Page 4 of Heartbreaker

“Bri—”

A squeeze of my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Panic makes me want to shake my head, to yank her back against me and hold tight until everything inside me calms?—

But I’m not a fucking pussy, okay?

I shove that down, slap a lid on it.

“I’m fine,” I rasp, not sounding the least bitfine.

“Of course you are,” she says, not calling me on my bullshit. Another squeeze before she drops her hand. “I’ll be right back.”

I nod.

Her expression is far too gentle for my comfort but I don’t have to sit in that because then she’s disappearing down the hall, leaving me in the shadows, the rest of the world moving around me.

That’s a familiar feeling, and it settles me until she comes back a couple of minutes later and guides me down a narrow, dimly lit hallway.

“Where are we going?” Okay, that sounds lesssettledand more…hanging on by a thread.

“Somewhere quiet,” she says, thankfully ignoring my tone as she leads me into a nondescript green room and closes the door behind us. There’s a mirror surrounded with lights, a vanity for makeup, a couch on the far wall, and a table loaded with snacks plunked in front of it. “I got the all-clear to put you here for a few minutes,” Briar explains. “You’ll be left alone while I call Quentin”—my head of security—“and get your car pulled around.”

“Thanks, Thorny,” I tell her.

A light swat to my chest in response to the nickname before she says quietly, “Being helpful is what I do best.”

“You’re more than just that.”

She gives a soft shake of her head, always discounting herself, never seeing how fucking great she is, but I know now’s not the time to try to change her mind.

I need to get the fuck out of here before I have a full-blown panic attack in front of these assholes.

“Sit tight,” she orders softly.

I nod, drop onto the couch. “Sitting.”

Her mouth twitches.

Then she’s gone, the doorclickingclosed softly behind her.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders, my neck, willing the rest of the tension to just go the fuck away.

This time, thankfully, as the seconds pass, those twisted emotions inside me loosen their vice-like grip on my insides and begin to fade away.

So much so, that I feel almost normal by the time the handle turns less than three minutes later, the door swinging inward.

“That was fast,” I start to say, anticipating the red flash of Briar’s hair.

Instead, I get…

Blond curls.

Miles and miles of sparkle-covered fabric.

Soulful gray eyes.

A tiny country-pop dynamo.

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