Venice Nights

VENICE NIGHTS

Ava Claire

Copyright © 2013 Ava Claire

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

About the Author

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I have the best fans in the WORLD. I love you all.

Unicorn
smoothies
smoochies. <3

Chapter One

In a celebrity soaked world, I was no stranger to the tight grins of stars nor their bowed heads and glares as cameras documented every movement. The camera's flash was how I got to gush over an actress glittering on the red carpet; smirk at the drunken antics of some party-loving actor as they left a bar.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be on the receiving end of those bright lights.

Slack-jawed.

Exposed.

“Leila! Over here!”

“I need a window!”

“How long have you and Jacob been dating, Leila?”

“Who are you wearing?”

I stood before the throng of photographers, rendered speechless.

Who was I wearing? I was just in a pair of skinny jeans and a blouse. I had no idea who I was wearing.

You have to tread very carefully. If a designer recognizes an item you’re wearing and you flub your response, you could be blacklisted. None of the big names will touch you.

I blinked into the blinding lights, a conversation I’d overheard popping in my head. One of the publicists at Whitmore and Creighton had been prepping a budding actress before a premiere, schooling her on red carpet etiquette.

How did I get here? How did that conversation become relevant to me?

“I...” My chest tightened as a question sliced through softball ones about fashion.

“How’s Jacob in bed, Leila?”

My body went rigid. The obnoxious leer on the face of the man who asked the question turned my stomach.

I knew the game the photographer was playing. He was probably one of the world-class jerks who screamed inappropriate questions at the children of celebrities. Questions about broken marriages and rumors too old for their young ears. He wanted a reaction.

I knew better than to feed the monster but I ignored my better judgment, moving dangerously close to the wall of cameras. I locked eyes on the offensive paparazzo.

“That is none of your goddamn business!” I snapped, letting the anger take over. It raised my temperature until I felt like I could breathe fire. “How
dare
you ask me that? You're an ass—”

“Not here.” Jacob’s voice cut through my tirade. His grip on my arm was firm. Undebatable.

But it was too late. The creep had struck a nerve—and they all saw it.

There was blood in the water. Who was I wearing? Please. The new questions they hurled had teeth.

“What do you say to the rumors that you slept your way into Jacob’s heart?”

“What did you have to do to go from an entry level position to assistant to the CEO?”

I balled my hands into fists at my side, wanting to punch every single one of them. I saw Rachel Laraby, Jacob’s conniving ex, in every question. In every smirk I saw a mirrored image of the lingering worries in my heart.

You did cheat.

You slept your way to a promotion.

You don't deserve any of this.

You don't deserve him.

I gripped Jacob’s hand like a lifeline as the crush of bodies and insulting questions about sexual favors whipped around us. The car was only a few feet away but it was the longest five strides of my life.

The driver sprung into action, pulling open the back door. Jacob was a shield between me and the photographers, helping me into the car before pulling the door shut behind us. The cameras were unrelenting, light streaming through the glass windows.

My throat closed as an irrefutable truth rang in my head.
You just bombed your first interaction with the press.

It was ironic. Amusing even—but at the moment, I had no sense of humor. My bachelor’s degree was in public relations and I knew all the tools one was supposed to use in a hostile press environment. I knew you had to keep your composure or they’d eat you alive.

When it came down to it, all it took was one rude question and I crumbled.

The driver fought through the crowd and the car rocked into motion. I dropped my head in my hands, tears spilling between my fingers.

Jacob’s arms circled me. I didn’t even bother with my seatbelt. Safety was the last thing on my mind.

I just wanted him to hold me.

“It’s okay, Leila,” he murmured. Fingers in my hair. Words trying to pierce the storm clouds I had created.

But it was not okay. He had just told the world that we were together; that I was his girlfriend. I was in love with the man of my dreams—and he was in love with me. It was a happy moment, one I should have been able to tuck away in my memories as something joyous and beautiful. We faced the press hand in hand and I froze, leaving myself vulnerable. Instead of just following him to the car, I put a target on my chest. And now the world knew my weakness.

Jacob’s arms slackened and I sniffled, pulling my hands from my face. He looked over his shoulder, out the window.

My eyes widened as I followed his line of sight. Cars were zipping alongside us, cameras still going. Footage still rolling.

They were chasing us.

I gasped as one of the cars narrowly avoided rear-ending the car in front of him. Jacob locked eyes with me and worry flashed in his gaze before he pulled his lips into an uncomfortable grin.

“Everything’s going to be—”

“Don’t you
dare
say fine,” I interrupted, shaking my head fiercely. I gestured out the window at the cars surrounding us. Hounding us. “This is
not
fine!”

His voice was steady and precise, every handsome feature going serious. “Listen to me. Everything
is
fine. We’re almost to the garage and they can go no further than that.”

I relaxed slightly, releasing the breath I’d been holding. “They can’t?”

“They can’t,” he confirmed. “Even if one of them manages to sneak past the guards, they can’t follow us once we’re in the helicopter.”

My blood pressure shot back up. “Helicopter?” High speed chases with paparazzi, helicopters—twenty minutes ago I was just a personal assistant. The biggest drama of my life was talking Rachel Laraby off the ledge. Now, my whole life was a drama. A movie full of suspense, twists and turns I was not prepared for. I was the main character, the fish out of water that was seconds away from a panic attack.

“Look at me, Leila.”

It was a simple request, one that would have surely calmed me down. But my brain was malfunctioning, twitching as we bumped on the road. The driver was hissing in Italian. My best guess was that he was cussing out the paparazzi, who were getting increasingly reckless. It was as if they could sense we were near our destination and the perfect shot of my terrified face would soon be out of reach.

Jacob repeated his command and my eyes flickered to the right—and stopped when a sedan nearly sideswiped us. The photographer in the neighboring car was hanging dangerously out the window, unaffected by the fact that he had almost met his end. Were pictures of me and Jacob together really worth his life? I didn’t even want to know how he would answer the question; how much pictures of my horrified face were really worth.

Images of our car wrapped around one of theirs, a ball of unrecognizable metal and glass, made me sick to the stomach. I scrambled for my seatbelt, panic rendering my trembling fingers useless.

“Jacob,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “You should do yours too.”

“Look at me, Leila!”

His roar filled the cabin of the car. I was surprised the driver did not slam on the brakes, giving Jacob his full attention too.

I faced Jacob, expecting fury to consume every inch of his face. Skin pulled tight in displeasure, darkened blue eyes narrowed; irritated shadowing of his perfect cheekbones, lips curled with displeasure as he bared clenched teeth. But he was as calm as he had been a few moments before, when he tried to convince me that everything was going to be okay.

He cradled my cheek, his touch warm and calming. “Breathe.”

My gasps were shallow and rapid, my head swimming. He held me, eyes urging me to copy the in and out of his relaxed breaths.

I gulped and tried, eyes locked on him and nothing else. My breaths slowed and the fears that drowned everything else dissipated. After a painful moment, my head rose above the water.

“Good,” he said gently, his thumb stroking my jaw. “Now, repeat after me—everything is fine.”

I licked my chapped lips. “Everything is fine.”

The driver made a hard right, confirming that everything was
not
fine. But we did not crash into another car.

We had stopped.

The lights that flooded the car dimmed and I looked out the back window. Traffic zoomed past and for a second, I thought we had lost them—until I recognized one of the paparazzo’s sedans shuddering at the curb a few feet away.

I turned back to the front, eyes shooting to the left and the right, taking in our dark surroundings. We were in the parking garage.

After the driver swiped his card and security validated his credentials, we pulled further into the structure, putting more distance between us and the cameras. My heart still raced, but I let out a sigh of relief as we drove upward. Each level slowly ticked by until I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

A helicopter was perched on the roof, waiting in the middle of the parking lot. A beefy looking man stood beside it. The driver parked the car a few feet from the helicopter.

“Ready to go?” It was a rhetorical question because Jacob had already climbed out of the car. I had no choice but to follow.

I followed him, my heart rising in my throat when I met the eye of the driver. He waited for me to straighten myself, then dutifully extended my purse. I wanted to hug his neck, but he looked as rattled as me. I just thanked him, looping the purse strap over my shoulder. Jacob shook the driver’s hand and paid him a tip that I hoped made up for our near death experience.

The burly man beside the helicopter wore a black t-shirt and matching slacks. Wind gusted around us and whipped his long, ink black hair in front of his chiseled face. It didn’t hide dark eyes. They were piercing and bottomless. I had a feeling he could more than handle any paparazzo who might have followed us.

“Mr. Whitmore,” he said gruffly. He nodded at me. “
Signorina
.”

“How long until we arrive at the villa?” Jacob asked, tugging his tie loose.

“Thirty minutes, Mr. Whitmore. Unless there are other stops to be made.”

“No,” I said quickly, drawing surprised looks from both of them. My cheeks warmed as I pulled my jacket tighter around my body. “I just want to go home.”

Jacob’s lips curved into an approving smile. He knew I did not mean back home in the United States. Home was wherever he was.

He nodded at our escort. “No stops.”

The dark haired man went to the front of the helicopter where the pilot was waiting.

Jacob extended his hand to me. “Ready?”

I took it, but my steps were hesitant. “I-I’ve never been in a helicopter.”

“I’ll be right beside you.”

I put aside the nerves and gripped his hand as I followed him inside the helicopter. I ducked my head as I squeezed into the confined space. I listened intently as the pilot explained safety and illustrated how to buckle up properly. He handed Jacob and I headsets. I gingerly put mine on, reclaiming Jacob’s hand immediately.

The entire helicopter vibrated, the propellers whirring. I could still hold a conversation with Jacob or one of the others, but I was too busy taking it all in. We flew over the city, the buildings like toys beneath us, the roads and cars microscopic. I could not pinpoint Rachel’s hotel.

Ground zero
, I thought glumly.

Maybe that was a good thing. This helicopter ride was one of the reasons I had been jittery with excitement when I first learned I was going to Italy. I was finally seeing the country from a view that photographs would not do justice. I was taking a step outside my comfort zone.