Page 23 of Wicked Dance
“We’ll be fine,” I say. “We better go or we’ll miss that plane.”
“Find your sunglasses,” Blitz says. “We had a very public day and we’re about to get on a commercial flight with the good citizens of California. We’re bound to be spotted.”
I pull a pair from my bag and slip them on. “I’m all over the incognito,” I say.
Blitz pulls me onto his lap. “I could not get through all this without you,” he says.
I kiss his ear. “You wouldn’t be in all this mess without me,” I say. “You’d just do the show.”
“No way,” he says. Then, “Well, okay, maybe. I guess I’d be pretending to plan a wedding with Mariah right now.”
“I knew it!” I squeal. “She was the one!”
“You didn’t think I would pick Giselle, did you?” he asks.
“I’m glad you didn’t pick anybody.”
“I’m supremely glad you chose me,” he says.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Here for our bags,” Blitz says ruefully, looking over the unpacked disaster from all the activity that morning with wardrobe and makeup.
He sets me down and goes to the door. “Tell housekeeping to send some people up to pack all this and have it shipped,” he tells the man outside. “We’re traveling light.”
Blitz turns to me and waves me over. I grab my purse and shift the sunglasses on my head. At the last minute, I grab a scarf from a box on the wardrobe rack.
“Good call,” Blitz says, and rummages through a plastic bin. He produces a newsboy cap and sticks it jauntily on his head. “Very not me,” he says.
“Adorable,” I tell him.
We pass by the man, who nods at us, and head downstairs to find our driver and move on to the airport. I can’t wait to put LA behind us.
When we get downstairs, though, it’s a different car.
“Well, hell,” Blitz says when he sees the dusky blue Jaguar. “I guess that answers one question.”
I hang on to his arm as a man in a cowboy hat gets out and walks around to open the back door.
“I’ve seen this car before,” I say, right as I remember where. It’s in all the pictures on all the dates of Blitz and the contestants. It’shiscar.
“Come on, now, don’t waste any more time,” the man says in a deep Texas drawl. “You gotta flight to catch.”
Blitz hesitates, then lets me loose so he can shake the man’s hand. They thump each other heartily on the back.
I don’t recognize him. But Blitz turns around and gestures to him. “It’s probably about high time you met my best friend and bodyguard. Livia, this is Duke.”
“Nice to finally see you in person,” Duke says, extending a hand.
“You actually exist,” I say. “I’ve heard about you.”
“All bad, I’m sure,” Duke says.
“What are you doing here?” Blitz asks.
Duke grins. “Hannah’s stooges checked up on me, figuring I was selling your half-used bars of soap on the black market.”
“Were you?”
