imagine what Willa would do if she knew about Derek Darcy kissing her. Well, almost kissing her. Bastard.
An hour later, raindrops splattered off the sidewalk and the long hood of a stretch limousine pulling up to the building. Only her boss would call a limo service.
She hadn’t been paying attention to the weather, though she should have. The rain had ramped back up, creating fast-moving streams in the gutters and pooling on the roads. Hara had pushed off her flight until tomorrow. What if she got stuck again? If she had to, she’d call Carter, get an advance on her next paycheck. She was getting out of this town, whether it was by train, bus, automobile, electric scooter, rowboat, whatever it took. Once she was done sucking the marrow out of game two, she wanted to go home, sleep in her own bed, decompress, gather her wits, and reconnoiter. Replan her future.
Hurrying to the limousine, she stepped in a puddle, her mules instantly soaked.
“Mother—”
The driver had come running to help her into the vehicle, but a gust of wind took his cap. He chased the hat into the building’s doorway and pinned it against the wall. She’d just gotten her car door open when another gust tugged on it, almost pulling the metal slab away from her.
His hat tucked inside his coat, the muscular driver grabbed the door. She thought she heard him apologize, but her hood rustled in the wind, brushing against her ears as she scuttled like a crab into the cavernous back of the limo.
Removing her hood, Hara sat on the edge of a velvet bench seat and brushed large droplets from her face and fog from her glasses, then struggled to shed her wet raincoat, tight over her kimono-esque blazer. Finally, she managed to wrestle out of it and spread it on the seat next to her. Squinting into the gloom, Hara felt like she was in a cave, spelunking in luxury.
She settled in, smoothing down her short bangs, trying to psyche herself up for the night ahead. She wore tight black jeans and her black blazer, with a light blue camisole that made her eye color pop but wasn’t super-exciting, fashion-wise. Naomi had talked her into borrowing dangling gold earrings and a gold necklace, which stood out with her hair pulled back into a bun. The red mules looked fine but unfortunately now felt gummy and damp under her bare toes. Thank God I wasn’t wearing the Louboutins. If she’d stepped into a puddle with those on, she’d have to sell a kidney to replace them. Hara slid off her shoes and dragged her feet over the carpet, trying to dry them. Her toes felt good, sinking into the thick woolen fibers.
“Ma’am? There’s a champagne split on ice back there, if you like,” the driver said over the intercom.
“It’s like you know me.” Hara gave him a thumbs-up through the partition window.
She was going to cover the game and she was going to write a story that would go viral, dammit. It would be good enough to prove her father wrong. But Hara was not offering herself up as fodder to the O’Donnell contingent again.
As they drew up to the main entrance of the arena, people stopped and stared. She chugged the last half of her glass of the sparkly wine. “Crap.” She should have had him drop her off down the block. The crowd waiting to get into the stadium probably thought she was someone famous. But before she could dwell on it, the door next to her popped open. “Miss,” said the driver, holding out a hand to help her out of the car.
Hara swallowed. Then she grabbed her stuff, tucked loose tendrils behind her ears, and laid her hand in the chauffeur’s with a languid movement, pretending she was an actress in a PBS miniseries. She played the queen, of course.
She emerged gracefully from the car, adjusted the sleeves on her blazer, and stood tall. “Please don’t wait for me. I’ll call for a ride when I’m done here.” Hara then glided into the arena, nose in the air. Passersby said nothing, just watched her, wondering who she was.
Life was so much easier when you could pretend to be someone else.
CHAPTER 11
I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness …
—Pride and Prejudice
The warning buzzer sounded. The game was going to start in a minute. She was still trying to decide if it