“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, acutely aware of one of the braver security guards edging his way towards us, “but we need to get out of here, now.”
Andrew’s eyes darted about the crowd, then he nodded. He leapt to his feet, grabbed my hand, and shoved his way through the gathered mass before the security guards could react. I had no choice but to follow as quickly as possible, stumbling in my stilettos.
We only stopped long enough to collect our phones from the befuddled coatroom attendant. Then we flew down the steps and into the parking lot.
Andrew’s gold Aston Martin was easy to spot. We rushed to climb inside it. Our seat belts were barely buckled when Andrew sped out of the parking lot and down the road at easily 30 miles above the speed limit.
My heart raced as we drove to the man
