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“What is it?” Alex asks, instantly alert.
“We’ve got company.”
“How’d they know where we live?”
“And how’d they get here so quickly?”
And more importantly, why would the media care about a bachelorette auction?
Except I know why they care.
Katherine Montgomery truly is Manhattan royalty. She might as well have been born wearing a tiara. Her family is beyond wealthy. Making money is a game for them. And they win frequently.
And she just had two men go head to head, fighting for a date with her.
Wagering two million dollars.
That’s bound to turn even the stiffest of necks.
I ease the big vehicle forward, thankful that traffic is light at this time of night. Several of the group appear to be women, cell phones in hand.
We roll closer.
One’s wearing a skintight red dress. And through the crush, I see a telltale shock of long, silvery hair.
I curse under my breath. I know her a little too well, unfortunately. And she’s as deranged as they come. There’s no telling what story she concocted about us this time. Probably that I’m cheating on her with Katherine Montgomery. The woman has a vivid imagination.
“Give me a break,” I mutter because, at this point, a restraining order is my last option.
There’s nowhere out here to drop Alex and Katherine off without them getting swarmed. I can just imagine the pictures of Alex scooping her into his brawny arms and depositing her into the backseat of his car. The journalists will figure out I’m his car. It’s what they do.
This whole evening is turning into a nightmare.
“Just get to the parking garage,” he says.
One of Alex’s credos is to always keep moving.
I grip the wheel tighter and continue up the street. Turn another corner and circle to the back of the building. There’s an underground parking deck.
I glance in the mirrors and prepare to change lanes. He’s glancing down at Katherine with concern and a tenderness I’ve never seen before.
Why does it bother me so much that she’s sitting in his lap? She was having a panic attack, for Christ’s sake. Alex is good at calming people down. Between his training and deep voice, he has that effect on people.
A pale car swerves around us, zipping down to block the parking entrance. The side door opens, and a man pops out, holding a camera, and alarm floods my veins.
“Fuck. Hold on.”
These guys are unbelievable.
The Rover bolts forward as I step on the gas, negotiating past, and we speed down the tight alleyway.
“What’s going—” Katherine’s voice is cut off, and I glance in the rear-view mirror to see her clinging to Alex’s shoulders, staring out the back window.
We need to get somewhere secure.
“Your office?” I ask him.
“Yeah.”
