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It was no wonder he had looked strangely familiar. Now that Alaric had a clear head, he recognized the man from their first fake date at the club. The same man who’d snuck photos of them from across the room. He should’ve known. He was such an idiot.
He’d failed Georgia during her time of need. That was the thick and thin of it.
He hadn’t even swallowed a single drop of alcohol that night and yet his destructive nature still managed to rear its ugly head and ruin all his hopes for a future with her. She had every right to despise him. His slip of the tongue had cost her the reputation she’d so carefully built and possibly even her career.
Even if she’d started having feelings for him, those feelings were buried now by a long list of wrongs the men in her life had committed against her. He was no better than that punk, Vance. Georgia deserved so much better.
With a last painful huff, he slid his suitcase to the ground and marched toward the door, determined to make it to the airport as soon as possible. And hopefully, without running into any more of Georgia’s people. Or Georgia herself. He wouldn’t survive seeing the heartbreak in her eyes again. It had been like a hot poker in the chest. She was supposed to be able to rely on him and he’d failed. He’d never forgive himself.
The hallways were clear of any of Georgia’s staff or band mates. He made it down to the hotel lobby to check out without interference. As he waited for the receptionist to punch his info into her computer, a loud rabble outside the doors caught his attention. There seemed to be about a dozen people trying to get past a hotel guard.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked, only slightly interested in the answer. Anything to get his mind off the beautiful woman standing floors above him who now hated his guts.
“Oh, just a little security issue, sir,” the receptionist said with a tight-lipped smile. “Nothing to worry about. We caught a reporter trying to sneak onto our floors. Our guards have taken swift measures to make sure he doesn’t get back inside.”
Alaric raised an eyebrow at her, then shifted his attention back to the noise outside. The paparazzi really would stop at nothing to ruin a celebrity’s life. He’d had run-ins with them in the past, of course. Being young, rich, and in the spotlight tended to draw that kind of attention. But it was nothing compared to what Georgia had to endure. She was the darling of the people and therefore, had a bigger target on her back. He would’ve liked nothing better than to send them all back to where they came from.
“Your town car is ready, sir,” the receptionist said with a smile. “It’s just out front. Thank you for staying with us.”
He thanked her, grabbed his luggage, and headed toward the exit. Two bulky hotel security guards stood just outside, their hands on their hips as they faced down the dozen or so reporters with cameras. Alaric stepped through the doors, momentarily blinded by the late morning sunlight. He would’ve expected that on a day as horrible as today there would be sheets of freezing rain pouring down on the streets of New York. An outward sign of his inward struggle. But the heavens had decided to mock him with false cheer and warmth that did nothing to ease the cold chill inside his chest.
“Alaric Hammond! Alaric, are things truly over between you and Gigi Weber?”
The moment Alaric heard his name called, he knew he’d made a mistake. Of course, these reporters were waiting around to hear news about Georgia. She was a top story on the entertainment news. And he’d walked right into the spiders’ nest.
“No comment,” he growled. His sleek black town car waited on the other side of the crowd, a beacon of safety.
“Come on, Alaric. Tell us something about your ex,” a woman in a tight black suit called, shoving a recorder under his nose. “It sounds like you got dumped for her ex-boyfriend. How does that make you feel? Surely, you have some kind of comment about that?”
He shook his head and pushed the recorder away. They were crazy if they thought they were going to get anything more out of him. He’d already shoved his foot so far in his mouth he’d be choking on Italian patent leather for the rest of his miserable life.
“Out of his way,” a guard yelled, taking Alaric by the shoulder and attempting to strong arm a reporter who got too close. “Back off!”
“We’re on public property,” someone yelled, snapping a few pictures of the guard with his black Nikon. “You have no right.”
“Yeah, well, you’re harassing a client of the hotel,” the guard replied with a grunt. “So back off, unless you want me calling the cops.”
The crowd of reporters seemed to groan all at once and suddenly a clear path to Alaric’s town car opened up. He nodded his thanks to the guard and pulled his luggage behind him, eager to put this city and all its pain in his past. If he’d known this was how things would end with Georgia, he would’ve brought his own team of employees and guards. Still, he was a man used to doing things on his own. And he could certainly get himself on a plane home.
“Come on, Mr. Hammond,” a familiar voice said next to his left side. It held a hint of condescension that made the hair on Alaric’s neck stand up. “We all know that Gigi Weber is a fickle woman. Maybe it was fame that changed her or maybe she’s always been that way. She had no trouble dropping you once she got tired of you. Do us a favor and tell us about the real Gigi Weber. The woman behind the layers of Photoshop and makeup artists. She must be a real dog.”
Alaric whipped around, his chest rising and falling in rage. How dare anyone accuse Georgia of such things? They had no idea what they were talking about.
His eyes fell upon the owner of the voice and immediately, every muscle in his body strained against the limited reserve he still held. The man from the after-party stood before him, his long ponytail hanging over his shoulder. He wore a leather jacket, a proud grin, and a look of superiority in his eyes. Alaric’s hands closed into tight fists at his sides as he struggled not to pummel the man who’d effectively ended his relationship with Georgia.
“You…” He glared at him, wishing he could make him disappear. “You little rat. You tricked me.”
“Hey, now. I did nothing of the sort.” The man held his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes twinkling with dark humor. “You offered up all that information without so much as asking me my name. It’s not my fault I have a trusting face. It’s Matt Highland, by the way. For the Daily Dig.”
A deep growl sounded in Alaric’s chest. “I know that. You got a lot of things wrong in your article, by the way. I guess there really is no honor in selling your soul to a pathetic excuse for a magazine.”
Matt cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips. “Oh really? By all means, enlighten us.”
A tiny voice inside Alaric’s head told him not to spare another second on this excuse-for-a-human, but he couldn’t help himself. All the rage and passion from the last week was busting out of him like a geyser. He couldn’t keep it in.
“For one, I know that Vance set up that kiss. And I have no doubt that you were in on it,” he said, pointing a finger at Matt’s chest. “I wonder how your readers would feel if they knew that bit of information.”
Matt’s eyes turned to slits. “Prove it.”
