Page 214 of Duty and Desire
“Sure, hon.”
The car pulled up close to the building with the passenger side right in front of me. I raced out. Flashes went off, but I kept a hand up, covering part of my face. They weren’t getting a good shot of me today. Not under these circumstances. So there.
Inside the car, everything was quiet apart from the pounding of my heart. Ziggy drove fast but skillfully through the city streets. Usually I liked being out and about after dark. People out having fun, the sight of street lights rushing past. It all soothed me for some reason. Probably due to childhood memories of Mom picking me up from Grandma’s place and driving me home late at night after her shift at the bar. But nothing could relax me this evening.
“No need to rush,” I said. “They know where we’re going. One of the downsides to living under half of Stage Dive. Everyone in the area knows about that building.”
He slowed a little.
“With no time for a shower, I must smell amazing.”
Another of those almost-smiles tugged at his lips. “You’re fine, miss.”
“Guess someone at the police station either talked or sold the story. I can’t imagine Leonard or anyone else at the apartment building doing it.”
“I know the people who work at your building. No way would it have been one of them.”
“Good,” I said. “That makes me feel a little better.”
“Speaking of which…” With more multitasking skill than I could ever display, he drew out his cell and made a call. “Hey, Sarah, it’s Ziggy. Miss Cooper and I are coming in with photographers on our tail. Just giving you warning...right. Thanks.”
“They’re at the building too, already?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Not a surprise. But it still sucked. Behind us, paparazzi followed on motorbikes, scooters, and in cars. A whole bunch of them. Oh man, this was just fucking great. No, wait, hold up. I needed an attitude adjustment. Enough with the moping and fretting. Especially since it wouldn’t help a damn thing. Deep breath. This too would pass. A few days and no doubt they’d be talking about someone else, and my stalker would be behind bars. This would all be over and I could go back to my normal life of coming and going as I pleased. After all, it couldn’t be any worse than when my idiot cheating ex’s sex tape hit the internet and I survived that. I’d been working in New York and all of the attention during that emotionally upsetting time was an unhelpful pain in the ass, and then some.
The gates to the underground parking garage beneath my building clanged shut behind us and I breathed a sigh of relief. “You might as well head home. I’ll be staying in for the rest of the night.”
“I’ll see you upstairs and check your apartment. Then I’ll be on my way.”
“But the building has security.” I undid my seatbelt. “You think that’s really necessary?”
“Yes, miss.”
I exhaled. Chin up, shoulders back, tits out. Time to pull my shit together and make my mom proud. “Okay then.”
He went before me, first checking that the elevator was empty, then he checked the hall outside my apartment.
“Your keys and security alarm code please, miss?” he asked, hand held out waiting.
It might have just been me, but we seemed to be standing awfully close together. It almost seemed weirdly intimate. Almost. No, my bad. Ziggy wore his usual professional façade with nary a hint of emotion on display. His gaze was shuttered, his bearing military rigid. It was definitely just meand my overactive imagination. Being vaguely attracted to your bodyguard was kind of a pain in the ass. Not that I couldn’t use the distraction right now.
Ziggy continued to stand there patiently waiting.
“Keys. Right.” I rummaged inside my Balenciaga City bag. Designer goodies were not only a weakness of mine, but a happy perk of being in the industry and achieving some small fame. “Ah, just a minute. They’re in here somewhere.”
I pushed aside my purse, a cashmere shawl, tampons, a candy bar, some loose change, my small Chanel cosmetics case, a power bank, hair ties, pepper spray, a copy of the latest Sarah MacLean book, mints, a spare charging cable for my cell phone, the cell phone itself, Chapstick, Prada sunglasses case, my grandma’s rosary, dental floss, deodorant, a couple of pens, Kleenex, ear buds, water bottle, a USB stick, reusable straw, condoms, nail file, some old receipts, a travel size umbrella, hand sanitizer, lotion, a pair of pearl earrings, tweezers, Advil, a hair band, and some bobby pins.
“Sorry about this,” I murmured. “I know I put them in here when we left.”
He said nothing. A whole lot of nothing.
“Huh.” With a great sense of victory, I held up a bottle of nail polish. “I thought I’d lost this.”
One of his dark brows crept upwards.
“I’ll have you know this color was limited edition. Little Death at Midnight by Oxley. You can’t buy it anymore.”
