Free Aftershock: A Charity McAdams Novella by Elizabeth Storme Page B

all in together.
    The moment passes all too quickly when we pull up in front of the restaurant. Keith pulls up right out from and there are small clusters of people scattered all over the place. Some appear to be waiting for reservations and others look like they are saying goodbye, their meal already over.
    Then in a flash, the energy shifts and it feels like a wave of complete chaos. There are cameras going off from every angle and it almost seems light outside with the constant flashing.
    Brandon swears under his breath. I glance at his face and see the frustration furrowed between his brows.
    “What’s happening?” I question, my eyes shifting between the scene unfolding outside and the growing concern on Brandon’s face.
    “Vultures,” he says.
    A moment later there is a couple leaving the restaurant and the people with cameras start chasing after them. I don’t recognize them but I haven’t really been checked into the whole Hollywood thing the past few years because my worst fear was opening a tabloid and seeing Brandon’s face on the inside.
    “Sir?” Keith says, turning in his seat to face us. “Do you want to leave?”
    Brandon shakes his head. “No, I’m not going to let them ruin our night,” he answers. He pops open the door and reaches for my hand once he exits. “Come on, Cherry, Let’s go in now, while they’re distracted.”
    I nod, feeling completely out of my element. I grab his hand and let him help me from the car. We turn away from the car and Brandon escorts me in front of him, resting on hand on the small of my back as he starts to guide me toward the front doors.
    We weave through the crowd and almost reach the front walkway when someone spots Brandon and the wave of chaos comes back in our direction.
    “It’s Brandon Hart!” Someone in the crowd yells.
    There are cameras flashing and people are pushing closer. It’s hard to see but it seems that some people are just fans with camera phones but other people, the vultures, as Brandon calls them, have photography equipment and appear to be bona fide paparazzi.
    The crowd presses in and I can’t see because of all the flashes from the cameras. There is yelling and screaming. Someone makes a rude comment about Brandon’s movie.
    My heart is racing and I feel sweaty and panicked. My instincts are telling me to turn and bolt back to the car but I feel Brandon’s arm wrap tightly around my waist and he pushes us forward, seeming to ignore the mob swirling around us. I keep my head down, letting my hair fall in front of my face to shield myself from the cameras and people.
    It feels like slow motion but we finally reach the the front doors of the restaurant and are greeting by a hostess who holds the doors open for us and ushers us inside. She shoots a scowl at the paparazzi before turning away and letting the door swing shut again.
    “Are you ok?” Brandon whispers into my ear.
    I nod, blinking rapidly to try and clear the little speckles and spots floating in my vision from the camera flashes. When I can see clearly, I look around the foyer of the restaurant. It is dimly lit and very low key, compared to the madness that lies just outside the front doors.
    Brandon leaves my side long enough to talk to the hostess. There is a flicker of recognition on her face but she keeps thing professional and does not acknowledge him other than to call him Mr. Hart when she offers to lead us to our table. Brandon nods and reaches back for my hand. I take it and hold on tightly as we follow the hostess.
    Our table is towards the back of the main dining room. Some people would complain at the location because they cannot see or be seen as easily from this vantage point, but I know that is probably exactly why Brandon requested a table in the back, to stay away from all of that.
    It’s interesting to watch how he handles his sudden fame. I consider it to be a testimony to his character that he hasn’t let it change who he is and how he refuses to