As soon as he’s out of sight, my best friend glances at me desperately. “If I didn’t love him so much, I’d hate him.”
I grin. “Good thing you love him, then.”
“He’s going to be the death of me, I swear to god.”
“But you’ll die happy,” I point out.
“Try to talk some sense into him on the ride home, will you? Tell him to stop moving at light speed. There’s no rush.” She shakes her head. “We have all the time in the world.”
I don’t think about her words, as I kiss her goodbye and make my way to the exits.
That’s the thing about real life, as opposed to the movies.
The bad omens are never obvious until it’s far, far too late.
Fourteen
“Once more, with feeling.”
- A lover hoping for better results the second time around
We’re halfwayto Wyatt’s, the SUV winding its way through the curving hills that look out over Los Angeles. It’s dark and damp outside — a rare rainstorm has settled over the valley in the past few hours. The roads are clear; the late hour and miserable weather are keeping most people indoors. I stretch out my legs across the vacant backseat, exhausted down to my bones. Masters meets my eyes in the rearview.
“Tired, Miss Firestone?”
“Exhausted.”
“It’s been a long day.”
I snort. “It’s been a long day, long week, long month. I’m about ready for this movie premiere stuff to be over. Frankly, I’d be happy to step away from all this fame for a bit, afterUnchartedcomes out.”
“Don’t think that’s an option.” His voice is wry. “You can’t just turn off the attention like a switch. Comes with the territory, unfortunately.”
“You know, it’s funny — when I was younger, I’d have given almost anything to have people know my name. To be recognized for something. To be notable. Famous. Popular.” I laugh. “Now, I’m starting to realize there are downsides to having everyone on the planet know your name.”
“Grass is always greener,” he murmurs.
“Exactly.” I sigh. “I think I’d rather have a boring life with a handful of people who matter than all the acclaim in the world from nameless strangers.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve got both.” He winks at me.
I grin and glance back out my window.
Far below us, the city lights shine brighter than stars, sprawled out like a glittering constellation. I’ve got a smile on my face as I stare out, watching water droplets track slowly down the glass, thinking of the look on Wyatt’s face when he walks into his bathroom and finds me naked in his bathtub.
The perfect end to a perfect evening.
It starts as a dull roar in the distance, but soon grows louder. I see Masters look up sharply, his eyes on the rearview. I turn around in my seat and see the single headlight of a motorcycle appear around the bend behind us, racing closer with each passing second. His helmet and backpack come into view, and I know this is no average rider.
“Not again,” I mutter, annoyed. “Why won’t they leave me the hell alone?”
Masters puts pressure on the gas pedal, increasing our speed, but the paparazzo keeps pace with us. The roaring sound increases in pitch. I turn around to look again and blink hard, barely believing my eyes when two more spotlights appear in the darkness. They zip down the straightaway to join the biker already on our tail.
I scoff, disgusted at the show of utter stupidity — three mounted paparazzi, racing each other for the money shot, all equally determined to get the exclusive photo of Kat Firestone after a night on the town. They change lanes at will in a deadly game of chicken, swerving wildly, speeding faster. Each trying to intimidate the others into a forfeit.
“Idiots,” Masters growls, his eyes flipping between the dueling motorcycles in his rearview and the winding road ahead. The steering wheel jerks roughly in his hands as he brings us around a particularly sharp bend in the road. I feel my stomach lurch into my throat. My seatbelt strap cuts into my chest, holding me in place.
The bikers follow us around the curve, their speed increasing all the while. My heart begins to pound as I watch them getting closer and closer to our back bumper.