When they pulled up to the Hyatt-Regency, Donovan scowled. Paparazzi milled about
, joking with each other as they scanned the incoming cars for celebs. Why hadn’t she thought of security?
Oh. Right.
She’d fired her mom, and that was one of the things Jayleigh looked after. “Shit,” she muttered, shaking her head. Because she’d been with Maverick, security hadn’t crossed her mind and since her private bodyguard, Michael, was on holiday she hadn’t seen the point. Along with a new manager, she’d have to look into hiring security.
For a moment she stared out the window, not knowing what to do.
“Would you like me to get a porter for you Miss James?”
The driver, an older man with the world weary look of someone who’s seen a lot, gazed at her through his rear-view mirror. Something about the look in his eyes (concern maybe?) made that stupid lump in her throat swell even more and, shit, was she going to cry?
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Sure. As fine as a lamb about to be slaughtered. The Miami incident was still in the press, and she knew it was the first thing they’d ask her.
The driver glanced out at the throng of photographers and shook his head, muttering, “vultures.”
He opened up his door and stepped out, waving for a porter as he made his way to Donovan’s side. He opened the door and held his hand out. “I’ll get you inside safely.”
Donovan felt a tear slide down from the corner of her eyes and wiped at it. Dammit. She needed to get her shit together.
“You don’t—”
“Your friend, Mr. Simon would want that, and besides.” He winked and grasped her hand. “Cheatin’ And Lyin’ is one of my all time favorite songs. Your guitar work is gorgeous in that piece. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, before inhaling a deep breath and stepping from the limo.
The fake smile that she’d utilized so well taping Later Tonight, was in place, and she held her head high as she took the driver’s hand. A shout went up and several porters appeared just as the crowd surged forward. Flashbulbs went off and she was blinded. If not for the warm, gentle hand at her elbow, Donovan wasn’t sure she would have made it inside. As it was, she cringed at some of the comments thrown her way. Most of the time she ignored them, but one caught her attention and she glanced to her right.
“What did you say?” she asked, ignoring the flash as the paparazzi continued to shoot.
A tall, thin man wearing a blue beanie, black T-shirt and khakis, smiled at her as if they were old friends.
“I asked who it was you were fucking in Belize.”
The porters were now standing between Donovan and the crowd, but she ignored everyone, her focus and growing anger on the insolent son-of-a-bitch whose smile she wanted to smack off his face.
“What’s your name sweetie?” she asked, conversationally, her voice dripping sugar.
He looked surprised at that, but one thing her mama had always taught her was that the only way to catch a fly was with sugar. “Jason.”
“Jason,” Donovan said, smiling sweetly. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you manners? Not only was that on offensive thing you just said, but honestly, it’s none of y’alls business who I’m fucking.” She motioned toward a redhead in the back. “David. Don’t you guys have a code or something? I might have to think real hard about posing for pictures in the future if this is the kind of crowd you’re all hanging with.”
As much as Donovan hated the paps, they were a disease that wouldn’t go away and over the past few years, she’d cultivated a relationship with several of them. They treated her with respect and in return, she gave them exclusives. David was one of those guys.
“Jason’s an asshole, Donovan,” David said, jostling through the crowd and glaring at the man in question.
Donovan’s smile widened. “That’s my impression too. I’d sure appreciate it if y’all would make sure Jason-the-asshole moves along.”
“Will do, Donovan.”
“Good.” She winked at David. “Thanks a bunch.”
Five minutes later, she slid her key card into the VIP suite and entered her room. The lights were muted, the shades open, allowing the evening stars and impressive city lights, inside.
Normally she would have enjoyed the quiet and beauty, but her fragile mood had been shattered by the vulgar paparazzi. Kicking off her black Jimmy Choo’s, she started to shimmy out of her short fire-engine red skirt but paused, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
Her heart took off as she inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. She knew that scent. She knew it intimately.