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She purses her lips as she thinks. Finally, she chuckles. “You’ve got the sophomore slump, dear. That’s all.”
“That’s what I’m worried about, though,” I admit. “I’ve got so many people expecting me to hit a grand slam, and I’m scared I’ll strike out. Oh, wait . . . do you know baseball?”
J.A. smiles softly. “Close enough to cricket that I understand. You remind me of myself when I was starting out. Just find yourself and ignore the others. You’re going to be fine. Just listen to your heart.”
“Time’s up,” the assistant says politely. “We need to do the photo and autograph, Ms. Fox.”
I’m disappointed, but I understand. This is a dinner and workshop, not an all day gathering. Following instructions, I set my bag down on the table and move to J.A. Fox’s side. The assistant holds up the tablet, counting down for the photo. “In three, two, one . . .”
For some reason, the sexy security guard behind her catches my eye. He barely moves, but I see him glance up at the ceiling for a split second and then . . .
The room goes dark.
There’s an instant of utter stillness and silence before all hell breaks loose. High-pitched voices scream in shock, and movement shuffles all around me. I feel hands grab my shoulders and instantly think I’m going to be kidnapped but instead find myself pushed out of the way unceremoniously.
Of course, they’re here to protect the celebrity. I’m just a body in the way.
“Ugh,” I huff out as I fall to the ground. This time, nothing stops me, and I sprawl out on the hard floor, my dress definitely riding up my thighs now, but the darkness at least means no one sees.
“Everyone stay calm and be quiet,” a deep voice orders, and the room goes silent again. Someone’s taking charge, at least. When a deep-voiced man tells us to be quiet . . . we do.
A moment later, the lights come back on. Security guards have surrounded J.A. Fox, a tall blonde on one side and a bald one on the other side, and they’re both glaring at me like I did something. Yeah, little ole me . . . I flipped off the lights, ruined my photo op with my idol, and dropped myself to the floor so I could flash everyone my goodie bits.
Everyone begins talking at once again as I start to pick myself up, saying they were so scared, but everything seems to be okay. The security guards have decided there’s no threat—though the blonde guy is still looking at me suspiciously like I might dive at J.A. Fox if given the chance. The Black Rose is still atop its stand, and the lights seem to be fine now. After checking that I’m uninjured, the assistant directs me to head back to my workstation.
It’s not until a moment later when I sit down that I realize something vital. Not only is the sexy security guard gone, but so is . . . my bag! With my laptop inside!
No!
Chapter 5
Connor
I hustle through the back hallway, sweat prickling at the back of my neck.
That was almost a total fuck-up. The lights went out as planned, but that’s when the shit hit the fan. With my mental timer clicking down to zero, the bag from JP turned out to be junk.
First off, it wasn’t silk. Instead, it was some silk-like artificial fabric, and as I reached in to take out the replacement painting, the damn thing literally split in half. I was able to get the replacement up without a problem, but I then had to think on my feet.
Not able to carry the piece out in plain sight, I grabbed the nearest bag, shoved The Black Rose inside as carefully as I could, and melted into the blackness backstage. My path was clear, and I was able to move unobstructed as everyone else went fumbling for the circuit breakers. Two minutes later, I was out the back of the ballroom area, my black shirt jammed into the bag to reveal the fashionable T-shirt underneath, moving down the hallway looking like any unconcerned hotel patron.
Two minutes after that, I strolled out the side entrance, past the pool, and one quick hop over a bush later, I melted into the foot traffic a block away from the ballroom. About as clean as you could ask.
But I hate when things don’t go to plan. I research and plan for everything, but this was one I hadn’t considered. That is a failure on my part, despite the success. Now, as I drive toward the drop off, I slam my hand on the steering wheel, disappointed in myself and knowing that this will be a hard-learned lesson I won’t repeat.
Seriously, what kind of bag was that? Who plans to steal a painting and then gives the thief a case that falls apart?
