Mister Fake Fiance

Argh! I charge down the stairs, leaping three, four steps each time, one hand on the rail for balance.

It feels like an eternity before I hit the lobby, even though I know it only takes a few moments. But it’s a few moments during which Erin’s surrounded, probably getting terrorized by an aggressive throng of crazy reporters.

I spot the crowd immediately, but don’t see Erin. A moment later I locate her squeezed against a dark frosted-glass wall. She only needs to move two steps to make it to the door and escape into the building, but there are too many of them around her.

Hot rage erupts, my vision going hazy and red. I run toward the throng, arms pumping, and slam into the door with my shoulder.

Several of assholes are close enough to get shoved out of the way. I make it to Erin, my feet crushing roses on the sidewalk, then shield her with my body as I pull her to her feet. Some of the men bump into me aggressively. Adrenaline spiking my veins, I push back. If I weren’t standing in front of Erin, she could get hurt. They’re purposely intimidating her to get her to say something. Dicks!

“Get back or I’m pressing charges!” I yell.

“We have a right to know!” one of the screams back.

“You don’t get to hurt somebody to get a story!”

“What’s your personal relationship?” one in the back yells.

“Do you think you’re going to stay engaged to Congressman Fordham?”

Stay engaged? What the hell?

“When’s the wedding?”

“Is your fiancé okay with you working for David Darling after what happened over the weekend?”

My control snaps. What’s with all the assumptions people are having about taking Erin away from me? Those geeks gulping candy. Joe Choi in San Mateo. And now these fucking reporters. She’s my damned assistant, and she was my date to the damned auction!

“You’ve got it wrong. She’s mine!” I thunder.

More flashes go off. “Are you having an affair?”

Oh, for God’s sake. “Everyone back the fuck up!”

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One arm wrapped around Erin, I push through the crowd and bring her into the building fast. They can’t enter since it’d be trespassing, and they know it. They glare at me balefully. I want to flip them the bird, but restrain myself. There is such a thing as bad publicity, and it wouldn’t look good to have that particular picture plastered everywhere.

Now that we’re out of their grip, my priority is making sure Erin’s okay. She’s trembling all over. I put an arm around her and search her face. It’s bloodless, her eyes wide and slightly unfocused. Her teeth chatter. Everything about it makes my blood boil. She was smiling just moments ago when she left the office!

“Are you all right?” I ask. “Do we need to call 911?”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I’m just…a little shook up.” She looks up at me, confusion and disbelief still etched in every line of her pretty face. “What was that about?”

“Somehow they found out you were the woman in the picture.” I gesture at the reporters. “I guess they think you and Fordham are together.” Which is a ridiculous assumption. Nothing in the picture said they were in love or anything remotely close to it.

“But I’m not.” She licks her lips. “Do you think Warren told people about me?”

“Doubt it. He’s a national-level politician. He wants to look solid and stable, and this doesn’t help.” If I were in charge of his publicity, I wouldn’t want baseless rumors going around. And based on what Matt said, his people are too savvy to screw up like this.

I lead her to a leather bench in the lobby and have her sit down. Her legs are too shaky for my liking. One of the security guys jogs over. “Are you okay?” From the voice, I can tell he isn’t the one who answered my call.

“I don’t know. We only had to fight deranged reporters, and she dropped her flowers.” I look down and make sure she isn’t bleeding from a cut. Then I add, “She could’ve been hurt.”

His florid face turns even redder. “The police will be here any second.”

I jerk my chin in the direction of the throng. “Are they in the garage too?”

“No. We checked with the security cameras and people down there.”