Page 103 of Taste of Addiction

He squeezes my ass and plops me up onto the vanity. “You want to play some games? Sure, then. We’ll play some games. Let’s go.”

His words are sobering. He always plays so dirty that I know I am doomed. Ugh. The anticipation of what he has planned is going to eat me alive.

I follow Graham out of the hotel room with the slam of the door. I drape my fur coat over my arm, not sure where this tour will start or end. I have been to this hotel before, so I already have visited some of the restaurants and seen the lobby. He holds my hand as we walk down the hallway, passing by several couples, all dressed impeccably.

“Where are we going?” I ask softly.

He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I told you. Just a little tour.”

“Why are we dressed so fancy then?”

I see Graham’s smile from my periphery as he keeps his lips shut. His secrecy is unnerving.

“Did I tell you that you look stunning?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, yes you did.”

Graham leads me into the waiting elevator car and we go to the main lobby, through another hallway, and then through two massive wooden doors with intricate designs carved into the surface. Several other couples follow us inside, some greeting Graham with a knowing pat on the back or a simple, “Good evenin’, sir. Miss.” I struggle to keep my composure as my heart rate quickens. What are we doing?

Nothing on the walls or the doors gives away why we are here. Everyone, however, is dressed to impress. I might stick out with my inability to adapt to this rich lifestyle that Graham is part of, but at least I can fake it with my attire.

“Come,” he says to me, motioning for a security guard who is standing in front of a metal door to open it.

He allows me to enter first and mutters something to the worker that I do not catch. We walk holding hands down a long dimly lit hallway until we enter a large room surrounded by huge thick red velvet curtains. The echoing of a mic fills the space, and several people enter our area from behind the wall of curtains.

“Mr. Hoffman, you are up next,” one says. “Time estimate four minutes.”

I stare up into Graham’s eyes. “What is going on?” I mouth.

“There is a private charity event going on that HH contributes toward. I would like you to accompany me while I make an appearance on stage and announce the singers. All proceeds go toward the cause.”

“What’s the charity?”

“Together is Better.”

I rack my brain to think of what this would benefit, but don’t have to think long because Graham clues me in.

“It’s a charity to help families cope with drug addiction.”

“I—”

“I have been donating toward the foundation long before we met. I know it is a bit ironic. But I thought you accompanying me on stage would be a positive step for you.”

“I hate being on stage. I sang with Zander at The Shack and made myself sick over it.”

“That’s because you had time to obsess,” he theorizes.

“I’m not prepared for this at all. My hair and makeup and—”

“You look amazing. This reaction is precisely why I didn’t tell you ahead of time. It’s still your choice. I just know that you are very upset over how the media is portraying you, and this may be a step in the right direction to help build your image.”

“One minute, sir,” a stagehand announces quietly to us.

“You just need to stand with me. No need to do anything more than smile and hold my hand.”

I nod as another worker motions for us to walk out. I drop my fur coat onto a nearby bench and walk out with Graham, who looks impeccable and at ease. His confidence oozes from him. The man never ceases to amaze me. The overhead lights are so bright that I can barely see the audience, which actually helps with my nerves. There could be two people present or two thousand.

Graham keeps my hand in his and is my forever anchor. He adjusts the microphone when we get to the center spot.

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