Sweet As Sin

32

She huffed, which was the extent of her temper. I’d once seen her snap at a waitress who’d accidentally dumped a plate of spaghetti in her lap. Chloe felt so bad about snapping, she left a tip even bigger than the bill and wrote a five-page apology letter to the restaurant, even though the silk dress she’d been wearing was ruined. She was a marshmallow.

“Wait, back up. You’re telling me Nico brought his bandmates to go flower shopping? From the band?”

Chloe frowned at Grace. “Yes, his bandmates from the band. As opposed to his bandmates from the IRS?”

I was worried now. “Why? Is that bad?”

“Well . . . no. It’s just not what I would’ve thought a man like Nico would do. Showing his tender underbelly in front of the other predators, and all.”

“Grace, has it ever occurred to you that not every man is a predator?”

Grace scoffed. “Show me a man who isn’t a predator and I’ll show you a woman.”

“That’s a terrible attitude for a marriage counselor!” Chloe had gone into prim schoolmarm mode, pinching her mouth and looking disapprovingly down her nose at Grace. Which of course made Grace laugh.

“You’re right, Chloe. I’ll try to remember your wise words during my next session.”

“With Mr. Wet Work? Are you seeing him this week?” Chloe had already forgotten her disapproval. She wanted details. I thought that was a terrible idea, considering we were both nursing ugly hangovers. With a pounding head and a queasy stomach, there’s only so much talk about urine you can take.

The doorbell rang.

“Who’s ringing my bell at the crack of dawn?” I grumbled, making no move to get up.

“Eleven o’clock is hardly the crack of dawn, Sleeping Beauty.” Grace rose from her chair and swept off to get the door. Since she was the only one of us who currently looked like a human being, I thought that was a good idea.

Boy, was I wrong.

Grace’s shocked cry jerked me out of my seat. I looked over just in time to see her slam the front door in the faces of what appeared to be a small mob with cameras gathered on my doorstep, jostling and shoving one another in their eagerness to get a look inside.

Paparazzi.

From behind the closed door—which Grace had flung herself against—they began shouting questions.

“Miss Reid, what’s your relationship with Nico Nyx? Is it true you’re pregnant? Have you secretly married?”

Chloe’s mouth hung so far open her jaw looked unhinged. Grace looked wildly around my living room, as if for a weapon. As for me, I was glued in terror to my seat, having absolutely no idea what to do.

From the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the yard outside the kitchen window. Standing there with a video camera on his shoulder was a guy in a TMZ T-shirt. He was grinning. He pointed to the lens and mouthed, “Smile!”

That did it.

I launched myself from the chair, stormed to the window, and, after giving him the finger, yanked the shades down. I then strode through the living room, cursing, pulling all the drapes closed, trying to keep the bacon I’d just eaten from making a reappearance.

“Chloe, call the police!” Grace made sure the front door was locked, then ran to the back door and did the same while I tried not to panic, or puke. Chloe dialed 911 and reported to the operator that we were under attack. The operator seemed to be having trouble understanding her story, because a near-speechless Chloe was uttering such enlightening gems as, “People! Cameras! Swarming! Help!”

I took the phone, identified myself, and gave my address. “Please, send officers right away, there’s a group of paparazzi in my front yard trying to take my picture!”

There was a pause. “Ma’am, are you in physical danger?”

“What? Yes! I mean, no, they don’t have guns or anything, but they’re all over my yard! They’re asking questions, and shooting video!” The operator was quiet. I tried to make myself sound reasonable. “They’re trespassing, right? This is private property!”

“Do you live in a gated community, ma’am?”

“No.” Did that matter?

“Is your home accessible from a public street, or behind gates or a private driveway?”

I could already tell this wasn’t going well. I grudgingly admitted my house was indeed on a public street.

“Is anyone attempting to enter the residence? Have you been verbally or physically threatened with harm? Are there any minor children at the residence?”

“No to all three. But they can’t just walk all over my property, can they? They’re probably thrashing my lawn!”

I was dismayed to hear the operator’s voice grow bored. “I’ll send a unit to check on you, ma’am. Please stay indoors, and don’t engage with anyone until an officer arrives. If you feel in imminent physical danger or there is any other emergency, please call us back—”

“Wait—you’re not seriously telling me this is OK? They can’t stalk me like this, right? This is my home!”

“I understand you’re upset, ma’am. We’ll send an officer as soon as we can.”

She didn’t sound as if she understood. She sounded as if she thought I was overreacting, and wasting her time, and taxpayer resources. Fury exploded inside me like a bomb.

“You know what? I know these calls are recorded. So if I get killed by one of those psychos outside my front door, I want the whole world to know it was because you couldn’t be bothered to do your job! How are you going to feel when they play this back on the news after I’m dead? I bet if I was Angelina Jolie you wouldn’t take such reckless chances with my life!”