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“Where are we?” he asked, gazing at throngs of people and signs with his name printed in bold lettering.
“This is the place for the PR event,” Mitzi explained as a few police officers surrounded the car and got control of the crowd. “Someone in the media must have let the cat out of the bag that you’d be here.”
“We’re not done talking about this,” he said and passed her the folder. “You should have told me sooner.” He glanced at the fans, then got a look at the building, and another surprise had his jaw in his lap. “We’re at New Beats. This is where Harper and I had the second Bake or Bust competition.”
“Yes, of course. Did I not mention that?” Mitzi answered with a sly twist to her lips.
“Mitz,” he growled. What was she up to?
“Don’t forget to take your guitar.”
Before he could give her hell for the omission, she opened her car door and got out.
Dammit!
He hopped out, and the crowd roared as he retrieved his guitar case from the back.
Here we go.
The press hurled questions the second he closed the back door.
“Is it over between you and Harper Presley?”
“Are you getting divorced?”
“What did you fight about in Italy?”
“Did you break her heart?”
He froze and stared at the churning mass of bodies bobbing and weaving with cameras and cell phones pointed at him like a firing squad.
“Here, Landon!” a woman with a large tote cried, bolting past the police. She wore a T-shirt with his face on it.
Wait a damn second.
He’d seen her before. But where?
Grinning from ear to ear, she reached into her bag and pressed a small cushion to his chest. “I made one for Harper. Don’t let her get away,” the woman said before a police officer escorted her back to the area taped off for fans.
He peered at the item in his hands. It wasn’t a cushion. It was a pillow—a pillow with Harper’s face cross-stitched into the fabric.
The gift-giver was Norma Rae from Vegas. He searched the crowd to thank the woman when an airy voice called out to him.
“Landon, Landon Paige, I need to talk to you!”
He couldn’t find Norma Rae, but he spied a blonde woman glistening—no, glittering—in the afternoon light.
Bang Bang Barbie?
Was that douche nozzle Vance Vibe here, too?
Mitzi came to his side.
“That’s Vance’s wife,” he said and gestured with his chin.
“I know who she is. She’s emailed me a few times.”
“About what?”
