by Tracy Ewens
Yeah, she was screwing with him now.
“I should probably use the restroom before we go,” she said, wide-eyed and innocent as a smirk teased her lips.
Don’t look at the lips, idiot.
“Excuse me, are you—” West heard over his left shoulder and held up his hand to stop whichever standard question was about to invade his space.
“I am, but we were just leaving.”
Meg pursed her lips. “I’m sure we have time for a—”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” West hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and the diner erupted in applause. It could have been a movie scene, but usually the heroes in films weren’t frustrated beyond reason.
He deposited a now crying with laughter Meg into the backseat of the car and all but pounced on her as Vince closed the door and drove back to the hotel.
“Oh,” Meg finally said through her laughter. “You are going to be in big trouble with Hannah when those photos pop up on the Internet.”
He kissed her neck, his hand sliding under the damp layers of clothing.
“Do you think you’ll be scolded for not being polite?” Her eyes were hooded with lust now.
West raised the divider to close off Vince and dove under her sweatshirt. As his mouth gratefully closed around her breast, he heard nothing but the labored panting of her breath as she arched into him and her hands dug into the leather of the seat.
No wonder Tony left his heart in San Francisco. If West didn’t get her back to bed, he was sure his heart was going to jump right off the bridge.
Chapter Twenty
Meg thought she was dreaming again, but the persistent knock on the door finally woke her up. It took a minute before she remembered where she was and whose warm body was stretched out next to hers. A smile slid across her face as images from last night floated through her memory. The knocking continued so she put on West’s shirt, cliché she knew, but it was right there and still smelled like him.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Room service for Mr. Drake.”
Meg should have noticed the peephole in the door, should have woken West before he was startled awake by the noise and forced to charge from the bedroom in an attempt to keep her from being humiliated, but none of that had happened. Instead, still in a daze of untouchable warm and wonderful and with her stomach growling at the thought of breakfast, Meg opened the door. There were no pancakes.
Pops of flash. Yelling.
As she tried to close the door, a hand blocked it while the cameras continued clicking. West was behind her by this point, yelling back something she couldn’t quite make out as one arm struggled to push the door closed and the other pulled her back behind him. Meg blinked, trying to restore her focus as West snatched the last camera from a hand that would not retreat and threw it into the hallway. He slammed the door. Both hands were on the now-closed door, his chest heaving.
“Are you okay?” he asked, not looking at her.
Meg stumbled back and fell into the chair. “Yes. I’m… what was that?”
“My life,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he grabbed his phone.
“Good morning. I’m sorry to bother you, but the piranhas somehow made it to my floor again. There were at least five of them. Where the hell is security?”
West glanced over at Meg, his face now placid and resigned as he disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a shirt on.
“Yeah, we’re fine. No, she’s staying.”
She commanded herself not to be scared as hell, but the truth was probably all over her face. She had been in some dangerous situations before, but nothing could have prepared her for what happened. Closing her eyes, she took in her first confrontation with the piranhas, as West called them. She’d noticed them from a safe distance for the first time after she’d met West for lunch early on in their collaboration. As West paced the floor talking at varying degrees of frustration, it was hard to believe they’d come so far from that day.
Meg had been nervous at that meeting, not because of the photographers, but being with him had been so new back then. She closed her eyes at the memory, which was already a simpler time.
“Where do you source your chicken?” she had asked the waiter at Brook’s Bistro, a restaurant West had recommended. It had a back room too.
“Sorry?” the tall, young man said.
“I’m looking at the chicken salad, but I need to know where you get your chicken.”
“I’ll… ask.” The guy backed away slowly.
Meg returned to her menu. If the restaurant had ethical sourcing, the waiter would have known. She would stick with vegetables.
“Is that not a good sign?” West had asked, genuinely curious.
“He’ll come back and say something like Sunvale or Brixmill. Massive farms with disgusting practices.”
The waiter returned with their drinks. “Okay, I asked our manager and he said we utilize a network of farms throughout the area all under the umbrella of”—he glanced down at his pad—“Sunvale.”
West coughed, but Meg heard the undertone of laughter and she remembered wondering for a minute if he was laughing at her. Even if he had been, she was used to it. While the environment was now trendy, the practices and pieces that made up a healthier planet weren’t exactly mainstream. If caring for the earth had hit the majority, fast food would have been out of business years ago.
She remembered smiling at the waiter. It wasn’t his fault. “Thank you. I’ll have the mixed greens and the vegetable soup.”
“Can I get you tofu on your salad?” The waiter had kind eyes and an arrow tattoo on his forearm. She’d made him nervous, and that certainly wasn’t her intention. She simply had questions.
“Oh, no thanks, I’m not a fan of tofu.”
“So you’re not a vegetarian?”
“No. I limit my meat.”
“I gotta know since you’re the only person that has asked about our meat. Is Sunvale bad? Like, was that the wrong answer?”
“Their practices are not to my liking.”
“Cool. That’s cool. Hey, do you have a boyfriend?”
West had snickered, not bothering with the cough cover that time. Meg barely knew him back then, and the added awkwardness of being asked out by the waiter had her head spinning.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“Are you dating anyone?”
“No.”
“I get off at—”
West, who had been quietly observing, took off his sunglasses and put his baseball hat on the table, probably to save the guy some embarrassment. Looking back on it now, especially considering the ordeal she had just experienced, it was a larger gesture than she realized.
“Oh, holy shit!” The waiter had looked around, making sure his outburst didn’t cost him his job. “You’re… wow, are you her…”
“BFF? Yes, I sure am.”
A sound, possibly meant to be a laugh, escaped the guy, who began to jump and dance around. That was the first time she’d witnessed West’s celebrity other than a picture or request for his autograph. The waiter became completely unhinged simply at the sight of him. It was unreal.
As they left the restaurant, West pointed to a cluster of photographers across the street.
“Who? What are they?” she had asked.
“Good question. They are a special kind of wild animal that has no boundaries. They’re predators in bad leather jackets.”
“There is no reason for them to take pictures of me,” she’d said.
West had remained quiet, giving her time to understand the connection.
“They think we’re together, so I’m fair game too.” She had leaned close to the window as they drove past. “Wow, that’s a Canon CN-E lens. How much money do these guys make?”
“A lot.”
“So I’m the animal now? All from one afternoon and a peck on the cheek?” Meg had asked, so simple she realized now.
“I’m sorry,”
West had said, his sincerity sprinkled with the same sense of powerlessness he seemed to have now as he was wrapping up his conversation with his security team, Meg guessed.
Months ago, she had been bewildered by the interest and West had warned her, but she had not processed a few guys hanging out across the street as threatening.
Now, as West sat next to her, she realized she was shaking. Those same photographers, most of them grown men, had tried to push their way into his private room. Meg was trained never to make contact with her subjects, let alone scare the life out of them. Obviously, not all photographers played by the same rules.
Dealing with paparazzi was nothing new, but finding them that close to her had made his blood boil in a way he hadn’t known was possible. When he saw her in nothing but his shirt trying to keep them out, he could have killed someone.
Towner said his security guys had caught them in the lobby and were calling the cops. They’d swiped a key card from behind the front desk. West’s stomach curdled. This wasn’t simply a matter of a public life anymore; it was harassment and ten times worse when they were after someone he loved.
He planned every moment with his family to shield them, but there had been a few times the assholes managed to get to them too. Fortunately, his family possessed a thick skin and a sense of humor, but Meg had looked terrified, and an apology seemed less than adequate as he took a seat next to her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.
“I’m fine. I have a scar from barbed wire, remember?” She kissed him gently, but her hands were still trembling. He took them in his and searched for something to say.
“It won’t always be like this.”
“What does that mean?”
“The media is fickle. At some point, the photographers will move on. I have had easier times, months even when no one gave a shit what I did, but I think things are heating up now that we’ve started filming.”
“I understand,” she said, but he could tell her mind was racing, probably questioning why she’d let him back into her life. He couldn’t blame her, but he needed to find a way to keep her with him.
A knock on the door caused Meg to jump, and his heart squeezed as he looked through the peephole and opened the door for Towner and Graham, one of his room service attendants, pushing two breakfast trays.
West shook Graham’s hand and tipped him before he wheeled the cart back out into the hallway. Towner stayed behind.
“Meg Jeffries, this is Towner. She asked me to call her Alice when we first met, which wasn’t an option unless I wanted to hear a lecture from my mom. There’s no Mrs., Miss, or Ms. allowed, so we’ve settled on Towner.”
“Like Madonna,” Towner said, extending her small hand to Meg.
She was surprised to find Towner was a woman, West could tell, but Meg took her hand. Everyone fell in love with Towner eventually.
“It is lovely to meet you, Alice.”
Towner’s eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She was wearing the green ones today. “Oh, I like her.”
“Me too,” West said with a look of need Towner appeared to understand.
“I apologize for what happened this morning, Meg. Those little shits will stop at nothing for a payday. We have changed all the access keys, per protocol. Westin has said you are staying for a while, but he’s used to this craziness. Did you want me to arrange for safe transportation home for you? I need to let you know there are still photographers outside the hotel.”
This was the moment. West was certain Meg would say “thanks, but no thanks” to him and take Towner up on her offer. Right as he was preparing to let her go, Meg gave Towner a hug.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. Nothing happened and honestly, people have endured far worse than a few pushy photographers.”
Towner asked a few questions about Meg’s work and declared that she loved TED talks and would be sure to watch for Meg’s. After another hug, West walked her to the door.
“Why don’t I ever get a hug?” he asked Towner.
“Because you’re a boy.”
She gave him a quick hug and a pat on the back. “There, that’s all you’re getting for a while. Look at me,” she said as their eyes locked by the open door.
“I am. The green frames really make your eyes pop.”
She swatted him. “I’m serious.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and West almost laughed but knew better. “I don’t know what your plans are with that young lady, but I will throw you out on your tuchus if you don’t marry this one.”
West’s eyes grew wide. “Okay, let’s take things one step at a time, insane matchmaker.”
“Her photographs have been on the cover of the mother-of-all photography magazines.”
He grinned, almost forgetting the situation that brought her to his room. “I might have heard that. Hey, I didn’t know you were Jewish, Towner.”
“Of course I’m Jewish,” she exclaimed as if he should be able to pick that out without the help of the word “tuchus.” “This isn’t about me. I’m telling you that a man only gets one of those women. Lock that down.”
West couldn’t hold the laughter back this time. He promised to give her advice serious consideration and closed the door behind her. Meg was curled up on the couch in what West would now refer to as “their” comforter. In fact, the day he left the Fairmont, he was taking that thing with him.
“Look what I found,” Meg said, clicking the television remote. The screen filled with the opening credits for Full Throttle: First Gear.
“Oh, will you look at the time.”
Meg grinned and carried the two breakfast trays to the coffee table. “Oh no you don’t, mister. It is Sunday and we are hiding out from the bad guys. I think that calls for a movie marathon.”
West plopped himself down on the couch next to her, reaching for the remote while she was distracted by food, but failed when she pushed it between the cushions on her side.
“There is no way in hell I am watching my movies.” He folded his arms across his chest, as if that would somehow give him authority.
Meg stuck a piece of croissant in his mouth and he turned to mush again.
“Just one. I haven’t seen the first one and you look so young. I heard you have a fanny pack in this one.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Clay told me.”
“What? When?”
“The first night I came to your suite.”
“I’m employing all my covert ops to make sure you’re brought up safely, and you’re chatting with Clay, who by the way never talks, about Full Throttle and my 2005 wardrobe disasters?”
Meg nodded and ate the rest of the croissant.
“Unbelievable.”
She shrugged and crossed her legs like a kid getting ready for movie day. West was giving serious thought to never leaving the room again. He had everything he needed right on the couch. His family could come and visit. Whatever it took to keep her from the ugly parts of his success. Eager to return to where they left off, West questioned whether the scum that had barged into their weekend would eventually ruin the happiness dancing in her eyes. He couldn’t let that happen.
“We don’t have to watch the first one. I’ve only seen two. There are several others to choose from. You can pick. How ’bout that?”
West let out a breath, torn between the agony of watching himself on-screen and keeping her in a playful mood. He closed his eyes and gave in.
“Fine.”
“Yay!” Meg bounced on the couch, the sarcasm thick. “Which one?”
He realized he didn’t often say the titles of his movies out loud. There was a reason. “Let’s go with the second one. There are some gorgeous scenes in Italy.” He poured them both coffee and grabbed a bagel off the trays.
“Would that be Downshift?” she asked in a voice that was a little more sarcastic than peppy.
West nodded and dimmed the lights. She scooted close to him and he realized
he would watch anything if it meant being with her a few more hours.
“Lock that one down,” he heard Towner’s voice in his head. He would give it his best shot, he thought as music filled the room and he cringed as the movie began.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I liked it,” Meg said a couple of hours later.
West shrugged, and she was again surprised that the cocky persona she’d seen strutting around and driving a modified Nissan that shot flames out the back was the same guy on the couch next to her. She leaned over and kissed him. When he pulled her close, she backed up, knowing if he took her back to the Tony Bennett bed, she would never want to leave again.
But you will leave, her mind whispered. They both would. He had a flight to catch in a few hours and Meg had to pick up her dress for the wedding. As West stood to put their dishes back on the room service trays, life began to creep into their slumber party weekend. She could practically see the responsibility return to his shoulders, between his eyes.
“When did you start acting?” she asked, needing to know why he put up with all of it.
“I was one of the T-birds in Grease my junior year in high school.” He grabbed both napkins off the coffee table. “I auditioned on a dare. We did four shows and when that audience clapped, I was hooked. It was the way Boyd described smoking. He’d lit a cigarette in a parking lot with his friends, and a week later was buying two packs at a time. The audience energy, the thrill of a live show was heady. I took acting over the summer and during senior year. I was in three other plays.”
“Why didn’t you stay in theater?”
“I tried. I promised my mom I wouldn’t move all the way to New York, so I went to LA for college. Eventually commercials were faster than monologues and voice and movement. I guess I took the easy way out. If you ask my brothers, that’s a pattern with me.”
“So geography was Plan B?”
“Yeah. My parents called it a backup plan. I remember being incredibly insulted that they even thought I needed one, but if my son said he wanted to be an actor, I’d do the same thing.”
“Mine was a teaching certificate. My parents made me promise too.”