He’s always been kind to his fans, but he’s even better at it now. He acts like all of the other stars I’ve seen on red carpets, charming people and getting them to laugh, always making sure to make eye contact with people so they won’t think he’s dismissive.
But when yet another group of people starts peering down the hallway, looking at the gathered little crowd, I see something falter in Logan’s eyes.
“Okay,” I say in a louder, authoritative voice. “Mr. Stone needs to head upstairs now. Thank you all.”
Iamin a Bellwood uniform, after all, and these people don’t have to know that I just work in a kitchen making desserts.
“Mommy! He’s on the football show!” a little girl says, eyes wide as she runs down the hallway.
“You’re not supposed to be watchingYard Line,” the girl’s mom says. “That show is for grown-ups.”
“I only saw alittlebit,” she protests, a wicked smile on her face.
“One more photo, for her,” I say, gesturing at Logan.
Logan crouches down to take a picture with her, and afterward, I reach for the small of his back, placing my arm around him.
I act as a meat shield for him as I quickly walk him down the hallway toward the main elevator bay. There are people in the lobby, rolling in suitcases and gawking at Logan as we glide past them. A few guys who are also drunk come over and say“football man! Let me get a selfie!”
But I hold out my arm, forming a bar between Logan and them.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. Bellwood Policy. We can’t allow guests to congregate here.”
I reach over and jab the elevator button, beeping my access card. I return my palm to the small of Logan’s back, not letting anyone else get too close.
People start to take out their phones anyway, and their flashes go off, snapping pictures and filming videos of Logan waiting to get into the elevator. I know I’m going to be in some of the shots, but it shouldn’t matter if I’m in uniform.
Finally the doors whir open.
I let Logan get in first, then blockade the door with my body and outstretched arm, telling people they’ll have to catch the next elevator.
I’m glad that no one tests me and tries to get inside.
If enough of them mobbed up, they could easily push past my arm.
The doors finally close, and Logan and I are in the elevator alone. I keep my hand on the small of his back, rubbing slow circles there, watching him visibly try to decompress in real time.
The smile drops away from his face, and relief floods his expression. He pulls in a slow breath and turns to me.
“Thank you,” he says.
“I’ve got you.”
I realize my hand is still on his back when the elevator doors slide open on the top floor.
I step out into the hall, and we pause outside the elevator.
“Ah. Sorry about that,” I tell him as I pull my hand away from his back.
I’m surprised when Logan reaches out and takes my hand in his, clasping it. “You never have to apologize for that. I know you’re touchy-feely. It doesn’t bother me, and it never will.”
I nod. “Okay. Well, if you ever need me to be your human shield again, that doesn’t bother me, either.”
He gives me a half-smile. “I should head to bed.”
“Get some beauty rest,” I tell him.
I lean in to wrap my arms around him in a quick hug, but once I’m there, it doesn’t end up being very quick.
