Page 53 of Concerted Chaos

“The guy who aggressively questioned me in the hospital? Yeah, I kinda figured it out.” He tilts his head sideways and sheepishly adds, “It helped that he gave me his card.” Oh. Yeah, that’s a giveaway.

Brixley looks up from typing on her phone. “I have a team coming. I’ll have to buy them all cookies. Meanwhile, that table just opened up.” She leads us to the high-top, the whispering crowd falling silent as she passes. The group who was sitting here gave it up for her; I know this because they are now standing two feet away, pretending they aren’t taking pictures, selfies with a certain supermodel “accidentally” in the background.

Brix takes the stool closest to the wall, to prevent people coming up behind her. She gets ambushed sometimes by wannabe influencers trying to sneak photos with her. Since the advent of social media, an uncountable number of candids, taken without her permission have been posted all over by strangers.

“Is it always like this for you?” Tanner asks. He should know, he’s usually holding a camera and being part of the invasive crowd.

“Only out here,” Brixley casts her eyes over the not-so-discreet selfie-takers. “Back home people are used to seeing celebrities, so they don’t trouble me as much. Tourists though, that’s another story.”

“It’s different out here with Powell.” Tanner’s nonchalant comment throws me off. Has he been stalking us? Has he been secretly watching my brother when he goes out in public?

“How would you know?” I ask pointedly.

“We went out for steak last week,” Tanner says, which is shocking new information to me. Powell never mentioned it. Maybe Tanner is lying.

“You did?” Brixley asks, probably because she can see I’m about to do some Mike-level “aggressive questioning.”

“I ran into him when I went to pick up my clothes from the tailor and he asked if I wanted to hang out. He said he was craving a big slab of red meat and since Cass is vegetarian, he needed someone else to go with him. But he didn’t have people gathering around staring at him. They treated him just like anybody else.”

First of all, Powell isn’t supposed to be having big slabs of anything with his pre-concert training diet. Second of all, why wouldn’t he tell me he’d been getting friendly with a pap? Now I have another person to aggressively question.

“Of course they did, that’s the difference between local celebs and visiting ones. Powell lives here, he tips well, and having him patronize a business increases their popularity. You remember the time you accosted me at Mama Nina’s?”

“I didn’t accost you! That was a friendly conversation.”

“Don’t rewrite history, Tanner.”

“I’m not! I just wanted to talk to you about the pictures.”

“The ones you took of my ass?”

Brixley lets out a gasp. She’s been watching us, head moving back and forth as though she’s at a tennis match. “This is better than reality TV! What pictures? Mason needs more details.” I should have known she was live-texting this. Brixley might be a super genius, but even brilliant minds need escapism sometimes, and she’s a fan of trashy television programming and real life over the top drama. Ask her about the modeling world, she’ll gleefully fill you in on all the sordid details and hot gossip.

“Why does Mason care?” I ask, because I don’t want to get too far into this.

“He’s pinned down under a napping baby and needs entertainment. Ordinarily, I’d tell Devon, but in his words, he’s ‘eschewing personal electronic devices’ in favor of ‘living in the present analog moment.’” Brixley’s rolling eyes tell me exactly what she thinks about her boyfriend’s neo-luddism.

“When did that start?” Devon is still active on SwiftaPic, though it’s entirely possible all of his new postings could have been made by an assistant. Most celebrities outsource such things.

“Nice try changing the subject. Mason already knows about Devon, he doesn’t already know about”—Brix waves her hand to encompass Tanner and myself—“whatever is happening here.”

Since she’s not going to let me redirect the conversation, I may as well tell her. “Tanner and I met because he was crouching in our bushes trying to get shots for a gossip blog. It was ...” I hesitate. It was the day Jace died, and I don’t want to bring that up and dampen the mood.

“It was a mistake,” Tanner supplies, picking up on the importance of not bringing up such a sad topic. “And maybe I shouldn’t have approached you, but if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be sitting here today, would we?”

“Ohhh ... valid point. Counterpoint, Cassidy?” Brix is enjoying this far too much.

But I don’t get the chance to make any kind of counterpoint, because a trio of enormous men dressed in tight black T-shirts and wearing earpieces arrive. They cause a stir through the crowd as they approach our table. A nearby group of frat boys who had previously been egging each other on and getting close to consuming enough liquid courage to hit on Brix, suddenly find something better to do at the far end of the room.

While two of the bodyguards take up positions next to our table, Brixley gives the other one a handful of bills and tells him to buy fundraiser tickets, make sure to vote for the fudgy pretzel cookies, and for heaven’s sake, try to blend in better.

“I requested discretion,” she mutters after he walks away with the money. “This is not what I meant.”

“The big boss wanted huge and intimidating,” the one nearest me says, giving an accurate description of himself and his partners. “But we’re not here for you, ma’am. We’re from Alpha Lobo.”

Aw, how sweet. That’s Mike’s company. And this proves Mike is keeping eyes on me, to make up for accidentally almost getting me killed in an explosion.

“This is kind of cool,” Tanner whispers. “But now everyone is staring at me.”

“You’re celebrity adjacent now, get used to it.”

“I’d like to,” he says with a wink.

If I didn’t know better, I would think he was flirting with me.

---