“Kat, how do you feel about Grayson’s past conquests?” the man yells from my left. “Do you really believe he’ll stay faithful?”
“Back off.” Grayson grabs my hand and tugs me behind him with an indelicate jerk. “Or I’ll make you back off.”
“So you don’t care about the other women?” the pap yells, ignoring Grayson’s warnings. “Even after what he did to Helena Putnam?”
Grayson stops short. I see his shoulders tense.
“Grayson,” I mutter, tugging at his hand. “Ignore him.”
But the paparazzo isn’t about to drop it. “Do you feel at all responsible for her current situation?”
Grayson’s voice is a furious growl. “That’s not your business.”
“We have no comment,” I insist, tugging at Grayson again. He doesn’t budge.
“Do you know anything about her rumored hospitalization or current mental state? Have you even been to see her?”
“No comment!” I yell, stepping in front of Grayson when he whirls, hands clenched, to face the man with the camera. I glance over my shoulder in warning. “Seriously, drop it.”
But he doesn’t.
The shutter clicks down again. “Do either of you have a comment regarding her apparent hysterical pregnancy?”
“Sure. Here’smy comment.” Grayson reaches out and grabs the long lens of the camera. With a vicious tug, he rips it from the man’s hands. Before I can stop him, he reels back and hurls the expensive equipment with all his might. It sails through the air and lands in the middle of the street, the impact shattering it into several pieces.
The paparazzo screams bloody murder as a car runs the camera over, obliterating it beyond recognition.
“My camera! You broke my camera!” He’s wailing incredulously, staring at Grayson with furious eyes. “That’s a thousand-dollar lens! You’re insane! I’m calling the police!”
“SHUT UP!” I yell at him, before he antagonizes a still-fuming Grayson further. It’s taking all my strength to hold him in check. “Unless you want him to breakyounext.”
The man wisely falls silent, and I don’t wait around for him to reconsider. I grab Grayson’s hand in mine and drag him to the car. A stunned valet hands me the keys to the Bugatti and vanishes, no doubt terrified by the dark look on Grayson’s face. I don’t trust him behind the wheel at the moment, so I push him toward the passenger side and round the hood. It says something about his mental state that he doesn’t fight me on my decision to drive.
I can hear the paparazzo getting worked up again on the sidewalk behind us, screaming at Grayson’s security team, who have finally stepped in; I don’t spare them so much as a glance. Sliding into the low leather seat, I stare at the complex dashboard. It looks like a damn rocket ship — all glowing panels and indecipherable buttons. I find the ignition and start the engine, but my feet are so far from the pedals, I’d need stilts to successfully operate it.
“How the hell do I adjust the seat?” I mutter to myself, searching for the controls. I finally locate them and, after a cursory adjustment of the rearview mirror, I jam my foot against the gas.
Mistake.
Big mistake.
This beast of an engine does not drive like my crappy old Honda or even the sporty little convertible I purchased with myUnchartedcheck. The Bugatti was built for speed and acceleration. The tiniest pressure of my foot on the pedal sends us lurching forward at light speed.
Later, after a curiosity-fueled Google session, I’d learn the technical specs are zero to sixty in 2.46 seconds.
But now, in this moment, all I feel is terror. My stomach slams back into my spine. My heart stutters inside my chest as the world blurs around us.
“Christ, are you trying to kill us?” Grayson shouts.
I’ve never been a particularly religious person, but someone up there is definitely looking out for me, because the stretch of street ahead of us is empty. If not for that, we’d most definitely be dead — flattened like a pancake against the back bumper of another car.
I ease up on the gas, but we’re still careening far too fast.
“Kat, thebrakes! Use the fucking brakes!”
“Sorry, sorry!” I yell, pounding my foot onto the other pedal. We stop so short, Grayson’s head slams against the dashboard with a resounding thud.
“FUCK!”