The takeout box contains a salmon and salad wrap. I barely take it out when I realize there’s a note too.
“Sorry it was too risky to wait for you at the airport. I’ll make it up to you tonight. I know you don’t like to eat on planes, so here’s a snack to get you by until dinner.”
I stare at the note open-mouthed. My heart hammers madly as I inhale the wrap. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve tasted. Then again, I have a hunch everything right now will taste delicious. Oh, I’m so happy I flew out here.
I’ve been to LA many times, visiting my Connor cousins. I plan to see them at least once while I’m here. Given Alex’s packed schedule, I’ll have plenty of time on my own.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Summer
My jaw goes slack when the car pulls in front of the hotel. Paparazzi are camping everywhere, their eyes trained on the entrance, their cameras poised.
“Is there a service entrance?” I ask the driver.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take you there right away.”
Five minutes later and countless surprised glances from the personnel, I step into the lobby, where Preston is waiting for me.
“Hi, Preston!” I greet, inflecting a little extra cheer in my voice, because he looks as if he’s in dire need of it. Lines so deep mar his forehead, they’ll become permanent soon.
He nods curtly, gesturing me to the reception. I look around as we wait in the short line to the check-in. I’ve been here numerous times with my cousin Valentina, sitting at the coffee tables spread past the lobby area.
They serve excellent pastries. The two of us had often spied the lobby while filling our bellies, in case any celebrity was staying here. Oh, the irony.
“How is—” I begin, but Preston shakes his head.
When our turn comes, I present myself as Tessa Cavanaugh. The name rolls strangely off my tongue.
“We’ll need an ID, please.”
I freeze. Of course, they need an ID. What’s Preston thinking, asking me to give a fake name? Unless he has a fake ID ready, but that seems far-fetched.
“That won’t be necessary,” Preston says. “She’s on my team.”
To my astonishment, the receptionist merely nods, sliding me a keycard.
“Enjoy your stay, Ms. Cavanaugh.”
“Are they used to this?” I mouth to Preston as we march to the elevator.
“Celebrities give fake names all the time. The paps still find out, as you saw in front of the hotel.”
There are four elevators, but none are on the ground floor, so we wait, Preston tapping his foot, me torn between telling him to stop and hurrying to buy him a pastry. He looks like he needs it. Hell, I need it. The hoard of paps in front is unnerving.
When one of the elevators finally dings and the doors open, I patiently wait for the half a dozen guests to step out before heading in. Then several things happen at the same time.
As I step in, someone calls my name. My real name. I pivot on my heels and come face-to-face with Tara Delaware. Oh crap. Guess who won’t be fooled by Tessa Cavanaugh?
Preston tries to usher me inside, and she makes to grab my arm. I yank it away, but she still catches the sleeve of my T-shirt between her fingers. The fabric tears from my shoulder as I leap further back.
“You’re not allowed in here!” Preston booms.
“Just some gossip. That’s all I’m looking for. And right now, the fact that Summer Bennett is here smells like a story, especially if I work in their trip to Tahoe in the article.” She holds up the camera, and Preston makes to step in front of me, shielding me, but I wiggle out, going straight for the pap.
“This is private property, and I am not a public persona. The hotel has a no-pictures policy too. You’re breaking the law by being in the hotel, and if you take that picture, you’ll be breaking another law. My chances of winning a lawsuit against you are 100 percent.” I point to the torn sleeve. “This counts as harassment in any court. I don’t think you can even afford legal fees, much less damages.”
Tara blinks, eyes wide, lowering her camera.