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Next to me, Scarlett shrunk into my side, feeling even smaller under the cover of my arms, if that was even possible, and the inexplicable urge to protect her came over me. Smiling for the camera, I paused in front of the revolving doors, offering them a wave before the door greeter helped to usher us inside.
A wash of golden light from the lobby of the hotel surrounded us while the muffled sound of the paparazzi fell at our backs. “Thanks, Pete,” I said with a clap on his shoulder as Scarlett eyed me curiously.
“Would you like an escort to your suite?” Pete asked, his tone professional.
“I think we can take it from here,” I said.
Then as I tugged on Scarlett’s hand, she turned to the door greeter, her expression earnest as she said, “Pete, if I don’t return by dark, send security to this guy’s room.” She hooked a thumb at me, straight-faced, and I laughed.
Chapter 11
SCARLETT
Amillionthingscould’vepreoccupied my mind as we got on the elevator, but the one thing I kept circling back to was how he knew the door greeter and the valet by name. For some reason, this tiny observation—the fact that he’d obviously taken the time to get to know them and treat them like real people instead of employees—made my little Grinch heart swell just the tiniest bit.
“Did you know reporters would be here?” I asked as we stepped out of the elevator onto the floor of Thorne’s suite.
It had only been a couple of photographers, and yet, it frightened me. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to five times the number of cameras flashing at you, invading your personal space, shouting, and smothering you with questions.
“No. It hasn’t been too bad, but I’m guessing my cryptic IG post gave them another reason to stick around.”
He grimaced, and I waited as he unlocked the door and pushed into his room while I stumbled behind him in awe.
An entire suite sprawled out before me with a cavernous formal sitting room, what appeared to be a full kitchen, and a hallway that led to what I imagined was an entire bedroom suite and more. Bright lights illuminated the massive abstract paintings, and though I had limited experience, I’d never seen a hotel suite quite like it. The price tag associated with such a place must be obscene.
I slowly made my way to the massive wall of windows, which showcased a breathtaking view of the city below. “You’re staying here?” I croaked, my gaze trailing over the luxurious fabrics, the thick, rich woods, and lavish light fixtures.
Thorne simply glanced around him like it was no big deal and shrugged. “Yeah, for now, anyway. It’s not bad. I may buy a place, though, assuming I remain on the project. I’ve always enjoyed central Virginia. My mom took me on vacation here once when I was a kid. It would be nice to have a permanent spot, maybe closer to the beach.”
My gaze flickered to him as shock rocked through me at the way he so casually referenced the possibility of buying property while on location. Like it was no big deal. Like people went around buying houses everywhere they went.
“How many places do you own?” I asked, curious.
He pursed his lips as if thinking. “Three, I guess. Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, and a house in the Hamptons. I don’t usually count my mom’s place.”
I nodded, slightly numb. By most people’s standards, my family was well off. Compared to most towns around us, Lakeview was one of the most affluent areas, but this . . . nothing compared to this kind of wealth.
I watched as Thorne crossed the room and pulled a bottle of fancy water from the fridge that probably cost twenty bucks, then flopped on the white couch—shoes and all—perfectly at home.
“Are you going to come in and sit or stand there gawking all night?” he asked, which was when I realized I’d been staring.
I inched my way toward him, slowly. “Just assessing possible weapons and an escape route.”
Thorne snorted, then closed his eyes, propping his hands behind his head like he might take a nap. “You’re funny.”
The knot of nerves inside my stomach tightened. It was the second time he’d said that since we met.
I took a seat on one end of the massive sectional across from him, noting the way he hadn’t moved an inch and wondering if he’d really fallen asleep. “So where do we start?” I asked.
Finally, he opened his eyes and zeroed in on me. “In order for the press to think I’ve truly changed, I have to be madly in love. And in order for me to be madly in love, it’s more believable if we’ve known each other for more than a of couple days.”
“Okay, so what’s the story?”
When he stood and headed out of the room, I wondered if he wanted me to follow, but he returned a second later, clutching a handful of papers that appeared to be of varying colors and sizes.
“My agent took the liberty of generating these letters.” He tossed them at me.
“Do agents normally do this kind of thing?”
