Wreck the Halls(41)
“Understood, Mom,” Beat said with a nod. “One night. One song. No chitchat.”
“Send it to my manager in writing, please,” Octavia added, sailing for the door with a cigar-puffing Rudy in tow. “Son, I love you dearly, despite this total nonsense.” She stopped midway through the exit to the ballroom where guests were already beginning to cheer over her reentry to the gala. “And Melody . . .”
“Yes?”
“Next time the spotlight lands on you, sucker-punch it back.”
Chapter Thirteen
For the last hour, a lead weight had been sitting in Beat’s gut.
It was a cross between dread and urgency.
Something about the way everyone at the bottom of the staircase had looked at Melody troubled him. They got it. They saw what he did. And part of Beat really enjoyed the fact that people seemed to be recognizing Melody’s uniqueness. Celebrating those special quirks that made her so . . . Mel. Because it was about damn time.
The dread kicked in when he realized all her earnest, vulnerable charm was being broadcast in real time to millions of people, apparently. So, when it came time to leave the gala, the protective instinct that had been rising inside of him all night started to hum. Louder and louder, until he could barely hear the security team’s instructions over the noise.
Beat stooped down to catch the view from the front of the venue—and his stomach dropped through the floor. The crowd waiting outside stretched down the block.
He couldn’t even see the end of it.
The live stream had only been going for a matter of hours and somehow viewers had already found the time to make signs. Vaguely, he registered his name on a handful of them, but he was far more concerned with the ones that mentioned Melody.
Peaches are my favorite fruit
Come play with my bocce balls, Mel
Melody, will you marry me?
Several people were also wearing . . . eye patches?
Melody seemed to be oblivious to the pandemonium outside, casually allowing security to guide her to the exit. “Hold up,” Beat growled, shouldering his way past them and blocking the exit. “Don’t you think a back door is a better idea?”
“He’s right.” Joseph approached with Danielle and momentarily lowered the camera. He coughed once. “I don’t want you outside in that, either, Danielle.”
The producer looked nonplussed, but quickly recovered. “I . . . very well.” She waved at the security team. “Would you mind consulting with the building manager to find a more discreet way for us to leave?”
“On it,” said one of the men, striding past while already speaking into a headset.
Danielle looked down at her clipboard where her phone was resting. “I expected a healthy viewership, but I didn’t expect this kind of . . . intense reaction.” She shook her head. “The numbers we’re seeing are shattering records. We’re at—”
“Is there any way we could not be informed of the viewer count?” Mel interrupted with a wince. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to know.”
“Understood,” Danielle answered. “Beat?”
“I want to know.” He needed to know what they were going into at all times, so he could make sure Melody was protected. “Just inform me privately, I guess.”
“Will do.” A beat passed while Danielle darkened the screen of her phone. Did she appear to be working up the nerve to ask something? “Just to keep everyone up to speed, we have a flight out tomorrow morning to New Hampshire. We don’t have exact coordinates as to where Trina’s compound is located, but we have a general idea.” She squared her shoulders. “It’s tonight I’m more concerned about.”
Melody frowned. “Tonight?”
As if on cue, the crowd outside started chanting her name.
Melody looked utterly and adorably confused. For some reason, Beat’s heart started to flop around in his chest like a trapped, injured bird. “She can’t go home,” he murmured, beating Danielle to the punch. “We’re going to be followed, right?”
“Right.” Danielle opened her mouth and closed it. “I didn’t expect this to get so out of hand so fast, Melody. But yes, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to Brooklyn tonight. You’re in that ground floor apartment facing the street. It’s too exposed. Lola packed you a bag of essentials and I have one of my assistants looking into a hotel reservation as we speak, but it’s tricky, because we need permission to film—”
“Why doesn’t she just stay with me?” As soon as Beat offered the suggestion, some of the tension in his chest started to loosen. “I have a spare room. I’m on the twenty-second floor of a doorman building. She’ll be safe with me.”
“I’ll stay in a hotel,” Melody said quickly. “But thank you for the offer.”
Caught off guard, Beat tried to read her features and for once, he couldn’t figure out what she was thinking. “Why?”
She flicked a glance at the camera, her color deepening.
Beat turned, blocking the camera’s view of Melody. The noise coming from outside gave him no choice but to pull her close and speak against her ear, saving their voices from being picked up on the microphones and causing an eruption of cheers and boos on the street. “Why won’t you come stay at my place?”