by Avery Flynn
“It matters because the press loves a scandal.”
Tell him something he didn’t know?
“Two days ago, her brother was arrested in connection with a possible armed robbery.”
He still wasn’t seeing her point.
“America thinks Hoshi is their girlfriend, their daughter, their sister. They want to know everything she’s doing, what kind of juice did she drink at breakfast? Is she behaving herself while getting her latest recording contract? Who are the villains in her piece? Or, is it true—is she the villain…” God, Felicity loved her drama. He said nothing, hoping, if he didn’t interrupt, she would get to her point soon. His run had already been spoiled, though. At this point, he could run another ten miles and probably still be just as angry.
“The problem is the evidence surrounding her brother’s arrest is very circumstantial. You know as well as I do, as soon as the press smells blood in the water, they’re going to be all over her. They’re already tracking her, she’s trending on Twitter, and they’re talking about everything she does, which means…”
Which meant they’d find him. Whether he had anything to do with this woman or not, the minute he walked through the hotel doors, the paparazzi and her fans would be snapping pictures of everyone coming and going. Just looking for someone to drag into the scandal with her.
“Son of a bitch.”
“That’s my boy, now you’re thinking. Pack. We’ll find you a new place to go and lay low. I’ll make sure the Keeper knows where to find you. Kiss, kiss.” Then Felicity rang off, damage done.
Archer stared at the entrance to the zoo and shook his head before turning away. Some days, he felt he was the animal in the cage, blocked at every opportunity to get out. Other times he felt like the herd stampeding. He liked the Johnson Arms. His time with the Cup should have been spent taking it to see the latest Broadway hit in honor of his mother. It didn’t matter she had never seen a game, much less his championship win, he wanted to dedicate the triumph to her.
Now Felicity wanted him to cut and run—all because America had fallen in love with the latest pop reality princess.
Poor thing. She probably had no idea how quickly they could turn from loving to hunting her. The feeding frenzy would shred the meat from her bones, and she’d become so much chum for the masses.
Celebrity in America, isn’t it grand?
“We’re back! It’s This Girl’s Got Talent finale, and the moment has come. What a great night for music, what a great season, and what a fantastic set of artists. It all comes down to these two—Janie Topp and Hoshi Sato. Let’s not waste any more time. The winner of This Girl’s Got Talent is…Hoshi Sato!” – ACE News Clip
Hoshi stared out the window of her hotel. She’d come to New York to film a television special that would air sometime during the holidays. Excited didn’t begin to cover how she felt about the opportunity. Not to mention the Rockettes were supposed to be dancing in the background, although she wasn’t sure if they were going to be at the filming or not. She’d also been invited to do a couple of the late evening talk shows.
According to Donna Mitchell, her agent, these were ideal opportunities not only to showcase her talent, but also to cement the affections of her fans. Theoretically she had millions; after all, they’d voted her the best on the show.
Being voted the best seemed to come with a lot of caveats. One of those caveats led to the press pool currently amassing outside her hotel.
A glint of light caught her, and she winced away from the glare. When she checked, she found herself the subject of a camera lens directed at her from across the street. Jerking back, she shut the curtain and rubbed her arms.
Great, she could escape them inside her hotel room. Pacing back and forth across the room, she debated the wisdom of leaving the hotel at all. She’d managed to hide out so far, and she had breakfast, but she had rehearsals to go to and meetings to take. Not to mention, she kind of wanted to explore New York.
Then her brother was arrested. Crossing the room, she retrieved her phone then studied the screen. The short note from her father had been less than helpful. Adonai arrested. Attorneys retained. Make no comment.
Not even remotely helpful, as far as information went. Rather than give her facts, like why her brother had been arrested or what kind of charges he may be facing, her father ordered her silence. Instead, she had to find out from the morning talk shows while sitting in a room eating French toast.
She looked at the remnants of her breakfast guiltily. A lovely gentleman delivered several thick pieces of French toast, along with fresh strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and bananas. It had also come with maple syrup and a little bit of powdered sugar. She’d eaten every bite. Currently, her stomach hated her. Eating her feelings might not be healthy, but her anxiety tasted much better drowned in syrup.
Debating whether she should call her father, and be disciplined for talking out of turn, or simply trust her father’s decision—Hoshi didn’t know what she wanted to do. Her agent had been clear, though. Don’t talk to the press.
Check.
How was she supposed to get out of the hotel and avoid talking to the press? She didn’t have security, nor did she travel with an entourage. She was alone, a nobody, a kid born in a small town near Erie. This was her first time in New York, and she’d come to work.
How had the press even discovered she was there?
A voice on the television caught her attention, so she turned.
“For our viewers just tuning in, Adonai Sato, brother to This Girl’s Got Talent mega winner Hoshi Sato, was arrested this morning. Sources tell us he is facing charges of aggravated assault, grand theft auto, and bank robbery. I mean, can you imagine? The poor kid. Her brother’s a bank robber. Feels a little like a sibling Bonnie and Clyde vibe, doesn’t it?
Hoshi’s heart sank to her stomach. Bonnie and Clyde? Had they really just tied her brother’s name to Bonnie and Clyde?
Of course, they’d painted her with the same brush. Even if it was a case of mistaken identity—please, let it be a case of mistaken identity—it wouldn’t matter once it made the front page. Nobody cared about the actual truth. That had been made clear when someone tweeted a photograph of a man police searched for in order to ask some questions in connection with a possible shooting. The tweet went viral, even earned some news coverage. Though it turned out he had nothing to do with it, the poor guy had gotten beaten senseless then dropped off in front of the hospital. Funny how his innocence hadn’t merited the same passionate coverage.
Oh, she was going to throw up. Hoshi resumed her pacing. It was the only thing keeping her sane at the moment.
She had to get out of the hotel. They had to have a back exit, so maybe if she called the concierge…they’d been so very helpful with everything else. She should probably wear a disguise or something, to hide from them if they did spot her escape. So she had to be different. Did baseball caps and sunglasses really work?
Realistically, she knew her life experience had been pretty limited. Her family was strict—she’d been forbidden to date anyone that wasn’t approved by her parents, and she had a chaperone with her when they did approve. During her first two weeks at college, when she thought she would finally have freedom, her mother came to stay with her.
In her dorm room.
The single, private dorm room wasn’t what she wanted, even though her parents insisted on paying the extra for it. If the private room and presence of her mother hadn’t made her stand out like a sore thumb, the personal chaperone her parents hired after her mother returned home made it worse. It’d taken her the length of the first semester to work up her courage to ask her parents to allow her move into a double or triple so she could have a roommate experience.
When they weren’t swayed, it had been Adonai who suggested she take the matter in her own hands. She was an adult, and she didn’t need her parents’ permission to be independent.
As the advice came from the boy who
still lived at home, Hoshi hadn’t been entirely certain he was right.
But, by the end of her second semester, she was so fed up with it and so miserable in her college life, she came up with a plan. When it came time to fill out all the paperwork for her second year, she made two copies and collated it together. Her parents reviewed the top copies, read about the single and everything else staying the same, including her class structure, then they signed them. One by one, she slipped in extra pages.
It was probably the single, most dishonest thing she’d ever done.
At the beginning of her second semester, not only did she have roommates and the course schedule she desired, but she also had activities like theater and music and no chaperone. All she had to do was maintain her grade point average. She made it all the way through her third semester and halfway through her fourth before her parents caught on. Adonai had been proven quite correct in his advice.
It was easier to ask for forgiveness than it was for permission. As disappointed and angry as her parents were, they’d been equally proud she maintained her 4.0. Afterward, they didn’t argue with her when she wanted to keep her roommates, who had become her best friends.
Maybe that was where it all went wrong, because her friends constantly told her what a great voice she had and encouraged her to try out for This Girl’s Got Talent. On a lark, she did but she didn’t make the cut for that season. In her senior year, however, one of the scouts for the show actually invited her to return to auditions personally. Not only did she make it through those rounds, they sent her straight through.
Her last semester of her senior year was surreal. Finally, she was a college graduate, the winner of This Girl’s Got Talent, holder of a new recording contract, and wanted on every talk and music variety show coming in the next few months. She’d even been asked to book dates in various cities—thank God that concert tour started closer to Christmas.
That was then, so what was she supposed to do now?
The news replayed video of her brother being taken into custody and escorted into a holding center. She walked over to the screen and stared at it. He looked so solemn, no emotion in his expression whatsoever. She knew that face. She knew it as well as she knew her own.
He wasn’t guilty. If anything, he was probably covering for someone.
Dammit, she should not be in New York. She should be at home helping. Her phone chose that moment to ring. She checked the caller ID and her agent’s name appeared.
Answering, she said, “Yes?”
“I know it looks bad, but I’ve seen a lot worse. Just hang in there. But I need you to get over your rehearsals, it’s on a locked set. Once you’re inside, the media won’t be able to get to you, and you’ll have time to let it play out. Give the vultures a couple of news cycles, and they’ll be off to the next big thing. Whatever you do, don’t feed the beast.”
“What does that mean?” Everybody kept rattling off phrases as though she spoke their language.
“Dear, I sometimes forget how sheltered you truly are. It means what I said earlier. Don’t talk to the press. You saw your brother’s face? How he walked when they throwing questions at him following his arrest?”
“You want me to walk out expressionless, don’t acknowledge them, keep my gaze distant, and move through the crowd as though they didn’t exist?”
“Exactly. You can do this. Your car will be there in ten minutes. Get downstairs and get out of there.”
Great. Her agent hung up, and she stared her phone. Unlike Adonai, she was terrible at controlling her expressions. Her penchant for looking guilty whenever she wanted to ask permission led her brother to advising she skip that part. Asking for forgiveness, he used to say, was far easier. More than once, she had gotten into trouble for things she hadn’t done or even contemplated because she looked guilty.
Oh, she needed a drink.
“Thankfully, I’m old enough to have one.” But it was too early and she was still full from breakfast. If her mother saw what she did, she would probably strangle her.
Okay, I can do this. I can. I am Hoshi Sato. I will not dishonor my family.
Of course, she might throw up.
The concierge put her on hold when she called down, so she dressed while she waited. Eight minutes later, dressed and ready to go, they still hadn’t taken her off hold. She was out of time if she planned to be prompt. Giving up, she donned a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses before she stood nervously at the elevator. So far, so good. She made it from her room to the elevator with nobody in attendance. When the doors opened, she found no one inside.
What a relief. She pressed the button for the lobby then braced herself. She really should’ve called down to the concierge to ask if there was another way out by the time she was ready to go, but she didn’t have time. The car the studio sent would be out front. They probably would have made arrangements to pick her up elsewhere if they’d had a heads up about her brother. Her, too.
She had to walk through the crowd.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Maybe she could treat it like a performance? When she had to go on stage in front of millions of people, not only the audience but via television, she relied on a breathing exercise. It didn’t matter if they would hear every bad note, see every cringe worthy moment, or witness any mistake. She had to breath and do it. Relying on that same courage, she could walk from the elevator to the car.
The doors dinged open on the lobby level, and the rise and fall of voices washed over her, along with the clink of plates in the restaurant, the buzzing of phones at reception, and the click and roll of wheels on the luggage carts.
Maybe it was her imagination, but it was almost like the camera clicks were audible. Flashes started going off as soon as she began her walk across the lobby. Some of the chatter in the dining area halted then picked up again.
She felt more than saw the stares from the staff at the desk, but they didn’t comment or say anything to her. The closer she drew to the doors, the more obnoxious the press appeared to be. They were everywhere like a sea of people.
Calm. Keep a straight face. Look elsewhere.
And then she was through the doors and surrounded. Every step she took, they moved with her, closing in until she was suddenly in a vice of humanity.
“Hoshi, have you talked to your brother?”
“Hoshi, is it true this is the first time your brother has been arrested?”
“Hoshi, have you ever robbed a bank with your brother before?”
The last question almost proved her undoing, but a warm hand closed on her arm and urged her forward.
“No comment, back off.” The power in that masculine voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare respond. Had hotel security come to save her? Peeking, she found a strong jawed, angry looking warrior of a man who towered over her glaring daggers at the crowd.
More importantly, the crowd backed up.
“Right this way, ma’am.” His voice softened a half-octave, but he didn’t slow his pace. When a photographer tried to cut her off, he strong armed the guy right out of her way. No matter where they surged in from, he was there, cutting them off and shoving them back.
He acted like a personal shield.
Then they were at the car, he had the door open, and he ushered her inside.
“Get out of here.”
Once the door closed, he turned. Glancing up, she found his back pressed against the glass blocking the camera still.
Who was he?
“Ready to go, Miss Sato?” The driver sounded a little frayed.
“Yes, please, but try not to run over anyone.”
“No promises. They don’t move, they can lose a foot.”
He said it such in a brusque fatherly manner that she almost laughed. He laid on the horn and started rolling forward. Even though they were only creeping, every time she looked out her window she found the tall broad shoulders still there. The solid back stayed w
ith her, moving with the car, and blocking the cameras from getting a clear shot of her. Her driver must have found an opening, because he accelerated and they were clear of the crowd.
Who was he?
2
“Amber Marie, the aspiring actress last seen expressing…her assets in the sex tape with Ragin’ Cajuns’ Championship Cup player, Archer Durham, has just signed on to the next Celebrity Chef Swap…” – ACE News Clip
“I thought I told you to just get out of there. What part of keep a low profile are you not understanding?” Felicity’s haranguing echoed through the phone as Archer simply shook his head. After hitting the speaker button, he set his phone down and resumed drying off after his shower.
“Darling, you really do have to stop calling so much. You know, that’s what business appointments are for.” Quoting her to her had the desired effect—it annoyed the hell out of her.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Exasperation stained every syllable. “The reason I called you this morning was to warn you about the press. To make sure you knew to stay away from them at the hotel. Your first mistake was re-entering through the lobby. Your second was wading into the press. Then you…engaged.” He could almost picture her breathing fire at this point. “Photographed, recorded, and live streamed when you shoved a reporter.”
“I didn’t shove them, I simply kept him from approaching.” He rubbed the towel over his hair. It had gotten a little shaggy during the off season, and his beard could use a trim. “Besides, she didn’t have any security, and did you see her? She was all of five feet tall. Hobbits are taller than that. They were all over her. No way was she going to be able to get from the doors to her car unmolested, not the way they swarmed her. Her driver was next to useless, he didn’t even get out of the vehicle.” No sooner did he finish the statement than his frustration with the whole situation boiled over. “For another thing, Felicity, would you remember that you work for me, not the other way around?”
