Rachel.
I should send her a text message. I should make sure she's okay. I should say I didn't really mean the things I said.
But I don't.
I'm not sure what the right words are to say.
Chapter 21
Rachel
InDenver,Iweara floral dress that resembles a field of daisies. Barefoot, obviously.
I watch as Evan looks me over. His broody demeanor only fuels my fire. I lift my ruffled hem off the floor with my hands and do a little tap dance I can remember from my childhood before I turn around three times so my skirt lifts in a thrill.
He shakes his head before turning around. I smile, pleased with myself.
For some reason, on the flight here, our seats weren’t together, and Evan seems to be making it his mission to keep his interactions with me to only the times wehaveto be together. I thought maybe after Lily told me he checked in on me and then also had all my clothes laundered, he felt sorry for what he had said. But it seems he meant it when he told me I should have just stayed in New York City. So now, my mission is to annoy him when I can.
Melanie marches over to me, wearing a classic pantsuit in deep violet, accentuating her skin tone. Jewelry layers her wrists, hands, ears, and neck. She’s practically wearing a whole jewelry store.
“Are you ready, Rachel?” she asks me.
I nod my head. “Yes, I think so.”
“Let’s stick to the script this time,” she adds. “Also, security was extremely thorough here. Lily says you haven’t heard from the stalker.”
I shake my head. “No messages or comments. Lily has my log-in and has been watching for him to pop back up.”
I gave Lily my password, and she's monitoring the stalker situation from New York City. It’s comforting to know that someone is taking care of it so I don’t have to, and Lily is way more diligent with checking notifications than I am.
“Great,” she says. “I don’t think we’ll have any more problems. Nothing like a full TSA-level pat down to make you feel safe at a book signing.”
I laugh softly, more out of nerves than humor. But I do feel better about the stalker situation, though not so much about the stage.
I watch Melanie’s tough exterior soften for a split second as she smiles genuinely at me and nods toward Evan. “You’ve got a grumpy bodyguard at least.”
My smile drops. “He’s not exactly my bodyguard.”
“He demanded triple security. The publishing company wouldn’t cover the cost, so he did. I just thought you should know,” she says, and then she adds like it’s an afterthought, “Also, I got you your own company credit card. I’ll give it to you after the forum.”
“My own?” I ask.
“Evan said you’d prefer eating by yourself,” Melanie explains.
“Oh,” I exhale. “I thought I shouldn’t go anywhere alone.”
“He’s hired someone for that, too,” she says.
Of course he did. Is he just going to hire anyone and everything to keep me away? Does he think I can’t protect myself?
I mean, he does have evidence that I’m not the best at it, but that’s not the point. The point is…he’s trying to keep me safeandat a safe distance from him.
I glance over at Evan.
Why does he have to look so perfect in a suit, or stand like success flows through his spinal fluid, or have an angled, sharp jaw that makes you wonder if it really is as hard as it looks or if you’d discover it's soft?
I mean, of course it’s hard. There isn’t anything soft about Evan Michaels. He’s all hard edges and horribly attractive aftershave. Not attractive, likeI’mattracted to him. Just attractive in general for other women. Other women that want to lean in closer to smell the woodsy warmth that makes their head go dizzy for a few seconds. Other women that want that smell to be imprinted in their own DNA, making Evan Michaels unforgettable.
