chocolate-iced cake donuts and one blueberry cake donut.”
He swivels and grins at me through the open partition. “How about you join me up front?” Donuts apparently help him forget his grumpy mood.
Scrambling out the back, I hop in the front passenger seat while Gabe orders. Deciding I’ve had enough of these heels, I fling them back through the partition, preferring to go barefoot.
Gabe hitches an eyebrow as he hands me our food. “Ready? Would you like to change into something less formal?”
His previous snarky comment about being dressed for a business meeting hits me. Why did I wear this stuffy outfit to ride 300 miles in the car? I untuck my blouse and take down my hair, letting it tumble around my neck. “This is better,” I say as a blush heats my face.
Where is this version of myself coming from?
He laughs. “Okay, baby steps. Maybe tomorrow you can try wearing jeans and a T-shirt?”
“It’s a possibility, Mr. Martin.” Rustling through the bag, I pull out one of the chocolate donuts and take a bite. “This is yummy,” I mumble around the sweet treat.
“Hand me one,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road as he maneuvers us back onto our path.
I do as he commands, not even caring when my fingers become coated with icing, proceeding to lick it off rather than try to find a wet wipe.
After consuming all three donuts and draining my to-go cup, I feel sleepy. Guess that’s better than a sugar high. Yawning, I say, “I think I need to take a quick nap.” I contemplate asking him to stop so I can go nap in the back, but I’m too tired to even move that far.
“Sounds good. I’ll just be driving this boring stretch of road.”
“At least you won’t have to execute one of your ninja moves or employ your tactical driving skills,” I tease.
Grunting he says, “Let’s figure out how to avoid doing either of those in the future.”
As I drift off, the gravity of the situation smacks me in the face. Despite our attempts at finding levity in what just happened—or at least smoothing things over with some donuts—I know that woman’s scowling face is going to haunt my dreams, and I’m going to wonder if every person who wants a book signed is going to attack me. The book tour is no longer something I’m looking forward to; instead I’m dreading every minute.