"Who are you?" Maja snapped, pushing the man beside her until he growled and blinked at the ceiling. The door hammered once. Then again. "Get up," Maja said, voice thin and sharp. "Now." A dozen camera flashes exploded behind the door like gunfire. "Stay down!" the man—half dressed, tie slung over one shoulder—said as he swung his legs off the bed. "Stay—" The door crashed inward and men with lenses swarmed the suite, shouting questions, shoving phones into the air. "Miss! Miss! Who's she? Laurent, is that—" The man leapt forward, grabbing an intruder's shoulder and hauling him away from the bed. "Out!" he barked. "Out of my suite!" Maja scrambled for her clothes with hands that wouldn't stop trembling. Her shirt was tangled under the sheets. A heel caught on the duvet and she fell against the man who had shoved the photographer. "Sorry," she said. Her voice came out flat. "What—what is happening?" "You need to leave," the man said without looking at her. He shoved the photographers down the hallway, knocking a flash into someone's face. A flash hit Maja full in the eyes. She sucked it in and sprayed words. "Get out!" she yelled when a photographer lingered, lens pointed at her bare shoulders. "Get out!" The man at the door spun around. He was hard in the jaw, too clean for this chaos. He held the door closed with the photographer half-bent at the frame. "Who the