“Shit.” I try to think of a way out of this. I don’t want Abby exposed to those unethical sharks. Not only could she get injured by their pushing and shoving, but she doesn’t need to be subjected to their questions or have her image printed all over those crappy rags, especially linked to a tabloid fuckup like me. “Is there a back door?”
Bob nods, his expression becoming less panicked. That’s good. Someone needs to be calm because I am freaking the fuck out inside. I turn to Abby. “Stay next to me, close.”
“What are we doing?” she asks, her voice wavering.
“Trying to give them the slip, honey,” Bob answers for me. He has us follow him through the busy kitchen, drawing open-mouthed stares from the employees. “Here.” Bob pushes open a service door at the end of a short hallway.
I glance around before stepping outside. The back lot is clear. Unfortunately, we have to go around to the side of the building where I parked.
“Thanks, Bob.” I shake his hand.
“Be careful.” He pulls Abby in for another hug, whispering something in her ear that I don’t catch.
“Come on, Bee.” She puts an arm around my waist and holds on tight. “Wait.” I yank a black knit beanie out of my back pocket and shove it over her golden hair. “Put your sunglasses on and keep your head down.” She does as I ask and I tuck her back into my side. I have to go slower than I’d like because the back lot is gravel and Abby is wearing those damn heels, but she’s determined and keeps up.
Then we turn the corner.
* * *
“There they are!”
At least twenty people with cameras rush at us. Abby flinches into me, but never falters at my side. The pack descends, shouting and jostling each other—and therefore jostling us—as they fight for position.
“Guys, please. Don’t push,” I keep my voice steady when what I want to do is lash out and punch each and every one of these soulless bastards. After they dug around in my past, printed photos of the accident, used my pain to get their five minutes of entertainment out of it, I’ve had very little patience for anyone in the media.
“Who is this?”
“Are you dating?”
“Is it serious?”
“What’s your name?”
“Hawke, is she pregnant?”
“Oh my god,” Abby whispers into my ear.
“Stay with me, Bee.” I tighten the arm I have around her shoulders and it’s a good thing I do, because some asshole trips into her, making her lose her footing. Abby’s knee buckles and she goes down, my hold on her the only thing keeping her from landing on the sharp shards of rock. “Fuck off!” I shout, completely frustrated as I help her regain her footing.
“Hawke?” I glance at Abby and know her eyes are shining wetly behind the dark glasses.
I put my mouth to her ear. “Come on, Bee. You’re stronger than them.” She nods and puts her head down, letting me lead her to the car. It takes for-fucking-ever to get the mob to move with us, but we finally make it to the Mercedes.
I fling open the door, not caring that it smacks a “journalist” right in the face. My only concern is getting Abby inside and away from these bastards. Once she’s safe, I still have to circle the car, which is nearly impossible now that I don’t have Abby with me. Apparently they were giving us “space” before because now they’re packed in so tight, I crush someone’s toes every time I take a step.
“Who is that, Hawke?”
“Is it serious with her?”
I climb into the SUV and slam the door shut, praying that one of their fingers gets caught and broken. Revving the engine, I watch them scatter from in front of the vehicle and I gun it out of the parking lot to the safety of the open road.
One glance in the rearview mirror lets me know that there is no safety, no escape. At least four cars pull out of the lot and follow close behind.
Abby is sitting in the passenger seat, wide-eyed and pale. “You okay, Bee?”
“Yeah… yeah. I’m okay. That was just…”
“I know.”