First message
He could hear the raucous reverberate of the gathered crowd before he even stepped foot out of the limousine. The flashing of camera lights reached him even through the high-performance tint of the windows.
Baal grinned to himself, smoothing the lapel of his suit jacket, taking a moment to revel in the hungry blend of voices from fans and media alike. Inside, Pride purred like a satisfied mountain lion. Curled, and well fed.
Stepping out, the crowd surges, frantic. Bulbs flash faster and voices call to him from every direction. He grins. The one that secured him ever role he’s ever wanted. Pride’s purr becomes a near physical vibration.
He can taste it. The idolization from the congregation. It was almost enough to make him forget Luc’s comment that he looked like an off-brand Ken doll. Almost.
Then he felt her. The one journalist at the press line who wasn’t shouting his name or trying to shove a microphone at him, but using her press pass to scrape something off her camera bag. Pride stopped purring. Pins and needles start tingling in his chest. The precursor to a much greater pain.
He heads towards her first. Bypassing the major news networks to stand directly in front of her.
Hello, darling. The seductive drawl that has always garnered him a response. Here for an interview?
It takes her a moment to look up. Pins and needles stab sharper. She looks wholly…underwhelmed. Needles become a knife.
Yes. Flat. So could you move? The female lead is about to arrive.