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“Mission accomplished, I think,” she announces officially. “It was nice meeting you. Sorry about the mixup.”
I’m confused.
“Excuse me?” I look down at her hand. She keeps it there, seriously expecting me to shake it.
“Hannah said that you need a girlfriend for publicity purposes. I think we just pulled that off magnificently, don't you? We can just check that one off the list. We'll meet again in a couple of days? Somewhere else public?”
“No… I don’t think so, Bella. We were just getting started here.”
The door opens again, and Dillon comes out, stopping up short and nodding at each of us politely as though he were invited along.
She lets her hand drop and looks back over her shoulder in the other direction.
“I’m pretty sure this alley’s going to let me out close to Water Tower Place. I can just walk. Maybe I’ll go and hang out for little while at Abercrombie and Fitch until the coast is clear. Nobody will find me in there anyway. It’s pitch black.”
“Wait a second, what's going on?” Dillon blurts out. He glares at me accusingly. “What did you do to her, Emmet?”
I shrug and look away. “I didn't do anything to her. This is how I found her. What did you do to her?”
“Neither one of you did anything to me!” she announces angrily. She perches her fists on her hips and glares at each of us. “This may come as a newsflash to you guys, but you don't own everything in the world. Hannah asked me to help you rehabilitate your pervy Playboy reputations. That's it. All I’ve got to do is show up, get my picture taken with you, make with the romantic looks… with Emmet. Not you, Dillon!” she emphasizes, pointing at him. It makes me want to laugh. But I don't.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow at her. “And how was making out with both of us supposed to do that, Sherlock? There were a dozen witnesses in there, watching you making out with us one at a time, and then leaving… with both of us. If rehabilitating our playboy reputations was the goal, we’re more than likely worse off than we were before.”
Her mouth drops open a little bit. “No… but… the blogger got me and Emmet. That's what I came here to do today. My job is done.”
I look at Dillon and raise my hands helplessly. “You're probably right,” I admit, exaggerating maybe just a little. “But did you see the blogger come in? He could've been filming the whole time and gotten both kisses. I can see the headline now. ‘Caught canoodling with the Riordan brothers…’”
Dillon tips his head to the side. I think he is overacting, but she seems to be buying it. “No, I don't know when he came in. He could've been filming from the very start. You’re absolutely right.”
“This is totally unfair!” she sputters.
I watch her assembling a counterargument, strategizing on the fly. She's very quick. She obviously wants to come up with a good plan, but I’m fairly certain Dillon and I can dismantle any argument she's going to put out.
Just at that moment, the door opens again and the blogger stumbles out into the light, grinning happily as though he can't believe the scene he just lucked out to find. Instantly his iPhone goes up again and I hear the camera shutter noises going off like machine-gun fire. You’d think he’d have the courtesy to turn the sound off, at least. Probably makes him feel important.
Instantly, Bella rushes toward me, her arms out as though stumbling. I catch her swiftly out of the air and she leans her forehead briefly against my chest, pouting convincingly.
“I just needed a little air!” she exclaims. “Can we take a walk or something?”
“Sure, baby,” I tell her, smoothing her hair. It smells like vanilla and lavender, with a little musky undertone. Having her in my arms, I’m in no hurry to go on that walk.
“Let's go to The Frame,” I suggest. “It’s just around the corner here.”
“Yes, let's,” she sighs, picking her head up to smile brilliantly at me. If I didn't know any better, I would totally believe this girl was in love with me too.
We turn away, her leaning heavily on me as she picks her way among the damp potholes in the alley. Even in Streeterville, alleys are not especially well-kept. Dillon comes up behind us, blocking the blogger’s way.
“Not you, buddy. Private club,” he explains.
“It’s a free country!” the blogger wheezes. It’s a wonder this g
uy was able to catch us with the Congresswoman. He can barely shuffle down an alley.
After a few seconds, we’re coming up to the back door and Merle, the bouncer, leaps off his barstool when he sees us.
“Misters Riordan!” he barks, dropping his cell phone on the barstool. Just before it hits the leather, face down, I see a flash of Words With Friends. All our bouncers are pretty smart. Gotta be fifteen of them playing Words With Friends together at the same time on a daily basis.
“Merle, good to see you. Busy day?” I ask him as we come toward the back entrance. He opens the door with a flourish and squints over my shoulder, probably assessing the threat level of the blogger who’s still trotting gracelessly down the alley behind us.
