All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(28)

“Good.” The word was a snarl.

Alex brushed Lauren’s tumbled hair back from her forehead in a surprisingly gentle stroke, then spat out a vicious, abrupt fuck and got up on his knees.

“Where the hell is Desiree?” he bellowed, and then the publicist was running toward them both, wide-eyed and frantic. “Lauren needs medical attention. I’ll help you take her—”

“No,” Lauren said.

He swung on her, jaw jutting and bunched, and again. That sound.

“I’ll see a medic.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it, desperate for him to hear her. “But I’m really fine. You need to stay here and give your interviews.”

He dismissed that with a violent shake of his head. “I don’t give a fuck about interviews.”

“Charity.” She kept her voice calm and low, her hand tight around his. “This is for charity, Alex. Women and children who need help. You’re the host. The big star.”

He dropped his chin to his chest, his upper body still heaving with every breath.

“I’ll personally take care of her,” Desiree assured him. “One of my assistants can guide you to the right media outlets along the carpet and at the step and repeat. And as soon as she’s been checked out, Lauren can rejoin you inside the ballroom.”

A minute passed, and they waited for him to calm. To decide what to do.

At long last, Alex raised his head and met her gaze. “Lauren? Do you want me with you?”

Yes. Shockingly …

Yes.

“No,” she said. “I’m fine on my own. You go ahead. Desiree will take good care of me.”

With a chiding tsk tsk, he bent close to her ear again.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he breathed, then moved far enough away to help ease her to her feet. His hands on her were firm but gentle, supportive as she locked her shaky knees beneath her and found her balance.

She thanked him with one more squeeze of his hand before letting go. “Don’t say anything we’ll all regret.”

He grunted in response. Then, after a final, stern look at Desiree, its message clear—do what you said you’d do, or else—he followed a hovering young man with a headset to the next interviewer.

Desiree guided Lauren down the peon side of the carpet and into the hotel, and Alex disappeared from sight. Her bruises began to throb in time with each heartbeat, each step away from him.

“Do you happen to have any ibuprofen?” she asked the event publicist.

“If I don’t, I’ll find some.” Desiree’s lips quirked. “Otherwise, Mr. Woodroe is likely to feed me to the lions as tonight’s grand finale.”

Dazed and hurting, Lauren didn’t respond to the other woman’s wry remark.

But she thought about it as the medic examined her. She thought about all of it.

Desiree’s words. Alex’s volcanic fury at Lauren and for Lauren. Her own response to such fierce protectiveness.

In that moment, in his enraged concern, he’d put her first. Even above his own charity, his own professional obligations.

It felt … odd. Disorienting.

No one ever put her first.

Not even her.

Not until now.





9


BY THE TIME LAUREN MADE IT TO THE BALLROOM, HAIR combed, dress straightened, ibuprofen swallowed, the event was well underway, and Alex was nowhere in sight.

Desiree paused and listened to someone speaking through her earpiece, murmuring something in response. Then she turned to Lauren. “I need to go, I’m afraid. Are you okay on your own?”

Lauren nodded. “Thank you for all your help.”

“No, thank you for making sure our guest of honor remained unscathed.” The publicist’s smile looked genuine. “Your table is at the front of the room, right in the center. A woman with a clipboard would normally check your name against the list for the VIP section, but I’m sure she knows who you are by now. You’re kind of a big deal.”

Lauren winced.

Her fame might be fleeting, but it was also unwelcome. She didn’t want scrutiny. For her own sake, but also to protect Alex’s privacy. No one outside the show needed to know she was serving as his minder.

“According to my assistant, the intruder is now at the police station, and officers there have your information if they need to get your statement. In the meantime, you shouldn’t have any more trouble, and if you do, just ask to speak to me.” Desiree shook Lauren’s hand. “Take care, Ms. Clegg, and I hope the rest of your evening is significantly less eventful.”

When the other woman strode away, Lauren followed at a more leisurely pace, allowing herself a moment to study her surroundings. The expansive ballroom was entirely filled with auction attendees, most of them already seated at the round tables dotting the space. Others still clustered near the silent auction pieces displayed at the back of the room, lined up for the open bar, or stood chatting in small, sparkly clumps of humanity. A small army of discreet servers wound between tables, offering hors d’oeuvres to the assembled crowd of people who were—in general—much wealthier and more beautiful than she was.

For a moment, her feet slowed almost to a stop, as her disorientation dizzied her.

Then the chandeliers overhead dimmed, and the chatter began to hush as stragglers returned to their tables and everyone in attendance turned their attention to the stage. Without further delay, Lauren hustled to her assigned spot, locating it without trouble. As promised, the clipboard-wielding woman near the front tables waved her along without a word, and Lauren sank at last into her cushioned seat with a sigh of relief. She’d made it in time, if only by seconds.