Red searched for Mutt and Bill, the two bulky bouncers usually parked in the corner of the VIP lounge, but they were already on their way over. When the cameraman caught sight of them, he really began to struggle in earnest. He flailed around, catching the edge of a table with his hip and sending a couple of glasses crashing to the floor near Piper’s feet.
She gasped and shrank back. Mutt took one look at the mess, hauled back, and clocked the vermin dead in the face.
Red released the guy’s arm and let him slump to the floor. Bill nudged him onto his back with his enormous combat boot, then leaned down and carefully slipped the camera strap over the paparazzo’s head. He took one look at the display screen and handed the camera right to Red.
Behind him, Piper sat frozen on the sofa, wide-eyed and not saying a word. “You okay, sweetheart?” Red asked.
She gripped her hands together in her lap and gave him a quick nod, then peeped around Red’s legs to check out the dude on the carpet, now beginning to whine and clutch at his nose.
Red turned his attention back to the camera. The jerk had been taking pictures of him and Piper for a while. Red arrowed back through the array of photos, deleting them one by one until he came to some fuzzier images at the beginning of the set.
The dark alley behind the club, where the employee entrance was. Piper leaning against the grimy brick wall, Red’s hands on her ass and tongue down her throat. Even though he could hardly make out their features in the unfocused frames, it still looked bad—illicit and sleazy. It hadn’t been, though. They’d only stopped for one hot-and-heavy minute between leaving the car and ducking into the club.
Red deleted those shots, too, then scanned through the camera’s other screens and settings to make sure the photos weren’t sitting in some digital trash bin somewhere, waiting to be restored. He hoped to hell the man hadn’t managed to upload anything yet.
Poor Piper would be mortified if any of those pictures made it into the gossip pages, and Red’s Trident investors would feel even worse. They were a squirrelly bunch—okay with funding some lifestyle brands here and there, but warier than expected about Red’s decision to move into the arts last year.
Terry, his head of security, trotted up, holding his headset in place at one ear. “Take that asshole out front to wait for the police,” he ordered his guys.
“How did he get in here?” Red demanded. He glanced quickly at Piper again, but she was still sitting behind him, untouched and unharmed. He forced himself to calm down before he ripped someone’s head off right in front of her.
Terry looked to Mutt, asking, “Who’s on the door right now?” while Bill smacked the paparazzo into complaisance and hauled him to his feet.
Mutt said, “The new guy, Collin. We’ll talk to him on our way out.” Then the bouncers dragged the interloper unceremoniously away.
“I’ll check the tapes,” Terry told Red, “But I don’t think he came in the front. Any one of us would’ve spotted that lens in a second. Even Collin.”
“All right. Have the other guys do a sweep to find out how he did get in.”
“Where was he hiding? Could you tell?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the stairwell over there.” Red slung the camera over his shoulder and blew out a long breath. “Do me a favor. Take Ms. Fulham to the office to wait for me, in case there are any others still inside.”
Red pushed away his disappointment at the unwelcome turn of events and reached a hand toward Piper. “That’s our cue, I’m afraid.”
Piper pouted prettily at his weak joke, but underneath it she was clearly shaken. She sucked down the last of her drink through the little plastic stirrer, then let Red help her to her feet.
“I guess I’m bad luck tonight, huh?” she said.
Red really needed her to lay off that self-deprecating crap. And he thought that maybe—just maybe—it was an instance in which his particular interests might come in handy. The next time he found himself in a bed with her, perhaps he could teach Piper a thing or two about her own worth.
He gave himself half a minute to play out the fantasy. With Piper acting as his submissive, Red would have her confidence where it ought to be in no time. And hell—he’d probably be feeling pretty good about himself, too.
There was no time for that train of thought right now, though. “Forget that,” he said. “Terry is going to take you to the club’s office. Hang tight there and wait for me, okay? So I know you’re safe?”
She nodded, innocent and dutiful. Coupled with the shoes, it was like catnip for his degenerate soul. “Where are you going?” she wondered.
To hell, probably. “I’m going to go down and talk to the cops, but I’ll be back to get you as soon as I possibly can.”
“Okay.”
“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. This is obviously not how I wanted to end the night.”
Piper swayed an inch toward him, so Red wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head to comfort her. Then he released her to Terry with a speaking glare.
The man jerked his chin in acknowledgment and whisked Piper away. Red watched them until they disappeared behind the hidden door leading into the back hall and the offices beyond, then hit the employee elevator to go clean up this mess.
THE POLICE OFFICERS had arrived by the time Red strode into the chilly night air. Their black-and-white was pulled onto the sidewalk, its flashing lights making it seem like the party was outside rather than in.
The paparazzo had regained his wits and was bitching loudly about assault, theft, and property destruction. He had an interested audience in the people waiting in line, many of them standing with their cellphones out and ready to record, in case things went sideways.
The dude had a less-interested audience in the cops, however. Red introduced himself and drew them aside, so he could be heard over the din.
The older man in the pair wasted no time. “How’d his nose get broken?”
“Security had to neutralize him before he hurt himself or someone else,” Red said.
“Acting like this inside?”
“And then some. You know my guys don’t like to get rough when they have to toss people. But if dropping someone quickly means that they won’t cause a bigger scuffle, then that’s what they do. Besides, I have a guest with me tonight. She’s a petite woman, and this guy was right up in our faces. Security didn’t want her to get caught in the middle of something.”
Terry walked up. Red didn’t need to introduce him; the officers who worked this district knew his team well—and knew they ran a tight ship. A clean club. Red wasn’t going to worry, not yet.
“We found a broken window on the third floor,” Terry explained. “Fucker scaled the fire escape, cut the alarm, and came in through the women’s locker room.”
The officer sighed, “No photography allowed on the premises, I presume?”
“Private property,” Red smiled. “He did not have permission from the management to take photos tonight.”
“All right, MacLellan. Look, this character’s got a rap sheet a mile long and our shift is over in forty-five minutes. Let’s wrap this up.”
The cop nodded at his partner, who shut down the paparazzo’s antics with a decisive yank on his arm. A moment later, the officer was guiding the idiot’s head past the cruiser’s doorframe and stuffing him into the back.
The cameraman twitched on the seat, trying to get comfortable with his hands cuffed behind him. Red stared him down, willing the bastard to read the murderous thoughts churning through his mind.
“You and your goons available to come down to the station tomorrow to give statements?” Cop One asked.
“Of course. The club’s open for three more hours, or they’d come tonight.”
“What about your lady friend?”
Red paused. Shit. In all his fury, he hadn’t thought this far ahead. If word got out, it might do worse than merely embarrass her—it could seriously dent Piper’s squeaky-clean reputation. With Trident�
�s transition on shaky ground already, Red couldn’t risk anything that took away from her sterling public persona.
“She’s upstairs, but—”
The officer frowned.
“Here’s the thing,” Red told him. “She’s in town for meetings with my company this week. She’s an author—a well-known one. She’s only a bystander, and I’d hate for her name to be tainted in any way if this were to make the news.”
“Understood. Who is it?”
Red decided to go for name recognition, rather than legality. “Her name is Antoinette Corelli. She’s a—”
“No shit? My wife inhales everything that woman puts out. Can’t say I mind, either.” He raised his eyebrows and waggled them meaningfully.
“Your wife is in very good company,” Red said.
“Okay, chief. I’m gonna need to talk to her, but I’ll keep it brief. Lead the way.”
RED WAITED OUTSIDE the office for what felt like an eternity, watching the dancers below while Piper gave her statement. In truth, less than an hour passed before he was ushering the cop back outside and rejoining Piper upstairs.
With the photographer mess out of the way, though, Red could finally fold her into his arms and get another taste of the sweetness he’d been hungering for. He lingered over the kiss, slow and lazy, letting it calm his frayed nerves and settle his black mood.
When they finally broke apart, Piper grinned and whisked an unsteady hand across her brow. “Whew,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting that. Getting warm in here, no?”
Jesus. Her moves—such as they were—were awkward and ridiculous, and Red loved them all. “Come on, hot stuff,” he told her. “It’s been a long night. Bring your kinky wingtips and let’s get you back to your hotel.”
“I’ll have you know these babies are all business,” she retorted, following him down the back stairs, and out to the alley where Felix was waiting with the car.
“They fit right in,” he murmured.
He held Piper’s hand and settled into his seat, tracking the late-night sights of the city rushing past the tinted windows. Stumbling drunks. Homeless folks with their loaded shopping carts. Flickering streetlights and darkened ground-floor shop windows.
Piper had been amazing tonight, rolling with every change of direction with unwavering aplomb. Red could probably learn a thing or two from her, too.
Piper squeezed his hand. “You aren’t unhappy with me, are you?” she asked.
Red was startled. He’d been mentally singing her praises, then dwelling on the untimely interruption of their evening, and on what needed to get rescheduled the next morning so he could go down to the station. But Piper was blameless.
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“You’re pretty grim. Haven’t said three words to me since we left the club.”
Red brooded for a few more minutes, thinking. “You know, I’ve had to deal with jerks like that for a while now. They’re relentless, but my team has a protocol and for the most part, it works pretty well. I get to maintain a little privacy, at least. I guess I’m just furious that things went wrong tonight, and that you got pulled into it.”
“It seems like it will be okay, though, right? That cop acted like he believed us.”
“Yeah, he seemed to. But it’s still an invasion. A violation of our time, our space…it’s not okay. I’m pissed, Piper, but not at you. I’m sorry if it seemed that way.”
She studied him, blocks of light and shadow moving across her face as the car maneuvered through the city streets toward her hotel.
“You must have to be on guard constantly,” she mused. “Careful where you’re seen, careful who you’re seen with. You’re the brand, aren’t you? The famous Red MacLellan, head of PKM—not allowed to be anonymous. Not allowed to live your life without public interference.”
Red swallowed. Piper was uncomfortably close to his reality and he didn’t want it to put her off. “I’m not sure it’s quite as bad as all that,” he demurred. “But those tabloid guys love a juicy story, and they don’t mind if they have to make one up along the way. They’re more than happy to spin the innocuous into the sordid, and they don’t care who they hurt in the process.”
Her forehead crinkled in thought. “You’re angrier that they’re dishonest, aren’t you? To you, it’s worse than the fact that they don’t respect personal boundaries, isn’t it?”
“I’m…” Red struggled for the words, to reign in his temper and respond to the simple curiosity in her face rather than to his disquiet at her probing. “I’m furious at him for ruining our great evening,” he managed eventually.
“Well,” Piper spoke softly, her eyes still scrutinizing him. Seeing too much. “He didn’t ruin everything. And the night isn’t quite over yet. Maybe we still have time to salvage it.”
Red’s mood perked up and so did his dick. This woman never ceased to amaze him.
“I would’ve thought you’d be appalled by all this.”
“Oh, I’m appalled all right—but with that photographer, not you. You managed to remain cool under pressure, which is easier said than done. And, you managed to avoid posturing, so…way to go, Stud.”
The anxiety Red felt abruptly let go, so he laughed. “I don’t think I said, ‘Do you know who I am?’ even once tonight.”
“See? What’d I tell you?”
“Were you shocked, though?” He stroked Piper’s fingers with his free hand. “That asshole kind of popped up out of nowhere.”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But given that my day pretty much jumped the shark several hours before that, I’d hardly call it traumatizing.”
Red was perplexed, and it must have been obvious. Piper rushed to explain, “Seriously. Anything beyond me ordering room service and turning in early out of sheer boredom would’ve counted as a win today.”
“Jumped the shark?” Red murmured, lacing his fingers tightly with hers again. Holding hands—it was the simplest of gestures, and yet… “Is there any way at all I can interpret that as something dirty?”
“There is nothing dirty about the Fonz,” Piper laughed.
He leaned in to kiss the side of her neck, just as Felix pulled off the avenue and into her hotel’s turnaround. The car slid slowly to a stop. His driver took his time exiting, then ambled around the hood toward Piper’s door.
She watched his progress through the windshield. “There is, however, something very sexy about elevators,” she whispered. Her door swung open, Piper swiveled to set her feet on the pavement, and she gave Felix her hand.
“I’ll walk you up,” Red announced, his sense of purpose suddenly renewed.
The doorman of the hotel held the entrance wide. Red took the bag containing Piper’s new shoes from his driver and told him, “Hang out for a bit. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
He followed Piper into the lobby, his longer strides quickly shrinking the distance between them. The girl lounging behind the reception desk was watching their progress a bit too avidly. Red scowled at her, feeling thin-skinned after the encounter at the club.
Little things like this were how rumors got started, he knew. Someone recognized either one of them, thought they knew what was happening…and then he and Piper ended up front and center on the gossip pages.
Any other time, the publicity might not bother Red quite so much. But with things so new between him and Piper, and the way the transition was unfolding at Trident, it made sense to lay low for a bit.
Inside the elevator, Red set the shopping bag down and pressed the button for Piper’s floor.
Her eyebrows twitched together. “How did you know my floor? I didn’t tell you that.”
“I asked Wayne. I had him approve the suite they wanted to give you.”
“Is that so? Even though we didn’t talk all week?”
The doors closed smoothly, and Red grabbed her by the hips, pulling Piper toward him. The kiss rocketed in a heartbeat toward nuclear meltdown territory. Red kept one eye on
the floor numbers and the other on Piper, and tried not to grind his suddenly-rampant cock against her like a wayward hound.
When they were close to her floor, he broke things off, but he couldn’t bring himself to go far. Lost in thought, he wondered against Piper’s lips, “Why were we discussing the Fonz, again?”
“Don’t you remember Happy Days?”
“Of course. Doesn’t mean I have any idea what you were talking about.” They exited the elevator and strolled up the hushed hallway, and Red was besieged by the desire to draw out this goodbye as long as humanly possible—especially since he didn’t intend to stay the night.
Not after what had happened with the paparazzo earlier. Piper might be trying her hardest to act like she wasn’t affected by it, but Red knew she was bothered.
“Geez. At least tell me you remember Arthur Fonzarelli. Everyone loved him.”
“The Fonz.”
“Yes, Red. The Fonz.”
He’d paused halfway down the hall to revel in how cute she was when she was riled up, but she tugged him along.
“What does he have to do with sharks, though?”
Piper squinted at him. “You seriously don’t remember?” she huffed. “Every season, the Fonz found himself in increasingly implausible situations. And then they had the episode where they all went waterskiing.”
“He jumped a shark on water skis?” Red didn’t have to feign his incredulity this time.
She grinned. “I’m afraid so.”
“I definitely don’t remember that one.” He shook his head. “So…jumping the shark means its nuts and implausible.” About as unlikely as him being able to hide the erection in his pants the closer they got to her room—standing at attention and begging for some goddamn person here to acknowledge its presence.
Piper’s smile was the height of deliciousness. “Exactly,” she said. Red struggled to recall why he’d decided not to hustle her into her room and take her hard and fast against the wall. Something about a run-in with the police…late night…early morning…yadda yadda yadda.
He talked fast, lest his filthy yearnings run away with the situation. “Are you telling me that you don’t jet off to major cities; don’t dine with dashing heads of multinational companies; and don’t buy loads of astronomically expensive footwear on a regular basis? Next, you’ll tell me that you don’t get accosted by paparazzi at scintillating nightclubs or have to give statements to police detectives in the wee hours of the morning.”
The Titan Was Tall (Triple Threat Book 1) Page 14