Pepper rushed forward to help him. “Oh, are you al—?”
The words were snatched by the wind whizzing by her face. Bast had grasped her elbow and was moving her toward the exit, like they were speeding toward the blue zone.
“Move. Now.”
“But—” She threw a look over her shoulder. Deacon was back on his feet, looking none the worse for wear, while several of the other reporters were … darn, following.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
No response.
“Bast, I need to talk to my father.”
“That’s not a good idea. He’s not exactly your biggest fan right now.”
The press was on their heels, nipping like yappy little hounds. Memories of the last time she’d been in this position flashed through her short-circuiting brain. The shoving, the accusations, the invasive questions.
Today wasn’t much different.
“Pepper, did you push Bast on purpose?”
“Pepper, have you spoken to Kent lately?”
“Pepper, did you know your father was going to fire you?”
Oh my God, this was ludicrous. Bast was still holding her elbow with his right hand—because his left, dominant hand was in a sling. And why the hell were the questions still about last night? Bast Durand had just assaulted a reporter (was that what happened? She thought that’s what happened) and was now whisking her away from the scene of the crime. A shove and run.
“Bast, where are—”
“Get in.” He opened the passenger door of his car.
She took a glance over her shoulder. The hordes were still coming, like the infected in The Last of Us video game. Into the car she went and watched while he circled, his face grim and unyielding, and clambered in.
“Should you be driving?”
“No.” He slipped his hand out of his sling—this could not get worse—started the car and peeled out of the player lot.
A good thirty seconds went by before he spoke.
“So what’s the plan, Pepper?”
“The plan?” She cut a sharp look to him. Thankfully he was keeping his eyes on the road, driving to—she wasn’t sure where, and right now, she didn’t care.
She just wanted to get away. From the press, her father, her brother, this life that felt like a too-tight skin. She should be including Bast Durand in that litany, yet strangely, here, beside him didn’t feel wrong.
Ignoring his question and the weird feeling of security that had wrapped around her, she circled back to what had just happened. “You pushed Deacon over. He could sue you!”
“Let him.”
Let him? Was this what it took to break a man? So maybe a guy like Bast had the resources to withstand whatever shitstorm was inevitably coming his way, but Pepper certainly did not. She’d barely survived the last onslaught. Again, she was at the center of a scandal, where people would inevitably place the blame on her.
“I need to get out of here.”
Bridget’s was close by, but there wasn’t a place far enough away on this planet to escape her feelings. “My friend lives in Evanston. I was planning to stay with her for a few days.”
She shot another look at Bast. He looked furious and a shiver shuddered through her because it was unbelievably attractive.
“Thanks for what you did back there.”
“Deacon’s a bully. Has always rubbed me wrong.”
Her gaze strayed to his long fingers, peeking out of the wrist brace as they rested on the steering wheel.
“Maybe I should drive?”
“Maybe. But first …” He pulled into the parking lot of a KFC.
“Some fried chicken?”
He turned to her. “Listen, I’m not very happy with you right now, but neither am I prepared to let people beat you up over what happened. If anything, that privilege belongs to me and me alone.”
His mouth was scrunched up, every word out of it clearly an annoyance to him. He hated having to defend her, but some innate decency in him made it necessary. She hadn’t forgotten his part in it—Flirty Eyes as Tara labeled it—but she recognized that she was at least 75% responsible here.
She whispered, “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Lay it on me.” He narrowed his eyes, so she explained further. “Scream at me. Get it all out. Say your piece.”
He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers, assessing her. A minute passed. Two. The silence stretched to a tautness that twanged her nerves.
Finally he spoke. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like to be absolved of your guilt in one fell swoop. It’s not that easy.”
“So you’re planning to stay mad at me forever?”
“I don’t know yet.” He looked out the window and after a few tense seconds, seemed to come to a decision. “Wait here.” He opened his car door and stepped outside.
As if she had anywhere else to go. She watched him pacing alongside the car while he spoke to someone on the phone, maybe his brother. He must’ve been telling him about the press conference and its aftermath.
Her phone buzzed with a text.
Connor
What the fuck, Pep? Durand is in MORE trouble because of you?
That didn’t take long. She put her phone in Do Not Disturb mode. She just couldn’t deal with this now. Outside, Bast was walking back and forth, and at that moment their gazes clashed, flooding her brain with the memory of that night in Jimmy’s Tap, before it all went horribly wrong. Flushing her blood vessels with warmth in this already too-hot car.
She looked away before he did, wishing that felt more like a victory than it did.
He got back in the car and passed his phone over to her. She mouthed “What?” and when he didn’t respond, she said, “Hello” to the screen.
“Pepper.”
She glared at Bast, who held her gaze levelly. Probably why he was such a good player.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
“What’s up? We’re in the middle of a PR crisis here, that’s what.”
Nothing new, then. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Durand explained about Deacon. What an asshole. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am. Bast got me out of there and now I’m going to head to Bridget’s for a few days. To stay out of your way.”
He growled. “Is this because I fired you?”
“No, Dad. I don’t even want that job. Mascotting isn’t my life goal.” Though it was embarrassing to be sacked by your own father in front of a rapacious press corps, she would be fool to think it wasn’t coming. She slid a glance at Bast who was making no effort to hide his interest in her conversation.
She stuck out her tongue at him.
His lips turned at the corners and his brows rose. Oh, goody. She had amused the great Bast Durand.
“Anyway, I’m on my way back now to pick up my car. I’m guessing the press have probably dispersed.”
“They have not. And Pepper, you’re not coming back. Durand needs you to drive him to Michigan.”
She snapped her gaze to Bast, who was watching her with an impenetrable expression.
“Michigan? That’s miles away.”
Her father sighed. “Yes, and Durand should not be driving with that wrist.”