Page 5 of Would You Rather
This fucking woman.
The sound of a loud flash of a camera makes my head snap to my side, and I curse when I see paparazzi surrounding me. “Fuck.”
I drop her to the ground, and she lets out a yelp from the fast movement. But before she can say anything, I take hold of her hand and run toward the hotel a few feet nearby, where they can’t follow us inside.
I push through the revolving doors and rush inside, letting go of her hand as soon as we’re safe from the rain and the cameras.
I glance behind, trying to see if any of them snuck in, but when I don’t see anyone, I run a hand down my face and blow out a breath. I can’t wait to see what the press will say about that. More rumors, no doubt. They don’t care about the truth. They just want drama so they can fill their pockets at the expense of others.
“Excuse me,” a feminine voice gets my attention from behind me. I turn to face her and blink to take in her appearance. It’s the first time I’ve seen her properly since it was dark in the elevator. So now, as she stands in front of me, with her hand propped on her hip, I take her in.
She’s drenched from the rain, her hair flat against her head, a row of curls popping around her face. Her makeup is a little smudged, and her long dress is now stuck to her body, not leaving anything to the imagination.
Her nipples are little pebbles pressed against the silky material, and I force myself to look away. Fuck, she’s pretty as hell.
Except she’s scowling at me. “Yes?” I ask her like I wasn’t just checking her out.
“Am I free to leave, or do you want to hold me captive a little longer?”
My eyebrows raise, and although I should be offended by her interpretation of my help as some form of captivity, I can’t help but find it amusing. I press my lips together to hide my smirk. “A thank you would be nice.”
She blinks. “For what, exactly?”
I shrug. “Helping you in there. Getting you away from the paparazzi.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “The paparazzi?” she asks. “Why would they care about me?”
I smile at her, liking the fact that she doesn’t know who I am. “Just say thank you. Is it really that hard for you?”
She looks to the side, pressing her lips together. “Thanks,” she mumbles.
I cross my arms, smirking at her. “I don’t know.” I shake my head at her. “Didn’t really seem like you meant it.”
She turns her head to look at me, and her gaze is filled with anger as she glares at me. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
She lets out an aggravated sigh. “Thank you,” she says. “For helping me… in there.”
“Better,” I say, nodding. “You should work on that.” When she narrows her eyes, I chuckle. “You’re welcome.”
“So I can go?”
I hold out my hand to the front door, glancing outside to see if the paparazzi are still there. I don’t see them, and hopefully, they forget what she looks like, or else she’s going to be hit with a thousand different questions about me and us and whatever else they ask.
She walks past me and heads toward the exit. “Nice to meet you,” I call out to her.
She looks behind her shoulder at me and scrunches her brows. “Can’t say the same.” She turns around, pushes open the revolving doors, and steps outside.
I run my hands over my mouth. Any other girl would be dying to spend time with me, but she couldn’t run away from me any faster if she tried.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out with a smile on my face, but when I see my mom’s text, my smile drops.
Mãe:
On the way to the hospital. Where are you?
“Shit. James.”
