“Funny, Reggie!” I say, striving for a light tone. “You’re full of jokes today.”
No one is laughing, though.
Grayson hasn’t said a word. I don’t even think he’s breathing.
Reggie leans closer, eyes glittering, and adopts a tone of phony contrition. “Oh, Kat, I didn’t mean to catch you off guard!”
The audience members are whispering and checking their phones. Their murmurs have crescendoed to a dull roar.
I feel panic sweep through me.
They know. Somehow, they all know.
“Anyway!” Reggie claps abruptly, the sound making me flinch. “My apologies! We’ll move on to another topic.”
Rising to my feet, I stare down at him like he’s a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe.
“No, we won’t. This interview is over.” I tug on Grayson’s hand, still wrapped around mine like a vise. He looks pale with shock as he staggers to his feet. “Come on, Grayson. We’re going.”
Without another word, I yank him behind me and storm off stage. I hear Reggie speaking to the crowd and do my best to ignore him.
“Well, folks, it seems we’re cutting our interview a bit short today…”
My teeth clench.
Harper is there, waiting in the wings, an expression of rage twisting her features.
“I’ll kill him! He isdead! You hear me, Reggie?” she yells at the stage. “You’redead!”
“Harper. Not now.” I look at Masters. “Let’s get out of here before the paparazzi descend on us.”
He nods and starts walking.
I follow, trailing Grayson like a dog on a leash. Harper is right behind us as we file into the elevator.
“He’s coming with us?” she asks, looking at Grayson.
“Yes. His security team can deal with his car. Right now, we need to get out of here, though, because I have a feeling we’re about to be at the center of a media storm.”
Grayson emits a low grunt.
Harper winces at the sound. “Is he okay?”
“Sure he is.”
“He looks like he’s going to throw up.”
“He’s fine,” I assure her unconvincingly.
Grayson isnotfine. He’s gone pale. His hand is limp inside mine. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes active with scary thoughts.
I sigh as we descend down to the parking garage. “How did they know?”
“That pap, on the motorcycle — he must’ve followed us from the clinic. There are pictures everywhere, plastered all over the internet.” Harper types a few keystrokes, then holds up her phone. Peering at the screen, I see a series of images of me sneaking out the side door of the doctor’s office. I thought we’d been so careful…
Apparently not.
“Fuck,” I curse quietly.