Page 6 of Wes

She lifts a perfect eyebrow. “I see why.”

When she doesn’t elaborate, I insist, “Is Alan around?”

“Nope. He’s just left. I believe he’s got stomach flu.” She shrugs. “Either that or he’s gotten too anxious hanging out with his idol, namely, you. In any case, he was feeling too sick to help out, so we sent him home.” Her tone isn’t flattering at all. “But don’t worry. I have to go to a mall nearby anyway. I’ll grab something for you, if you give me your information.” She hands me her phone with an app for taking notes opened in a blank document.

I write down my height, weight, and size, return the phone, and grab my wallet.

“Thanks, miss…”

She refuses my money and telling me her name. “Don’t worry about it.”

As she saunters away, my gaze follows her. I’ve never met this young woman in my life. I would remember her if I had. I’ve no idea why she reacted to me the way she did.

But I’ll have fun finding that out and changing her mind.

Challenge accepted.

3

MARIA

Imarch out of the Hall of the Arches and make a beeline for the parking lot. In the past week, headlines confirmed my suspicions about Mr. Baron. He is just like all other selfish pricks who objectify women, use them, and discard them without a second thought.

“Oi, Mancuso.” I speak in Portuguese with the chauffeur holding the door of the black limousine open for me.

I smile at him as I sit on the soft leather.

“Olá, Srta. Augusto. Para onde vamos?” He returns the greeting and asks where I want to go.

“Pátio Paulista, por favor.” I give him the name of the best mall in this area of the city as he settles behind the wheel.

About fifteen minutes later, I enter a Brazilian designer store to pick up the dress I bought for the event. I left it here for some alterations a couple of days ago. I browse their menswear section and pick up a leather jacket, a couple of wool pants, and half-a-dozen Henleys in different colors. These should keep the entitled rock star warm until he flies back home.

After accepting the bags of clothes from the salesperson with a smile, I return to the parking structure. I hand the purchases to Mancuso and enter the car, shaking my head as I pull the door closed. How can this Wes guy be so self-centered he ignores the rest of the world? He doesn’t even consider the possibility that a country on another hemisphere, twelve hours away from his own, might have a different climate.

“Selfish prick,” I mumble as we cruise through the streets back to the hall.

Once inside the venue, I spot a junior assistant with the non-profit who’s out of the building on a break.

“Hey, Jean. About to return?”

She nods. “Yes. Need something?”

I hand her the shopping bags, with the stuff I’ve bought for the celebrity, and ask, “Could you drop this at Mr. Baron’s dressing room?”

I can’t stand the thought of meeting him again, but the young woman skips in place, clapping, like a little kid on a Christmas morning unwrapping her favorite present.

Am I the only one who sees the man for what he is? Which is a famous person caught red-handed who now needs to save face and gain some sympathy from the media and the fans.

Entering the main hall where the concert will take place in a few hours, I remember an online article about his case I came across yesterday. It would have been much easier to focus on the story if his abs hadn’t distracted me. I shudder because a bolt of energy travels down my spine when I picture myself in the receiving end of the spanking, he was delivering the two women in the photos.

What the hell?I scold myself, squaring my shoulders.

“So, what do you think of this place?” Ana’s voice to my right startles me.

But I welcome the distraction she offers me. I don’t like the abyss my thoughts were sliding into.

“It’s gorgeous. It reminds me of Boston Symphony Hall, especially the ceiling.”

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