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“Yeah, that’s like rude and unusual punishment,” Ariana agreed.
The conversation only got more childish from there.
When they’d finished complaining about everything under the sun, I prepped for the exit by peeking out the front window while they paid. The fan swarm had arrived, along with two paparazzi I noticed.
“It’s a madhouse out there,” I told them at the door. “We’re going to make a rush to the car.” Today, I was driving thearmored Suburban instead of one of the Porsche Cayenne Turbo GTs Lucas had chosen for us.
“Right.” Ariana nodded.
The group mobbed us as soon as we got out the door, demanding autographs and yelling questions. The fans were even more aggressive than the paparazzi, shoving their way to the front.
“Sure,” Missy said, accepting an invitation to sign a guy’s chest when he pulled up his shirt and offered a Sharpie.
Ariana had started this two weeks ago. The internet went crazy, and now it was her thing. She took selfies with the girls and signed the guys’ chests. Marketing genius or perversion, I didn’t care, but it had made the crowds larger and rowdier.
The cascade began when other guys copied that one idiot’s move.
Not wanting to be one-upped by her friend, Ariana pulled away from me and took a Sharpie to a different guy’s chest, then a selfie with the girl next to him.
I stayed close to my client and tried to keep an eye on the crowd, looking for any crazies. In a crowd this size, there was almost always one who needed to be kept away.
I reconnected to comms. “Constance, we’ve left the restaurant, and it’s getting a little busy here. I could use your help.”
“Traffic sucks,” she said in my ear. “I’m still fifteen out.”
“Make it ten. Cobra out.”
The paps were snapping away, loving the free-for-all as the girls entertained more fans.
Then I saw it, a knife protruding from a guy’s pocket. If Constance had been here, I would have corralled the guy while she kept watch, but she wasn’t. Escape from the threat became the only option.
I pulled Ariana away. “We have to go.” With my other hand, I yanked hard on Missy’s arm and pulled the two toward the car.
The swarm of fans followed us.
“Let go of me,” Missy complained.
“I’m not done,” Ariana hissed.
“There’s a guy with a knife,” I said. “It’s not safe here.”
You’d think the mention of a knife would have scared her into complying, but no, not Ariana. She planted her feet. “You’re not the boss of me.”
Missy copied Ariana. “Me either.”
A fan pushed in and held out a camera, trying to get a selfie. Another lifted his shirt. “Do me.”
I tried logic. “You’re not safe here.”
Ariana took a pen. “I said I’m not done.” She inked the idiot’s chest.
I tried calm and insistent. “We have to leave now.”
“I told you. You’re not the boss of me,” Ariana said, posing for a selfie with her tongue sticking out.
“We have to go.”
“I’m sick of this,” she said. “You’re fired.”
