A Wolf at the Door

Traci shrugged and swiped the card through the reader on her belt and handed it back. “Whatever the man wants.”

When the hand landed on my shoulder, only one thing kept me from ripping it off. Tai’s innate magic jolted me even through my T-shirt as he leaned in to speak. “Gretchen says we need to blow, before they connect you with her.”

They? Who the hell is “they”?

Letting the bigger man break us a path through the room, we caught up to Bobby and Gretchen near the door. The starlet gave me an irritated roll of her eyes, but Bobby grinned. At least, I think it was a grin. It could have been a snarl. It showed the same amount of teeth.

“That dude about pissed himself. That was awesome.” I bumped the offered knuckles, but now that my righteous indignation was wearing off, I felt a bit sheepish. Starting fights in public really wasn’t cool, no matter how right I was.

The rabid crowd was still outside, and the limo was not. “We didn’t have time to call for the car,” Bobby explained. “Leaving in a bit of a rush.”

The look Gretchen slung my way let me know just who she was holding responsible for that inconvenience. “Just clear me a damn path.”

The limo was parked about two blocks down, and we set out at a swift march. I had to admit, I was impressed at her ability to not fracture something in those shoes.

Luckily, most of the teeming throng held their positions near the club, waiting for the next celebrity to pass within their line of sight. We were in the clear fairly quickly.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?” Every syllable was punctuated by the sharp click of her stilettos.

“Which part?”

“The part where you attacked one of the most prominent producers in the world?”

“He was a douche.” I wasn’t going to apologize for that. It was true.

“Yes, he’s a douche. Everyone knows that. But he’s also powerful. And over a waitress? Really?” Gretchen stopped in her tracks, almost causing a pileup, and whirled on me, her eyes flashing.

“Just because he has money doesn’t give him the right to treat people like that. Waitress or no.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Are you really that naïve? This is Hollywood. Money gets you anything you want.”

“Not when I’m around. No one puts their hands on a woman if she doesn’t want it. I’d have done the same for you, and I don’t even like you. Women are to be respected, not manhandled.”

Whatever else she had to say on the subject was lost when her eyes flicked to something over my shoulder. I had a split second to see something dark moving up on my left side, and I reacted instinctively.

One perfectly executed hip throw later, a very startled man with a camera stared up at me from the ground. He blinked twice, then the flash went off, blinding all of us.

“Wonderful! Now we’ve moved on to attacking the paparazzi! Perfect.” Belatedly, she glanced at the man on the ground. “Sorry.” Maybe someday, if she practiced this “acting” thing she was supposedly so good at, she might even sound like she meant it. “Get his ass in the car before he beats up something else.”

The camera kept snapping as we got in the limo, flashes going off around us like strobes. Gretchen took up one whole seat herself, making it very clear that the three of us “animals” weren’t to soil her personal space. I found myself sandwiched between Bobby and Tai, who kept exchanging grins behind my back.

Finally, I sighed. “Okay. Out with it.”

They both busted up into snickers, and Bobby asked, “Jumpy much?”

I gave him a very serious look. “You have no idea.”

9

Someone was pounding a sledgehammer into my skull, and I didn’t much appreciate it. After some flopping around in a bed that was way too huge and very much lacking a Mira, then struggling to untangle myself from a comforter that was way too puffy, I finally realized that the pounding was on my door, not my dome.

What the hell time is it? The clock said it was eight a.m., but my body said “Hey, jerk, you’re not sixteen anymore.” Obviously, my days of partying all night were long over.

“Coming! Coming…” I grumbled as I padded across the room. “Keep your pants on.”

The peephole revealed a room service cart outside, and the scent of bacon was already wafting under the door. My brain pointed out that I hadn’t ordered breakfast, but my stomach pointedly refused to care. I opened the door.

“Where would you like me to put it, sir?” The attendant wheeled the cart past me while I stood there trying to figure out why I knew that voice. When he stood up, looking expectantly at me for his tip, I knew.

“Spencer?” Yes, Chatty Spencer from the plane trip blinked at me in surprise, then broke into a broad smile.

“Oh, hey! Jesse Dawson from the airplane. The champion! I remember you!”

I remembered him too, and I didn’t really believe in coincidences. I grabbed him by the collar of his neatly pressed chef’s coat and slammed him against the wall hard enough to hear his head thump. “What are you doing here?”