When Fangirls Cry (13 page)

            She swallowed back the rest of what she had to say.

           
They wouldn’t ever talk about it again.

Sapphire March-Aehrenthal checked in at the Aehrenthal Hotel, New York.

Foursquare: AehrenthalsGirl

            New York hated her.

            Staffan laughed at her grumbling revelation. Pulling her close to his side, he murmured soothingly, “Of course they don’t,
koukla mou.
You just have to give them time to get used to you.” They were walking towards the newly built finance center around the corner, where Staffan’s meeting with the interested producers was going to be held.

            Saffi loved how all the locals took it in stride that Staffan Aehrenthal was walking next to them on the streets, looking – as always – like a god with the most impeccable taste in clothes. Only Staffan could get away with wearing a dark red blazer and matching pants and
not
look like he wanted to be the next poster model for LBGT rights.

            She stole a look at him, and Staffan immediately caught her doing it. He smirked. “Yes, I know. I’m too handsome for words.”

            Saffi didn’t bother denying it, saying with a sigh, “You are.”

            “Hey…” He pulled her closer even as he tipped her chin up. “What’s the matter?”

            She shrugged. “Maybe I’m a little homesick.”

            His eyebrows shot up. “We just got here! And this is just NYC – you didn’t get homesick when we were in Stockholm!”

            She sighed again. “I don’t know…maybe it’s really just because I feel so out of place here. Everyone’s just too busy being busy, cynical, calculating – I mean,
where’s the love
?”

            Staffan choked at Saffi’s last words. “Where’s the love?” he echoed. “You’re really wondering about that?”

            Saffi sighed. “Don’t mind me. I think these are just the hormones talking.” She stopped right after, her sickened gaze immediately searching Staffan’s. Would he be mad if she accidentally said something about her pregnancy or the baby?

            Staffan was frowning. “That could probably be it. I’ve heard of women going crazy and doing crazier shit when they’re pregnant.” As they rounded the corner, his tone became serious as he said, “Look, I can’t be with you all the time today. You understand that, right?”

            “Umm, yes?” She wondered where this was going.

            Staffan opened the door for her as they went inside the building where his meeting was scheduled. It was twenty stories tall, with a dozen offices located on each floor. Most of the companies here had something to do with the film industry, and Saffi’s interest was immediately drawn in by the different modes of dress the other guests were in.

            Seeing her curious look, he told her, “They went to their auditions in costume. It lets them stay in character and helps the casting crew to visualize them.”

            Staffan was suddenly blocking her view. “What?” she asked.

            “You’re not listening to me, are you? New York isn’t like your town in Florida, okay? People who are friendly here don’t always have good intentions.”

            “But Staffan---”

            He shook his head. “You stand out in this city, Saffi. One look at you and every serial killer will come out of their hiding places to try to take you. You’ve got prey and victim written all over you---”

            “I do not!”

            As they stepped inside the elevator, Staffan continued, “You can’t keep smiling---”

            Saffi scooted over as another guy joined them inside. He smiled. She smiled.

            Staffan scowled. “Saffi!”

            She jumped. “What?”

            “I just fucking told you---” He glowered. “This is New York City,” he said slowly between clenched teeth. “You won’t know who’s out to mug or stab you next---”

            The passenger in the elevator shot Staffan an offended look. “Easy, man. Where’s the love?”

            Saffi grinned. “See? I told you---” Her words died at the furious look Staffan dealt her with. The other guy tried to speak, but at Staffan’s look, he wisely shut up as well.

            When they reached their floor, Staffan muttered, “Do you remember the first night when the fangirls ganged up on you? Do you remember that, Saffi? They would have torn you apart if the groupies hadn’t helped you. Well, here, that’s going to happen.
No one
and
no one
is going to help you so just fucking…stay put.”

            They had reached the reception office and he pushed her towards the first seat they passed. “Stay put, don’t make trouble – just play it cool, okay?” He sounded like a worried father. He knew that, couldn’t help it – and couldn’t understand what was happening to him.

            But Saffi seemed to.

            She reached up and he automatically bent down. She cupped his face and kissed him softly. “Relax, Staffan.
We’re
going to be okay.”

            Staffan closed his eyes.

            Ah, fuck.

            Fuck, fuck, fuck – Saffi was right. He was acting like this because it was starting to dawn on him that Saffi’s baby could really be his and it meant he was responsible for the baby’s safety, too.

            His baby and Saffi’s…

            When he opened his eyes, his smile was rueful as he asked, “I’m acting like an ass, aren’t I?”

            “No, you’re not,” she said loyally.

            He smirked. “You are too transparent, Mrs. Aehrenthal.” The words came out of nowhere.

            Saffi wanted to cry. “Mrs. Aehrenthal,” she whispered. “I really like the sound of that.” She kissed him again, pulled back, and still holding his face, she said softly with a smile “Lo---” Her eyes widened. And then she said hastily, “Loudmouthed loach minnow. I, umm, think you’re going to be late.” This time, Saffi couldn’t meet his gaze.

            He knew what she wanted to say, but he let it go. “I’m the boss,” Staffan reminded her casually. “They don’t have a say even if I’m hours late.”

            She knew he knew what she had meant, but like him, she pretended it didn’t matter. Saffi said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Even so…it’s you who hate being late. But don’t worry – I’ll keep that un-rock star-like quality of yours a secret.”

            Silence.

            Unable to leave it just like that, not after everything had been going so well between them, Staffan heard himself offer, “How about you come with me to the meeting? I think as my #1 fangirl you’ll have something precious to share.”

****

            Yep – it was official. New York still hated her.

            Saffi could see it on every person’s face inside the room. They didn’t want her there, period. And she wasn’t even attending the meeting as “H”. She was just Sapphire March, now Mrs. Aehrenthal, and it didn’t matter.

            She kept quiet for the most part, not wanting to antagonize them even more. It was clear on all their faces that they were just waiting for her to put her foot in her mouth. But then the talk moved on to marketing and promotion, and Saffi sat up in her seat.

            Staffan knew the moment Saffi started paying attention. He knew her well enough to recognize the signs when she was ready to do battle. Her eyes would shine like it did now – they weren’t so much as stars as a fighting glint that told him she would be her usual outspoken fangirl self. Her shoulders were squared, as if she was ready to carry the whole world on her shoulders if that was what it took for her fangirls to be treated well.

            He loved seeing her like this.

            It reminded him of the Saffi he had fallen in love with – the Saffi who still had an unbreakable hold on not just his fucking body, but everything else. She owned him, heart, body, soul and all.

            Saffi bit her lip hard. Everything the executives were saying made business sense, but they were all so very cold-blooded. There should be a personalized touch coming from Staffan, didn’t they realize that? It was the only way – the best way – for Staffan to show how much he cared about his fans.

            “So if that’s all---”

            “I have a suggestion.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

            Impatience greeted her, but out of respect to Staffan, one of the male executives grunted, “Sure, sweetie, speak.”

            Staffan stiffened at the endearment, but Saffi quickly laid one soothing hand on his leg, willing him to relax. “All those prizes are really great, but I think you’re forgetting something – these people aren’t going to watch Staffan’s concert in 3D because they want to win a trip to Hawaii. They can afford to pay for that trip themselves with the amount of money it costs to buy a VIP ticket. And how much are you willing to bet that it’s the VIP tickets that would be the first to sell out?”

            “Nice emotional speech,” another executive retorted, “but if you could get to the bottom line please?”

            She pointed to Staffan.

            He choked.

            “What the fuck does that mean?” a lady executive burst out.

           
Of course it had to be a girl against her,
Saffi thought with a sigh. This one reminded Saffi too much of what’s-her-name back when she had participated in a similar meeting. This NYC version had a fashionable bob, beautifully cut bangs, and steel blue eyes glowering at her behind stylish-looking glasses.

            “Staffan is the bottom line,” Saffi said simply. “Every girl, woman, person – everyone who would pay money to watch a 3D concert would only do so because it is another way of getting closer to Staffan. So if you want to offer the kind of prize that would convince more people to go, then you
must
offer more of Staffan.”

            “Oh, you mean, have Staffan Aehrenthal offer himself up on a silver platter to crazy fangirls?” the older woman bitched. “That’s a great point, but you’re not considering the logistics. We can’t have Staffan grace every premiere in every country---”

            “And I’m not asking you to do that. It would be too tiring for him, and as you say, logistically speaking, it would only make sense for Staffan to visit those where he’s strongest
and
maybe, if his schedule permits, the places where he’s weakest so that he can build a bigger fan base.”

            She pointed to Staffan, gesturing to his entire body with a flourish.

            This time, Staffan choked.

            “Every fangirl wants a piece of this even if he’s married, he’s cranky, or he’s---” She tried to think of a way that would make Staffan appear less “godly” in his fangirls’ eyes. “They would still like him even if he’s a…
lousy kisser
.”

            Staffan slowly turned to look at her.

            She pretended not to notice Staffan’s what-the-fuck gaze. “What I propose instead is for Staffan to have a special video created for each country where his fan clubs are organizing premiers. Even a short five to ten-minute interview would do. That means so much. As for the prize, it could be a 5-minute call with Staffan. That’s what he does to raise funds for his charities and it really works. So why can’t we duplicate it?”