“Ma’am,” a waiter said. “Your vegan option.” He placed a plate in front of her. “Sir, did you order that too?”
Bishop shook his head. “No.”
“We missed you? So sorry!” Looking flustered that there was a problem at the VIP table, the waiter turned, hissing, “Over here.”
“No, it’s okay,” Bishop said.
The other waiter with a skewered slab spun from the table behind them, making a genuine apologetic face—and he tripped. As he dropped to his knees, the skewer fell, and a bright, bloody piece of meat slapped on the table between Bishop and Ella with such force that juice splattered all over her.
Her stomach roiled. Ella pushed out of her chair and bolted, needing to run from the red flesh and wash it away.
She ran through the maze of tables in the crowded hall, certainly catching the attention of those around her. She needed to find the restroom, but mostly she needed to breathe. Too many people. Too hot. Too much of a smell that she couldn’t stand, and it was on her.
No! This was the way out, not the way to the bathrooms. But her flight reaction had overpowered reason, and she continued to rush toward where she hoped the cool night’s air might be.
Bishop was hot on her tail. “Ella.”
Whether he was clued into her mindset or not, he did his job. In a second, he was on her, moving her through the back of the auditorium as though she didn’t have to walk on her own. Her heel caught on an electrical cord, and his arm carried her those final few feet until finally, the fresh, clean air hit her.
She gasped. Her head dropped back, and her mouth hung open.
Outside was better, but she still smelled the stench in her hair and on her skin. Not wanting to gag, hating to be this out of control, she stepped away from Bishop, when his large hand pulled her to a stop.
“What just happened?” he asked, warily eyeing her. “This is like the jerky, all over again.”
Panting, she felt the tears in her eyes. She couldn’t hide them and didn’t want him to see. She turned, mumbling, “Nothing. I need a second.”
He spun her back around, assessing the tears and taking a step closer as though he needed to protect her from the world. “The hell it’s nothing.”
“I’m fine.”
“One second, you’re finally loosening up, trying to get me on a stupid video; the next, you’re nothing but a blur of a dress, running for the hills.”
God. Mortification painted her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’d just like to know before you haul ass—”
“I don’t eat meat.”
“I know that, Ella.” His jaw went slack as he processed that. “No one asked you to.”
“The smell got to me. When it fell, I lost it.”
He laughed. “The mortified waiter who just tripped?”
“Bishop!”
“I didn’t realize it would mean that you’d have a nervous breakdown at the table. All right, so what are—”
“Ella!”
“Shoot,” she grumbled, hearing Tara’s warpath before she could see her.
Tara strode up in full PR mode. “What. Is. Happening. Here?”
“She needed some air,” Bishop offered.
Tara’s narrowed eyes sliced through them.
“I got a little choked up,” Ella offered.
“Obviously. My notifications went crazy before I realized you had run from the building. If you want to pull a stunt, clue me in so I have the right eyes on you at the right moment.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Tara.” She needed some water, and her nose wrinkled as she could still smell the splatter on her. “Not something we can plan for.”
Tara’s fingers sped across her phone. “So you say.”
Bishop put his hand on Ella’s back. “Ladies.”
“Are we ready to go back in?” Tara snipped.
Ella groaned. Surely people were still eating, and the place still had to reek. Her stomach turned. “I need another couple of minutes.”
They stood in a quiet holding area where, only an hour ago, people had milled after coming off of the red carpet. They were outdoors but the area was tented, and a cool breeze thankfully drifted by. Bishop walked over to a table set up with water glasses and two pitchers of water. Lemons floated in one, and the other contained cucumbers. He filled a glass and grabbed a handful of napkins. “Did any of that get on you?”
Her heart slowed at the simple gesture. “Yes. Thanks.”
She dabbed the cocktail napkin in the water and tried to wipe where she thought the waiter had left his mark—her forearm, neck, cheek—
“Don’t mess up your makeup.”
“Tara, really—”
“Give me this.” Tara grabbed the napkin and dabbed at Ella’s face. “There. Are you good now?”
She took a breath and cringed. Tara squeezed her lips.
“I have an idea,” Bishop volunteered. “Ella, hang tight a minute. There’s a drugstore across the street.”
Tara’s jaw dropped. “You’re leaving? Aren’t you sworn to protect her or something?”
“Are you going to off our girl?” He shot back. “Because frankly, I’m tired of your bullshit tonight.”
Stunned, Tara shook her head. “Well, no.”
“Good. It’s a secure area; everyone’s vetted. Security is there and there.” He pointed to the armed guards on either side of where they were. “Stand with her for five minutes.” Bishop put his hand on Ella’s shoulder. Warmth from his palm radiated down her arm. Tingles slipped down her spine, and her head spun for an entirely different reason. “Ella, you okay for a sec?”
She nodded, unsure of her voice.
“Good. Don’t move.”
The massive man gave her shoulder a squeeze and held her eyes as he nodded. Then, in a tux that looked tailor-made for his God-gifted body, he took off at a jog.
Both she and Tara stood and watched him disappear.
Tara huffed. “Obviously, no one is going to try to off you here. I’ll be inside. Unless you need me?”
Week after week, Tara had been harder to work with. “No. I’m fine.”
Then Tara gave her a once-over, and Ella braced for whatever scrutiny was coming. “Are you sure?”
That follow-up was unexpected. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“This actually works well. Upping the drama factor really does great things for your Google hits. Good thinking.” Pleased, Tara spun on her designer heel and left.
Right… always about publicity. Ella looked up. They were outside but in a cordoned-off area. She couldn’t see the street, as they were standing behind the partition used for the red carpet. The actual road had been closed for standing room, the press, and risers. The sky was barely recognizable with so much light pollution from the city. The stars barely shone. The half-hidden moon was not nearly as vibrant as she knew it could be. Still, for the first time in a few hours, she was by herself, minus event staff and the security guards that milled nearby, and her mind was quiet.
Bishop caught her attention as he jogged up with a white plastic bag in his hand. That was fast, and she had no doubt he’d likely run the whole way to the drugstore and back and hadn’t broken a sweat.
He lifted the bag. “Here’s the plan.”
“In there?” She ignored the urge to explain that plastic bags were the devil.
“Yup.” He pulled out a small bag of coffee and a container of Vicks VapoRub.
Laughing, she had no idea what his plan was. “Well, you’ve got me.”
“Trust me.” He pocketed the bag and the jar of Vicks then tore open the coffee. “Stick your nose in here. Breathe deep.”
She watched for any sign he was screwing with her, but there were none. “French Roast?”
“Only the best for my favorite blogger.”
She took the coffee. “You know others?”
“Breathe already.”
He had a point, and she dipped her head to smell the cof
fee, keeping her eyes on him.
He shook his head. “Forget the ladylike BS, Ella. Stick your nose in there and huff the coffee beans.”
Self-consciously, she raised her eyebrows. “I did.”
“Try again,” he urged.
“Why?”
“Breathe deep, babe.”
When she didn’t move, he did for her. Before she could say, “what the what,” Bishop had her nose deep in the bag of coffee. And with a mocha-blast to the nasal passages, the meat scent that had taken up residence in her nose was gone.
With that, she even relaxed a little despite the forced beans in her nose. Then, slowly, she moved back. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she expected the sick feeling from the meat to come back. It didn’t.
“Old cop’s trick,” Bishop said.
Ella raised her eyebrow. “You were never a cop.”
“Go with it. If you get a whiff of a dead body that’s been waiting to be found for a few days, well, I guess it’s like a vegan surrounded by meat skewers.”
Resourceful and oddly, very thoughtful. “Thanks.”
“Give it a go again.”
Nose in the bag again, she huffed. She let out the coffee bean exhale and noticed she didn’t have the disgusting leftover meat smell stuck in her nose anymore. She gave him an approving chuckle and did it again.
“Now she gets how well it works.”
Nodding, she took one more sniff then folded the bag closed. “Wow. That really helped.”
“Now.” He took the coffee, set it down by his well-polished shoes, and cracked open the Vicks. “You have awards to go win. Put this under your nose. Not in your nostrils. It might burn.” He offered her the container. “And don’t touch your eyes. That’ll definitely burn.”
Not one to question him twice, she did as he said. He handed her a napkin to wipe her fingers. Her nose felt menthol-fresh, maybe a little too tingly as though some Vicks had travelled a little too high.
Bishop watched, holding his hand out for the used napkin. “What’d you think?”
“I think…” She wrinkled her nose. “Can you tell that I have anything under my nose?”
He shook his head.
“I think that you’re a miracle worker.” A kind-hearted, out-of-the-box, never-saw-it-coming, miracle worker.
“Come on. I want to watch you win.” Wrapping a strong arm around her waist, Bishop turned her. His hand drifted slowly across the small of her back until he let her go.
The moment he lost contact with her, a tinge of disappointment made her arms hang heavy and her steps feel as though the red carpet clung to her heels, slowing her entrance.
Bishop took her elbow. “Careful.”
Absurdly enough, that step felt perfect. “Thanks.”
She cast a glance up. Whether she won any of the awards tonight or not, the coffee-and-Vicks moment would likely be her favorite.
The lights were down as they started to make their way back to the table. The emcee onstage ran through the teleprompter’s lines, announcing a winner for whichever random category. What had they missed?
Jay appeared from the shadowed side of the hall. “Ella, are you okay? I was on my way to find you.” His eyes shifted to Bishop, who stood to the side, remaining in his job role. “Tara said you needed me.”
The day after the Bishop-Jay run-in at the Bistro had been awkward, but Jay got over it when she eventually, with Bishop’s blessing, explained that she’d had to hire security. With that in mind, Jay appreciated that Titan was on the job. Still, there was no love between the men.
“I’m fine. I’d like to sit and watch.” And avoid more of an awkward scene.
Their threesome moved front and center to their table. Tara’s seat was still empty, not surprisingly, and dinner had been cleared.
“Bishop,” Jay asked, leaning over, as they sat down. “Do you play chess?”
“What?” Ella hissed, surprised. “Not the time, Jay.”
“It’s important.”
“Your timing is off.”
“It’s—”
“Easy answer.” Bishop cut their bickering off. “Not really.”
“Figures,” Jay added.
Ella shot daggers at Jay. “Oh, come on. Really?”
Musicians played a drumroll. “And for the category that everyone has been waiting for… the best of!”
Ella’s nerves tornadoed and focused back on the reason for being there. Winning wasn’t everything. It would be amazing. She wanted it. Losing would hurt. Tara would die. Jay would sulk. She would too. But more importantly, the acknowledgement of a win would further her work.
Jay reached for her hand. Shit. God, no. She batted it away, not wanting his support like that.
The names were listed, and the bios were read, including hers. Their video clips played, then the drumroll started. In the dark room, she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs hammered for each breath. Please, please…
Bishop put his hand on her back.
Oh, she wanted this win so badly. Was that wrong?
“Ella Leighton from Eco-Ella!”
“Oh!” She won! She did it! Her hand slapped to her mouth. Really! It happened! Ella threw herself into Bishop’s arms as he hugged her. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it.”
“Good job, babe.”
She pulled back in tears. All around her, people stood and clapped. Suddenly, Tara was by her side, and on the big screen was her. She stood, pushing out of her chair, having no idea what she would say. Tara pressed her speech into her hand.
“Thank you,” Ella mouthed, giving her a hug. “For pushing me.”
Her publicist beamed. “I do it because I love you.”
“I know.” She turned and saw that Jay remained seated. Clapping, but seated. Ella leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Jay.”
“I do everything because of you too. I’ve invested too much to forget.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The trophies handed out onstage were not actually the trophies that were for keeps. Didn’t matter, though. Ella won each of her categories, though she had apparently missed a couple presentations. Thankfully, Tara had gleefully given her speeches. The best of the best award was what sent Tara over the edge of happy to thrilled. Interview upon interview had been lined up afterward, all live-broadcasted on every possible social media source.
Ella was exhausted, and even though Bishop had kept the Vicks fresh and discreet, she was in desperate need of a shower. More than that, for the last hour, she had felt a cold chill—the same feeling that came with every stalker incident. Whoever had caused her problems was in the room; she was sure of it. But looking around, there was nothing to pinpoint.
“I want to get out of here,” she said to Tara. Ella eyed Bishop and tried to flag him over. The few feet of distance might have been miles as Tara stood between the two of them, trying to snag every person she could to cover any angle on Eco-Ella.
“No can do.” Tara shook her head. “We have five more—”
“Nope.” Bishop must have bio-enhanced ears. He took a step around her publicist. “We’re out.”
“I don’t think you call the shots here, buddy,” Tara snipped.
“I think I do.” Ella grabbed onto his outstretched hand. “And I’m done, Tara. Honestly. My voice is gone. My answers sound canned. No one left here even cares about what I say anymore; they won’t post or air my interviews.”
Tara didn’t disagree.
Bishop urged her a few steps. “Let’s blow this place.”
Jay stepped closer. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m tired. Done with all of this.”
“I’ll—”
“We’re headed out,” she said, standing closer to Bishop. “I will touch base with you both tomorrow. Thanks for everything.”
If she had one more ounce of energy, she would tell them to go celebrate the enormous success they had just achieved instead of trying to land one more iota of coverage. But then again, it was their job.<
br />
With Jay and Tara bitching in the background, Bishop parted the crowd like Tara never could. Ella suspected it had something to do with that menacing-handsome combination he managed to work so well in a tuxedo.
“This way.” They ducked out the back side of the overhead tunnel made from tents and exited into an alleyway.
She picked up her skirt and tried to keep pace in her heels. Finally, they reached a parking garage, and he led the way to the elevators.
“You’ll have to survive a ride in the eco-gas guzzler.”
“If you recall, I handle your ride fine.”
He looked down, letting his eyes linger on her face long enough to make her feel an uncertain scrutiny. “I know.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Holding them for her with one arm, he swept the other arm out, gesturing with a bow. “Eco-Ella. Winner extraordinaire.”
“Stop it.”
He laughed and followed her into the elevator. “You racked up tonight.”
“We did.”
He tilted his head back as they ascended floors. “You know, I’m aware that you’re actually the only person who does the whole blogging-vlogging-posting thing. Everyone else takes their marching orders and works part-time, but you—” The doors opened, and he did the grand gesture thing again, holding them at bay.
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You do everything. You’re the brains of the operation.”
“Don’t blow too much smoke my way.”
He caught her shoulder, swinging her around to face him. “Congratulations. From someone who had little idea what you’ve done but has clued in pretty quickly. It’s impressive. You’re impressive.”
“You’re making me blush.”
He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rolling it into his mouth. He had more to say. She had more that she wanted to hear. Not that impressive stuff. But the way he said it. The way he looked at her. Ella wanted him to know…
His eyes tracked over her head, and he spun her around him, pressing her to his back. This again? It had happened before, and he hadn’t been wrong. Her pulse picked up, and adrenaline spiked as she gripped the back of his tuxedo jacket.
Bishop's Queen Page 13
