In Boston St Valentine's Day Is an Irish Holiday
Chapter 2
Who would have thought the press would be at the airport arrival area at 2 a.m.? Why all the attention? It must have been a slow news day in Boston, someone had tipped them off in Chicago.
The moment we stepped through the doorway, camera flashes and video lights hit my eyes, leaving me momentarily blinded. The airport police struggled to keep the press and onlookers from closing in. Questions started firing at us from all directions. It was a madhouse, and I wanted out of the lights, fast. I pushed forward, ignoring the chaos and, for a moment, abandoning Eira.
Moving away from Eira and the others, I noticed a swarm of reporters following me, shouting questions like, “How long have you been dating?” One foolish guy stepped in front of me, thinking he could block my way. I wasn’t thinking, and being sleep-deprived didn’t help my mood. With zero patience left for idiots, I plowed straight through him and kept going until I made it to the baggage claim.
I pushed past the ropes and finally got a moment of peace away from the press. While waiting for my luggage on the carousel, I planted myself as far from them as possible and silently thanked the airport gods for making the baggage claim area a passengers-only zone. Judging by the looks on the other late-night travelers’ faces, they were feeling the same relief.
Funny though, none of them came anywhere near me. They must have seen me steam rolling the poor reporter who’d been dumb enough to get in my way.
Eira finally made it to the baggage claim and walked over to where I was waiting for our bags. She looked up at me, though our height difference wasn’t much, and said with a grin, “Remind me never to get in your way. You walked right over that reporter.”
“That’ll teach them not to get in my way,” I said, grinning. “Some idiot thought he could stop me. Bad strategy. I’ll just go through you and keep moving.”
“Where did you learn to be so mean? You were all teddy bear on the plane, until you handled that bully, and then the reporter just now.”
“I’m normally a nice guy,” I said, meeting her gaze, “but if someone’s hurting a woman or thinks they can waylay me, that’s when I get aggressive.” Man, she had gorgeous green eyes, I thought, losing my train of thought.
That’s when the luggage carousel finally started moving, and our bags appeared one by one. My bag was among the last, and I was ready to leave. I turned to say goodbye to Eira, and she pulled me close for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I could hear the press and onlookers reacting, and in that moment, I realized my life was about to change.
If I went to my car in the extended lot, someone would surely follow me home. The press could be camped outside my apartment at sunrise, ready with stupid questions and a telephoto lens to catch me walking around in my underwear. Yeah ... definitely better to grab a hotel not far from work and just walk there in the morning.
Eira must have been reading my mind. “Jack, why don’t you just get a hotel room in town? That way, the press won’t find your place so fast, and you can leave your car here. It might even help keep your identity private. Since this is my fault, let me give you a ride in my limousine, and we’ll get you a room at the hotel I’m staying at, my treat,” she said in that Irish voice I found so appealing.
I took her up on her offer. I was so exhausted, I could barely stay on my feet. Who knew Boston Logan Airport had a VIP entrance where celebrities could slip through unnoticed? I was grateful. We wound our way through the airport’s service corridors, accompanied the entire time by several airport police officers, who provided security all the way to Eira’s waiting limousine outside.
The driver loaded our bags into the trunk, and it was about a forty-minute ride from the airport to the downtown hotel Eira had booked. Another twenty minutes went by as we got registered and were shown to our rooms, which happened to be just down the hall from each other. I thanked her for her generosity and stepped into my room. I was exhausted. Though I wanted to give her a kiss and a hug, I decided to forgo them and collapse into the soft, warm bed. It was just after three a.m. when I finally fell asleep.
By six a.m., my phone was blowing up nonstop—texts and calls from relatives, friends, and coworkers all asking what had happened. It got so overwhelming that the only thing I could do was turn it off. I’m sure people will have plenty to say about that, but I needed the rest. After all, I still had a job to go to.
At nine a.m., someone was knocking relentlessly at my door. I was grumpy and ready to tell them to take a hike, that I needed my sleep. I flung the door open, prepared to shout ... and froze. It was Eira, looking far too beautiful for that early hour. My crankiness disappeared instantly, and I greeted her gracefully.
“Jack, come down to my room, 637, for breakfast before you go to your office. The hotel has a VIP exit, and the concierge can escort you. I also extended your stay a couple of days—I’ll be in Boston for a shoot at least until Sunday. Maybe we could go out to dinner one night. I like having you around; you make me feel almost normal, and I love that.”
Eira left, and I closed the door and went to get ready for my first day back in the office since my Chicago business trip. Twenty minutes later, I had all the basics done, showered, dressed, and inspected myself in the mirror, then opened my door and went down the hall to room 637. I knocked and waited. Eira opened the door and motioned me in. She was on the phone, talking to someone in French and being very loud about it. She didn’t sound all that happy. Wisely, noticing where the table was set, I went over to it and sat down.
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