Surprisingly, it goes almost exactly how James said it would. The press surround me as I step out of the elevator, leaving him to fend off just a handful of photographers as he slips around the side of the building. I give a few one-word answers to their questions and throw in a couple of steely glares for good measure—basically the same way I’d respond any other day—and then… that’s it.
No extra drama. No embarrassing spectacle. James goes one way and I go the other, and by the time we meet up again a few blocks away, the press and paparazzi are long gone.
“I have to hand it to you,” I say as we settle onto our stools at the end of the bar. “That couldn’t have gone better if you’d planned it.”
He laughs and grabs a handful of pretzels from the small bowl sitting in front of him. “Especially considering I did plan for some of them to be there.”
I’m not sure whether I should punch him or congratulate him. “You’re a sociopath. Seriously, James. What the fuck do you mean? You called the press yourself and told them to wait for you?”
“I told them to wait,” he shrugs. “I didn’t specify whether it was for me or you. I guess they just assumed it was for you.”
Again, I’m nearly speechless. I should get up and leave right now, but I’m sticking around and asking more questions out of sheer, morbid curiosity.
“Why—and I hate myself for even asking—but why did you call them if you had no intention of actually talking to them? Do you just get some kind of sick thrill out of seeing me squirm in front of the press?”
He munches on his pretzels and gives me an annoyed look. “Believe it or not, dear brother, but it isn’t always all about you. I called the press because I wanted to be seen leaving the board meeting. It’s good for me to look like I’m in charge, being decisive, making power plays, you know? But then someone gave me a heads-up about this report and how they were probably going to ask a bunch of uncomfortable questions, and I needed a diversion.” He nods toward me. “You played your part very well, and I appreciate it.”
I really should strangle him, but it’s such a typical James maneuver that I’m honestly not shocked. Surprised that I didn’t catch on a little faster, maybe, but not totally shocked.
“Glad I could be of service,” I mutter, pushing back from the bar. “I need to piss. I’ll be right back. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”
“No promises.”
Does he always have to get the last fucking word? Every single time?
He really does fit the mold of what I expect a Prime Minister to be. He’s tenacious and serious when he wants to be. Charismatic and approachable to the masses but also rich enough to project an air of confidence most people just don’t possess. He also has no qualms about lying, cheating, or stealing to get his way.
I have more reasons than anyone to hate him, but even I find myself dancing along whenever he pulls my strings.
I finish in the restroom and walk back out to the front of the bar, but stop in the corridor when I see some familiar faces near the front door.
Fuck, the paparazzi didn’t waste any time finding us today.
My first thought is to warn James, but I don’t see him when I look over to the end of the bar. It isn’t until I scan the room again that I spot him standing in the middle of the pub, holding court with at least a dozen photographers and reporters standing around him.
What’s he doing? I thought he didn’t want to answer a bunch of uncomfortable questions. And then I hear my name.
First one reporter, then another asks him something about me. Me! I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for him.
“No, no,” he’s shaking his head and putting his hands up to silence some of the shouted questions. “My brother can’t be held responsible for his actions right now. I’m sure you all know he’s going through a difficult time in his marriage—yes, we’re all trying to be as supportive as we can, but we worry about him. Especially since he tends to find himself in the company of some… unsavory young ladies.”
I can actually feel the blood draining from my face. That son of a bitch set me up. Did he plan all of this, too? Or was it just a happy accident that the press showed up as soon as I left the room? No doubt they’re all waiting to snap my candid, angry expression when I come storming back in.
Jesus, he really might be a sociopath. I’m just a prop to help keep his name in the news.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, turning back around and walking as fast as I can toward to the rear of the building. There’s an emergency exit back here and it doesn’t matter where it leads to. I just need to get away from my brother and his sick games.
Quickly.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and fire off two texts. The first one is to my driver, telling him to pick me up in what I hope will be an alley behind the pub. The second is to the head of security of NewsCorp.
My brother James is no longer permitted to step foot on NewsCorp property. Effective immediately.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ELLA
It’s cloudy in Paris, and not just outside. I look out the stunning floor-to-ceiling window with its exquisite views of the Eiffel Tower and the surrounding park; the other side of this particular penthouse has a stunning view of downtown Paris. It’s truly awesome and grand, making me feel small and poor.
This is Paris as only a few people ever get to experience it. And because of Keir, I am one of those few. I would feel lucky if I weren’t so damn distracted by Keir’s mood.
Keir has been storming around the hotel suite all morning, making angry calls that have something to do with his brother while I pretend to sleep. I don’t even know why we’re here, exactly. Just that he wanted to get out of Scotland for a while and had some business to take care of in France.
I tiptoe out of bed to the truly magnificent kitchen. Pouring two cups of coffee, Icarry one over to him as a peace offering when he hangs up the phone.
“Your sister called?” I take a sip from my own cup as I sit down next to him. “Isla was so excited to spend a couple of weeks with her.”
“She was telling me all about their plans for the day,” he nods. “I miss Isla already but I couldn’t spend another night in Glasgow. Not after what James did.”
“Must have been something pretty bad this time.” I’m trying not to pry, but I can’t help my curiosity. What did his brother do to justify Keir hopping on the first flight out of the country? “If you want to talk about it or—”
“I don’t,” he snaps, then sighs. “I’m sorry. My brother is the last person I want to talk about right now, and I don’t want to take my shitty mood out on you, so let’s talk about something else. Anything else.”
Can’t argue with that, can I?
“Let’s talk about our plans for the day, then,” I suggest instead. “This trip has been so hush-hush that I’m not even sure why I’m here at all.”
His brow furrows. “You’re here because I’m here. Would you have rather gone to Saffron’s apartment with Isla?”
I have to smile. “That is sort of what a nanny does, Keir.”