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A few reporters notice me, one of them I recognize as Vicky Elmer from the coffee shop I went to a few weeks ago. Now it seems she’s tethered to a few other reporters all sporting the same logo of whatever television or journaling company they work for. The police are keeping them back off school property just on the other side of the parking lot thankfully. I have a feeling she would be the first to shove her recording device in my face while asking a million questions all at once.
“Are we glaring at anyone in particular?” Thorin asks as he sidles up next to me. His t-shirt is a little dirty from some of the cleaning supplies getting on him, but he still looks formidable standing beside me in his gym clothes. The dark navy sweats send my heart pounding a little harder as I quickly glance away from his crotch before he notices. Thorin’s eyes scan the long line of reporters who notice him immediately, zooming in on our location just off to the side of the main doors.
“No.” I barely shake my head as I look up at him. “Just thinking this is going to be a little more hectic than I realized.” My gaze turns back to the vultures with flashing lights. “I guess I thought there would be less of them.”
“King’s PR team put out a statement of where I would be. I gave a brief interview to them over the phone on my way here so they have full control of the narrative being spread. A lot of these people were invited by them to gather footage, but not necessarily ask questions since they’re owned and operated by King’s media team. A win-win for my image. But not everyone over there works for him, so we won’t be going over to say hello.”
Thank goodness for that. “I don’t give interviews.”
A smile tilts the corners of Thorin’s mouth. “I know.”
I shake my head at his flirtatious smile. “Why are you not wearing a coat?” It’s nearly November and all he’s wearing is a tee and sweats while I’m in jeans and a hoodie. Blowing out a breath, the steam rising in the air before my face, I flick an eyebrow up at him as if to sayit’s cold.
“I get overheated easily. I hate the cold but love the way the city comes to life in lights this time of year. Soon they’ll be dragging a new Christmas tree out and stringing up lights.”
“You realize Halloween is in like five days and Thanksgiving still exists, right?”
Thorn’s smile disarms me. “It’s not the Christmas presents I like, Bex. It’s the magic the entire world glows in. I imagine it’s the way you feel when you do charity year round, thinking of your mom.”
Nana Noel was always strict growing up telling me we had to give every holiday its rightful chance to shine. But I can see what Thorin is saying. There’s something magical that happens when the colorful or white lights come out, bringing people closer for more than just a day of reminiscing over food and football.
Not to mention how much goes into the Christmas Ball at Hastings Center where the Hastings Humanitarian Award is presented. Mom chose to have it on Christmas because it was a day worth celebrating, no matter what walk of life a person comes from, they can always find a kind heart on Christmas.
“Mom loved Christmas,” I smile wistfully at the memories cascading through my mind of her making the entire living room look obnoxious while Dad half-heartedly complained about the ridiculous amount of reindeer and snowmen everywhere.
“She would be proud of you,” Thorin murmurs, nudging his arm into mine. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I know of a lowkey place we can grab some food at.” He raises a dark eyebrow. “If you’re still interested in that date?”
“Absolutely.” The ham and cheese roll up I ate for lunch will never fly as an acceptable meal. I had to stash it in my office so Detrick wouldn’t see and order me a smorgasbord for lunch instead. Sometimes I get so busy I forget to eat, sue me. It’s not a conscious decision. After all the manual labor we just put in, I could go for a decent sized meal.
“Want to ride with me or do you want to follow?” Thorin asks as we make our way into the parking lot. We parked side by side, arriving at the same exact time. The carnival should still be going for a few more hours, so riding together shouldn’t be too much of an issue. I know the school is doing some kind of dance starting in thirty minutes that will last longer than the carnival will.
“We can ride together.”
Thorin grins, moving to the passenger side of his car to open the door for me. I realize as I slide in front of him to climb in the flashes of lights are going insane across the lot. My entire face flames red as embarrassment hits. I didn’t even stop to think about them filming us when I agreed to the date. Now it’s too late to change anything but I shouldn’t have to stoop to hiding and not living my own life just to avoid paparazzi.
He swiftly gets into his car, turning on the engine and whisking us away. The reporters in the background flail trying to gather their equipment to follow us, but they’re too slow. I suppose this is what happens when you aren’t front page newsworthy, you get the crappy people recording your movements.
We drive in silence for roughly ten minutes as I watch Manhattan light up around us. We’re heading further from where I live towards the more touristy section. Thorin pulls into a parking garage, flashing a key and letting a gate open for us before closing quickly with a clang.
“Where are we?” I ask. Outside the parking garage I notice a few buildings making up some celebrity stores, but not much else. Rarely do I venture this direction at all, but for a businessman like Thorin I suppose he’s over here quite often.
“Michael’s,” Thorin says. “It’s a Michelan star restaurant but it’s on the smaller side. They take reservations and have a private garage so we don’t get hounded trying to get to the car. An elevator takes us directly into the restaurant versus having to walk up front if we don’t want to.”
“And you have reservations on such short notice?” Color me surprised.
Thorin’s lips twitch into a smile. “Actually I’m an investor and friend of the owner. They reserve certain tables for important guests at all times, but you have to call ahead by minimum an hour to see if a spot is available. I called on the way to the school to see if anything was, so here we are.”
Oh, well that’s convenient and nice of them. I wonder if more places do this? It would explain how celebrities seem to get special treatment but it’s really just a ruse to seem more exclusive, even if there’s only a handful of tables available.
We exit the car together, Thorin waiting at the trunk for me to come around before he grips my hand in his. We walk down the parked garage towards an elevator bank. Only a singular button is there, so we press it until it glows a faint orange. Several seconds tick by before the doors open and we’re swept away inside.
The panel on the luxury elevator surprises me. Several buttons indicate restaurants, apartments, even clothing stores. Thorin presses the button for level three, whirling the door closed and us up into the air. The elevator looks like the one inside the Ward Enterprises building with the brass and wood mixing together in a classy way.
He tightens his hand on mine right as the doors open, depositing us into a grand foyer. A hostess is placed behind a clear podium. She’s in all black trousers and a button up shirt, hair slicked back with a black bow. My feet click on the marble flooring in my sneakers and it occurs to me how severely underdressed we are for a place like this.
The chandeliers to the cream walls give off a museum vibe as Thorin tells her his name and she immediately begins to escort us through a set of warm brown double doors into a large seating area. White linen clothes cover the tables, an entire wall of windows looks out over Manhattan across the room. Wine and scotch glasses dot individual tables and everyone appears to be dressed as if attending the Met. So many gowns and tuxedos, people with makeup caked on and toupees ironed.
“Breathe,” Thorin murmurs in my ear as he squeezes my hand. “We’re fine.”
