Page 102 of Layla

I make a face at the group. “Daltrey has his phone out,” I say. “Which means he’s showing off pictures of that baby and I just can’t deal with it.”

Haylee laughs. “I wish I could tell you they’re getting better now that she’s a bit older but they’re still as obnoxious as ever.”

If I’m being fair, it’s really cute how much the Ransome boys have taken to being uncles—and, in Daltrey’s case, a father. They show off that baby like some celebrities do their flashy cars. But I don’t think I’m really in the mood to spend the next twenty minutes oohing and ahhing at baby pictures.

“I’ll pass,” I tell Haylee.

She sighs a little. “They’ll probably be so much worse when Sam has her baby.” She shudders a little. “Two of them.”

I give her a gentle shove. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”

Haylee hesitates. “You sure?”

I roll my eyes. “There are hundreds of people here to talk to. When have I ever needed hand holding at a party?”

“Good point.” She kisses my cheek. “Have fun. Maybe find some hottie to flirt with.”

I should probably make some joke, something about how the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one, but I just don’t have it in me. So, I smile, give her a little wave, then head off in search of someone else to talk to.

Just as I predicted, it isn’t hard. I’m immediately pulled into a group that includes Lance, Willa, a pretty popular radio DJ, and Levi, Ransom’s manager. Our group grows as the night continues, everyone laughing and having a good time, drinks flowing and good music blaring from the speakers.

And I enjoy myself. For the most part. I can admit that this would be a hell of a lot better with a certain dark-eyed mountain of a man watching me from the perimeter. But I can’t spend the rest of my life wishing John was around, so I force myself to smile and laugh along with the rest of them.

Still, my head is pounding from the effort of staying on, so I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Mostly I want to find a quiet place for a few minutes, away from the crowd. I know the bathroom in the hall will be crowded, so I make my way to the opener’s dressing room. A few people have migrated over here, presumably for a little more privacy, but no one stops me as I head to the bathroom in the back.

As soon as I step through the door, I catch sight of my reflection in the large mirror. I look a little rumpled from the set, some of my makeup smeared off from sweating, my hair frizzy and snarled. I step up to the mirror and pull out a hair tie, figuring I may as well get the mess off my neck.

That’s when the door opens behind me.

My body automatically tenses, but since I’m facing the mirror, I quickly see that it’s only Cliff, one of our roadies. Still, I put a hand instinctively over my heart. “You scared me,” I say, laughing a little breathlessly.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sean sent me to check on you.”

I frown at that. Why would Sean send a roadie to check on me? Why wouldn’t he come himself? Or send another member of the security team?

As if sensing my confusion, Cliff gives a little shrug. “A couple fans got through to the dressing room without passes,” he explains. “Guess they have their hands full.”

Jesus. What in the hell is wrong with our security if fans are getting all the way to our dressing room? John would throw a fit if he was here.

For the first time today, a little bolt of that familiar unease shoots through me. What if one of those “fans” was actually the stalker?

“I should get back,” I say, abandoning the idea of using this restroom. All of a sudden I want nothing more than to be back in that crowd with all of my friends, right where Sean or one of the other guards can see me.

“Actually.” Cliff takes a step forward and the unease intensifies. He’s looking at me strangely, his eyes gleaming. And is his breathing speeding up?

“Cliff?”

“They asked me to take you out to the car,” he says, nodding to a door at the end of the toilet stalls. I hadn’t realized there was another entrance to this bathroom, and that realization has my pulse kicking up even further. I don’t know what that door leads to, but it makes me really nervous that someone can get in here without going through the dressing room.

Then his words sink in and fear drips into my veins like ice. “Who asked you to take me to the car?”

“Sean.” Cliff’s hand moves to his pocket and for some reason I can’t take my eyes off it. Why in the hell would Sean ask Cliff to take me to the car? If Sean had decided I needed to be evacuated, he would find me himself. He certainly wouldn’t send a roadie.

Just like that, I know I’m in big trouble.

“I’m going to find Sean,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I take a step away from the sink, which moves me a step closer to Cliff. He shifts to block the door more fully. I try to infuse some steel into my tone. “Cliff, I’m leaving. Now.”

“You are leaving,” he says, his voice soft. “But you’re coming out the back door with me.”