Falling in Love with a King [Elvis]

Chapter 2 - Blue Eyes, Smirks and a Broken Wrist

"I apologize for startlin' ya, miss."

I gulped and stared up at the star standing in front of me. He definitely looked like he had just come out a loud and wild concert—his bangs were falling out of position, he had dots of sweat still on his brow, and dark circles under his eyes. The man looked completely worn out, but still oh so handsome. His black pants and dress shirt of the same color must had made him sweat like a dog in summer, poor guy.

"No, no, um, it's alright," I stammered, and chided myself silently for doing so. I didn't know how or why he suddenly appeared in front of me like Houdini, but I wasn't going to let this incredible moment slip away. I cleared my throat, trying to appear professional. I stood, and as I guessed, I went up to his shoulder, even in my three-inch pumps. A little above it, actually. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Presley."

He smirked in what people were calling the "Elvis smirk." One of my colleagues at the office wrote a short article on it. And low and behold, I was seeing it in person, and only three feet away.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss..."

"Miller," I finished. "My name is Daisy Miller of the Memphis Times, and I was hoping that I can ask you a few questions."

"I would love to answer your questions, Miss Daisy Miller, but on one condition."

I cocked my head. "And what is that, Mr. Presley?"

That smirk lingered, and his shiny blue eyes twinkled. "Alright, make that two conditions." He held up a finger and pointed to the ceiling. "One, call me Elvis—seems more personal."

I nodded, making a mental note that he favored being called by his first name. "As you wish, Elvis."

"And two." He pointed to my wrist that I was holding against my belly. "I bring you to our doctor and have that wrist wrapped up, and then you are off to the hospital. I saw what happened back there. No woman should be treated in such a way. It's not right."

My mouth opened in surprise at this information. I couldn't help but blurt out, "You saw me tumble to the floor?"

He slammed his hands into his pockets. "I did. I saw ya through the crowd tryin' to get through, but failin' a few times, and bein' shoved out of the way, and then fallin'. When I saw ya leave after you fell, I requested the questions to stop and for the press to leave. Time was almost up anyway."

He stopped the press interviews because of me?! I looked over to where I, and he, came and saw a couple of men standing there, guardsmen, who were telling other men with notepads and cameras to leave for the night. I looked back at Elvis's shocking blue eyes. "Well, I'm flattered, and very grateful that you came to see if I was alright. That was considerate of you."

He nodded. "Now, how 'bout that wrist of yours? While the doc is seein' ya, you can ask your questions."

One, that southern drawl of his was to die for; and two, I really couldn't believe that this was happening! I was in the presence of a young man who made the girls squeal all over the nation. Nonetheless, I had to appear professional. If I had to humor a star to get an interview—a private interview—then so be it. "Sounds like a deal to me."

He looked over to the guardsmen, gave them a nod, and one of them came up to us while the other one stayed behind to hold back other reporters. I could hear the conversations of the other reporters in the lobby and the screaming girls outside the building. They were that loud.

"This way, Miss Miller," Elvis said after I eyed the big guardsmen who was wearing a dark blue guard suit, and who was taller than Elvis by a few inches, and was twice as bulky. What did he think I was going to do to Elvis? Just in case, I suppose. You could never know with reporters. I would know that since I knew how desperate some of my colleagues could get. One of them tackled a star before so they could get a story and got fired for it.