Inside Affair

by Ella Frank

  Deciding to let it go, I held out my hand and escorted him to the elevator.

  I knew his response was to the weapon, but there was no way I was leaving without it. I’d gone over everything that Nichols had told me last night with Xander, and while I felt I was somehow failing him by having little to go on, the fact that I would be there tonight—along with backup—made me feel a little bit better.

  We stepped out into the parking garage and headed for the SUV, and I noticed Xander tightening his hold on my hand.

  “Hey,” I said as I clicked the key fob and the lights blinked. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  Xander nodded but said nothing, and I couldn’t blame him. For a little while he’d been able to turn his brain off and forget about always having to watch his back. But now that he was out in the open again, I knew that—just like me—he was wondering who else was watching it.

  I pulled open the door and waited until he was buckled in before shutting it. Then I booked it around the front and climbed in beside him. I looked over to see him wiping his hands nervously on his thighs, and I hated that I couldn’t ease that worry, take away that fear. The one thing I could do, however, was make sure he stayed safe.

  I reached over and placed my hand on top of his, and when Xander turned my way, I smiled and thought that maybe if I got him talking it would get his mind off other, scarier things.

  “So, you never told me what awards you’re up for tonight, Mr. Big Shot Anchorman. Just that there’s—how many? Five?”

  “Try three.”

  “My mistake. I just thought with you being so famous and all…”

  Xander laughed as I pulled out onto the main road and headed toward the Fairmont Hotel, where the awards dinner was being held in the Millennium Park Conference Center.

  “Mhmm, so famous. But to answer your question, the news team is up for an innovative storytelling award, and I’m up for the two solo ones. One for excellence in broadcast journalism, and the other is distinguished reporting.”

  “Ahh.” I winked at him. “Very fancy.”

  “Fits my upper-class ways, don’t you think?”

  I let my eyes wander down over him and nodded. “It does. You’re a shoo-in for sure. Definitely looking very distinguished tonight.”

  Xander smiled. “Thank you for letting me go tonight.”

  “Of course. It’s important to you.”

  “It is. You know, I’ve never taken anyone to these awards with me before. But I’m glad it’s you I get to share this with.”

  My heart nearly tripped over itself, and before I knew I was going to ask, I said, “And which me are you sharing it with? Bodyguard? Fake boyfriend? Or…”

  Xander squeezed my hand. “I don’t think it really matters anymore. Bodyguard, fake boyfriend, or whatever else you might be to me. It’s you that I’m here sharing it with, and I’ve never seen you look more handsome than you do tonight.”

  He was right. What was in a few details when the most important ones were clear? It was him and me tonight, whatever version we wanted to be, and right now, that was good enough for me.

  41

  Xander

  “XANDER! XANDER! OVER here!”

  I looked through the sea of cocktail dresses and tuxedos and saw Ryan madly waving from a table toward the front.

  We’d arrived with about five minutes to spare, and with the room close to capacity, it was going to be a long journey from one end of the decked-out space to the other. With a stage upfront and purple drapes lining the walls on all sides, the soft glow of the lights, and gold table and chair settings, gave an elegant feel to the place.

  I took in a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. They’d almost gotten the better of me back at my place when I saw Sean’s gun. But the drive over here had given me time to compose myself, and to remember that I wasn’t in this alone.

  Something I was made very aware of when Sean said by my ear, “That our table over there?”

  I nodded, but the grimace on my face must have relayed how excited I was about the prospect of getting to it.

  “Stop worrying,” Sean said. “I told you, I’ve got you tonight.”

  When his fingers tightened around mine, I felt an immediate sense of calm wash over me.

  “Okay, anchorman, let’s go.” Sean interlaced his fingers through mine and then headed off, and as the small gatherings at each table shifted to let us by, I knew that whatever look he had on his face was enough to keep anyone who was slightly curious about him from approaching.

  That worked for me. There was nothing I hated more than gossip, and with everything else going on tonight, the last thing I wanted to do was explain or lie about Sean.

  We were almost home free—about two tables from where Ryan and Cynthia were grinning at me like a pair of fools—when Benton Hale moved directly into Sean’s path.

  Stupid, stupid man. That wasn’t an entirely accurate statement. Benton Hale was very smart. But anyone who stepped in front of Sean when he was on a mission made me wonder how well his or her brain could possibly be functioning.

  “Xander, I was hoping to see you here tonight.” Benton had to practically crane his head around Sean’s shoulder to greet me. “I see you brought a date.”

  Sean looked in my direction, and the expression on his face screamed one thing: Who the fuck is this?

  I gave a quick wave to Benton, loathing the idea of doing the introduction spiel, but then the lights flashed, indicating it was time to be seated.

  Oh, thank you, God.

  “Sorry we can’t stay and chat, Benton,” I said, and then looked to Sean. “We need to go and find our seats.”

  Seeming to get my not-so-subtle hint, Sean turned to Benton and said, “You mind moving?”

  The look on Benton’s face was comical, to say the least. It was clear that Sean had no idea who Benton was, and I knew that lack of recognition was killing him.

  Clearly not willing to make a scene, Benton stepped aside, and Sean plowed ahead, tugging me behind him.

  When we finally reached our destination, Ryan and Cynthia, both of whom had flown solo tonight, greeted us with a smile. Jim and his wife Kelly said their hellos from the opposite side of the table.

  Marcus was standing off to the side deep in conversation with Luis Kozlowski, the president of ABC’s news division, and when the lights flashed for a second time, Sean let go of my hand and pulled out the seat in front of me.

  Look at him, playing up the gentleman card.

  “Thank you,” I said as I took my seat and he slid into the one beside me.

  “For rescuing you from Benton Hale? You’re fucking welcome. I know about all I need to when it comes to him. He’s on your list.”

  Oh, that’s right.

  “What a stuck-up name. Benton.”

  “That’s not what I was thanking you for,” I said, shaking my head. “I was thanking you for navigating that mess and pulling my chair out for me.”

  Sean winked. “Hey, what can I say? Apparently the tux brings out the gentleman in me.”

  “Except around Benton.”

  “Can you please stop saying his fucking name?”

  I smirked and looked to the stage, where I could see the host off to the side reading through his cue cards. Waiters bustled around the tables offering glasses of red or white wine to guests, and when Marcus finally took his seat, he looked at the two of us and gave a curt nod.

  “Evening, Alexander.”

  “Evening,” I said, and wondered why he hadn’t bothered greeting Sean. Then I remembered that no one here was aware that they knew each other. Jesus, I was so bad at this fake undercover stuff. The only reason I was doing a decent job of the boyfriend part was because tonight it actually felt like Sean was my—

  Okay, it was probably best not to go there right now with everything else going on. One thing at a time, Xander. Get through the awards. Get home safely. And then maybe think about the fact that you wouldn’t mind if Sean never sto
pped holding your hand.

  “Marcus, this is Sean. My date,” I finally said. Sean stood to hold his hand out, and Marcus shook it.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Sean. This is the first time Alexander’s ever brought someone to this ceremony. You must be someone he wants to impress.”

  Everyone at the table laughed. Sean took a seat and aimed a grin my way. “There’s no need for that. I’m already impressed.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan place a hand to his chest and fake-swoon beside Cynthia. If I were close enough to kick him, I would’ve.

  “So,” Cynthia said, leaning across the table and snagging Sean’s attention. “How long have the two of you known each other?”

  As Sean went about answering that doozy of a question, a waiter stepped between the two of us and held up the bottles of wine.

  “Red or white, sir?”

  I decided on the Merlot, and when he smiled and began to fill my glass, I couldn’t help but think I’d seen him somewhere before.

  “Isn’t that right, Xander?”

  At the sound of Jim’s voice, I tuned back into the conversation going on around me.

  “He’s already won the distinguished reporter award. So the real golden goose here tonight is the Frederick L. Hutcheon Editor Award. We’ve all placed bets. I have great faith in you.”

  I nodded along, still slightly distracted, and when the waiter moved on to the next table, Sean squeezed my thigh.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, dark eyes searching my face.

  I quickly shoved aside my wayward thoughts, determined to enjoy myself. “Everything’s fine.” I reached for my glass and took a sip of the smooth red. “I’m just trying to work out how to break it to him that I’m not up for the Frederick L. Hutcheon Editor Award this year. He’s going to be a little bit poorer come the morning.”

  42

  Sean

  WHY DID AWARD ceremonies always have to be so long and tedious? I’d never been one to watch them on TV, and as I sat there—twenty minutes in—I was starting to remember why.

  The first problem was that they always followed the same template. A host who told the bad jokes, the audience who felt they had to laugh, and the thank-you speeches that were always rushed to fit into the allotted network segment.

  Unless, of course, the award ceremony wasn’t broadcasted—then you just had to sit through the loooong speeches.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if I could partake in the free drinks. But there was no way in hell I was touching a drop tonight, not when my focus was one hundred percent on the man to my left.

  When we’d arrived, I’d spotted Nichols making nice at a table in the rear, which worked out well, since I was now at the front. The guy didn’t clean up too bad, all in all, but it didn’t escape my notice that he’d opted for a plain suit as opposed to the penguin getup.

  I had a feeling I’d be getting shit for years when he reported back to the guys just how spruced up I was. But I didn’t really care. I’d wear a fucking tutu if that was what it took to keep Xander safe.

  So far, things appeared to be going along fairly smoothly. Jim had apparently decided I passed whatever little test he’d given me the other day, and Marcus either had his phone to his ear or a droll look on his face that made me think I should send my untouched wine his way.

  The person I was most interested in, however, had my hand in his, a small smile on his lips as he listened to the latest winner as though he knew every single one of the bazillion people she was up there thanking.

  But that was just like Xander. He was always so personable, and had a smile or story to help brighten a person’s day. It was no surprise he was one of the most watched TV news anchors in the country. He was charming, affable, and really fucking easy on the eyes.

  So much so that I leaned in and said, “I can’t wait to get home with you tonight.”

  Xander whipped his head in my direction. When I waggled my eyebrows, he glanced around the table to make sure no one was listening.

  He was in luck: they were riveted by the host who had just stepped back onto the stage.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  I smirked, because Xander knew I wouldn’t touch a thing while I was on watch.

  “Nope. I’ve been sitting here thinking about the way your voice gets all breathy when you’re turned on.” I inched my hand up his thigh, and Xander licked at his lower lip. “I wonder how it would sound right now.”

  He pressed his hand down over the top of mine, slowly drew it up higher, then sat back in his chair and faced the stage. “If I’m lucky, you’re about to find out.”

  My eyes returned to the host as he took his spot behind the podium.

  “The nominees for the Excellence in Broadcast Journalism Award this year are: John Hamby from CBS, Pete Collier from FOX News, Sharon Elmhurst from PBS, and Alexander Thorne from ENN.”

  As everyone at the table clapped and gave Xander the thumbs-up, the hair on the back of my neck stood tall and I scanned the room, looking for Nichols, who I spotted in his seat watching the crowd.

  Good, that was good. As my eyes came back to the table, I saw Xander looking at me and forced a smile.

  “Good luck,” I said, not wanting to worry him, but this was the moment I’d been dreading all night. The chance that he might win, and that I’d have to let him move further than touching distance away from me.

  Xander flashed that famous smile, then looked to the stage as the host announced, “The winner is Alexander Thorne with ENN.”

  Our table erupted with applause, and everyone jumped to their feet in celebration.

  Xander got to his feet. I hugged him in close and whispered, “Congratulations, anchorman. Go get your fancy award. I’ve got you.”

  I ordered myself to let him go, gave him a quick nod, then stepped aside. My eyes darted from person to person as he drew closer to the stage, then a flash of movement caught my eye. One of the waiters rushed him from the side of the stage and tackled Xander to the ground, where he hit the stairs hard—and chaos erupted.

  I charged toward the front of the room, shoving people out of my path. When I reached the motherfucker who’d knocked Xander out cold, I saw the flash of a knife.

  I grabbed the fucker by his hair and shoulder and hauled him off Xander with so much force that the two of us stumbled back into each other. He quickly got his footing and spun around, swiping the knife through the air with savage intensity.

  I managed to sidestep each reckless swipe as he snarled, “He’s mine!” and the second I saw his face, I placed him: the guy who had been cleaning the doors to Xander’s building.

  He lunged forward again, thrusting the blade with killer intent. I grabbed his wrist in an attempt to disarm him, and we grappled for dominance.

  People screamed and ran from the room, some calling for help while others seemed to freak the fuck out. I rammed the guy backward into the table behind him.

  There was no way to get to my gun, so I twisted his arm with the knife at an ugly angle and landed a blow to his side. He howled in pain but then seemed to get another surge of adrenaline. He struggled to get free, and his sweaty wrist slipped from my grip. Then he launched himself forward and plunged the knife deep into my side.

  Searing pain tore through me as he pulled it free, and I stumbled back into the table behind me, my vision blurring. The screams were much fainter now as the ballroom emptied, but I could hear Nichols shouting, “Get the fuck out of the way!” as I clutched at my side and blinked, trying to see Xander.

  Braced against the table, I shoved my jacket aside to reach for my gun, and as I finally zeroed in on Xander, I saw him getting to his feet. As he turned around and spotted me, his face paled, and that was when I saw his attacker make his move—a second later, I fired off the kill shot.

  43

  Xander

  THE SOUND OF a gunshot echoing around the ballroom made my entire body freeze, as my attacker stiffened and fell lifeless to the groun
d.

  Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. Blood oozed out of the hole in the back of the man’s shirt, and it took a second to compute that he was dead. As in, really, really dead. But then I heard the loud crash of a table and all that was on it hitting the floor, and I jerked my head up to see Sean keeling over.

  “Sean!” I shouted, and ran to his side. When I reached him and saw a stain spreading across his shirt, I dropped to my knees and applied pressure to the wound.

  “Xander…”

  “Help!” I called out at the top of my lungs as I looked around the room. People had begun trickling back inside now, but the fear on their faces seemed to hold their feet hostage.

  “Someone call 911!” A man nodded at me and turned on his heel, and I watched him book it out of the room.

  Sean reached down to where my hands were now covered in his blood, and I shook my head.

  “Don’t touch, just keep talking,” I said, having no idea what to say.

  “Is he dead?”

  Of course that was the first thing Sean wanted to know.

  “I didn’t stop to check a pulse, but…yes, I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

  “Good. Now you’ll be safe.” Sean coughed, and as more blood spilled from under my hand, I kept my eyes on his.

  “I’m always safe with you.”

  “Yeah, but in case I don’t—”

  “No,” I interrupted, my eyes beginning to blur. “We’re not doing that.”

  Sean gave a pained half-smile. “We’re not?”

  “No. We’re not.” I reached for his hand and squeezed his fingers, trying to give him an ounce of the reassurance his touch always gave me.

  “Xander?”

  “Yes?”

  His breathing hitched and faltered, and when a fit of coughs erupted from his chest, his fingers tightened around mine with crushing force.

  “Tell Bailey and Kieran that I’m sorry I wasn’t better, okay?”