Page 156 of Gilt

“Hold on.” I cut him off. “I thought he was going to ask me how the room was and if we needed anything and give me those overeager puppy-dog eyes.”

“No one stopped you on your way out?” Jameson asks. “There were no reporters?”

“I went out through the bellhops’ entrance. It seemed like a good idea.”

Jameson rubs his temples and his shoulders slowly slump into a normal position. “It was a good idea, Duchess. I’m sorry I yelled. When Mr. White called up to the room he was frantic, and to make matters worse, you weren’t answering your phone.”

I fish it out of my pocket and see several missed calls on its blank screen. “I didn’t hear it ring.”

He drops an arm around my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “It’s okay, but we should probably go and pack.”

“New York’s been breached,” I note with disdain.

“Two days of quiet are apparently the most we can hope for. Next time I’ll take you to the Mediterranean. We have a private island in the south of France.”

“Of course you do.” I slip my arm around his waist as we wait for the elevator. But any semblance of normality is dashed by the hovering presence of Maddox. Although he stays a few feet away, he is impossible to ignore. “Is he going to follow us upstairs?”

“Yes, I think it’s best that Maddox stays close by.”

“Kinky,” I whisper before sighing. “I had no idea the paparazzi was so virulent here.”

“About that.” Jameson tenses again, and I can feel the muscles in his back go rigid beneath my palm. “There have been some developments at home.”

I move away from him. “What kind of developments?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he seizes my hand as we reach the top floor. Maddox arrives and takes up watch outside the door as Jameson leads us into the penthouse.

“What’s going on?” I demand as soon as the door closes behind us.

“I already have my people on it,” he says, but in no way reassures me.

Away from the crush of reporters screaming nonsensical questions at me, I start to recall what they were asking me. “Oh my God! They think ... and…”

“Maybe you should sit down,” Jameson suggests. “I’ll fill you in in a moment.”

“Fill me in now.”

“I will, but first I’m going to order you breakfast, Duchess.”

“Oh, my pastries,” I say, remembering how the bag fell underfoot, only to be trampled by the dozen people surrounding me. In the background, Jameson orders coffee and juice, eggs and bacon. I began to lose track. “Are we in this for the long haul?”

I wonder how long it will take to arrange for us to return home.

“The plane is on standby but there’s no need to rush.” Somehow I doubt that, but I keep this opinion to myself.

Whatever new scandal we’ve found ourselves embroiled in can wait.

“Can I see your phone?” he asks me. I hand it to him, not bothering to hide my suspicion. “What do you need it for?”

“You can have it back after your breakfast.” He slides it into his pocket.

“What’s going on, West?”

“Food first.” He’s not going to budge.

Room service arrives with lightning speed, one of the perks of being here with the owner. Jameson sits across from me sipping coffee and not speaking as I pile food onto my plate.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask, between bites of eggs.