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“Room service.” A polite baritone voice announces from the other side of the door.
“I didn’t-” I start to snarl, but realize it’s useless.
When Jack Mercury stays in this hotel, he always gets the royal treatment. Even when he wants complete privacy.
Pulling the door open just enough to see who it is, I force a smile.
“Your luggage, sir,” the concierge announces, holding up the paper sacks Olivia and I had our belongings in from the studio. “And breakfast,” he adds, moving his eyes to a trolley covered with savory smelling silver domes.
“And the young lady?” he asks finally, making me push the door closed a little more before I notice his head jerking towards the door across the hall.
“Oh. Uh, she’s probably still asleep, or in the shower. Just leave it here. I’ll take care of it,” I tell him, forcing another crooked smile before snatching our things and slamming the door shut.
“Who’s across the hall?” Olivia asks, pouting after a yawn, sitting up in the bed but keeping her chest covered with the sheets.
“You are. Supposed to be,” I tell her, cocking a brow and then breaking into a deep belly laugh once I realize how crazy all of this.
I just hope she sees it that way. I hope we both still can once we read the papers.
Oh god. How did they?
But I don’t need to ask.
Everyone has a camera now, and a closed movie set doesn’t mean anything.
It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out someone took their own happy snaps than offered them to the highest bidder online.
Happens every day, and it’s the real reason I hate going out anymore.
You never know who’s watching.
“What is it, Jack?” Olivia asks, looking concerned.
“Nothing baby,” I console her, setting our bags down and sitting on the edge of the bed to give her another kiss.
I guess something good has come out of this. I just hope Olivia agrees once she finds out, which should be anytime soon now.
I somehow manage to keep my hands to myself while we eat breakfast and then take turns showering and getting ready.
At Olivia’s request, she doesn’t quite feel up to sharing a shower, which I think I can understand.
Not that I’d fit in there with her anyway. Once it’s my turn I barely manage to fit in by myself.
It’s almost eleven by the time we’re looking like we did the day before, but feeling like two very different people.
The limo driver is waiting out front looking fresh and primed, and after asking how our night was with a strange expression on his face, he hands me the morning papers before we set off for the airport.
It’s strange, I’m not a newspaper kind of guy. But even a glance at the front page of just one paper tells me everything.
Mom, Denise was right.
The story isn’t just on the cover of the tattle rags, it’s gone viral. National. Probably global by now.
It’s only a matter of time before Olivia gets the picture, and I’m surprised her boss hasn’t phoned her already.
We’re not long into our trip to the airport when Olivia powers up her phone.
Speak of the devil.
Chapter Fifteen
Olivia
The minute my phone powers on, it’s ringing. And no surprises, it’s Naomi.
I sigh as I hit answer, and Jack lets the papers hit my lap at the same moment, letting me see everything as I hear all about it.
I hate having my photo taken, always have. But I recognize myself and Jack instantly.
It looks like a shot from the kiss at the studio yesterday.
Okay, truth be told I barely recognize myself. It’s Jack that gives it away. The suit and him kissing me in that red dress and necklace, who else could it be?
If it wasn’t on the front page of a major newspaper, I’d think it was cute. Maybe something I’d even cherish for the rest of my days.
But there’s like four newspapers and a gossip magazine in my lap and they all have the same picture, with a corresponding article on the front pages.
And the same headline: Jack Mercury claims his prize.
Holy crap.
This is bad.
I know it’s bad because I somehow know long before she even tells me that my boss is behind all of this.
Naomi.
The witch.
“Don’t speak Fanning. Just listen,” she whispers hoarsely over the line to me.
“Even I have to say, genius. Brilliant. Masterstroke. Whatever you did or said to Jack Mercury, I gotta hand it to you kiddo, you’ve got the story of the century, and it’s right in our laps,” she exclaims.
Sucking the spit back from her collagen-puffed lips, she continues with a slight slur to her voice. Like someone who’s been up late partying and has just joined breakfast closer to lunchtime.
“Just listen to me and do exactly what I tell you and I’ll make sure you even get a proper mention. Maybe even a proper job when all the dust settles…”
