“Oh no, everyone’s much too busy talking about you to worry their heads about me, Lexie,” Scarlett laughs, unperturbed. “And the Gazette’s being getting a lot of attention lately. Everyone wants to know about the place Jett Carter’s new girlfriend came from. And wow, do I have a lot to tell them!”
Okay, that’s it.
“Get the hell off my land, Scarlett,” I shout, sounding a lot like Old Jimmy McEwan the farmer as I wrench open the door and run at her. Scarlett blinks once in surprise, then, without missing a beat, she gives a smile of satisfaction as she raises her phone and starts clicking away merrily.
“Lexie? What’s going on?”
I turn to see Jett standing in the open doorway of the house, rubbing his eyes blearily. Like me, he obviously didn’t bother getting fully undressed before he fell asleep, which, in his case, means he’s wearing the same pair of sweatpants he wore to travel in, and… nothing else. Just his bare chest. His very toned, muscular bare chest… which I barely even register, because that’s the moment I rememberI’mstill in my t-shirt and knickers — and with a bad case of bedhead, for good measure.
We look like we’ve both just tumbled out of bed — which we have done — having been interrupted in the throes of passion; which we most definitelyhaven’t.
Naturally, then, that’s the angle Scarlett decides to run with when the photos she’s taken appear on the Gazette’s website, just over an hour later.
She’s a fast worker, I’ll give her that.
And now there’s absolutely no doubt that everyone knows I’m back.
Chapter 27
Hollywood Star Flees to Highland Love Nest
Exclusive by Showbiz Reporter Scarlett Scott
“We’ve been in bed all day,” purred a disheveled looking Lexie Steele, who returned to Heather Bay early on Wednesday morning, along with her new beau, Hollywood icon Jett Carter.
Sexy Lexie, as she’s been dubbed by the press, refused to answer questions about the reason for her visit, saying she was eager to get back to her famous lover. The Heather Bay native, however, had some choice words about the town, which she said was “a disappointment”, and about her ailing mother, Samantha, who Lexie (35) described as “manipulative”.
There was no comment from ‘Ace of Spades’ star Jett Carter, who sources claim is in Scotland purely to support his girlfriend, who he’s allegedly devoted to.
“I saw the pair o’ them going into yon Lexie’s cottage,” local farmer Jimmy McEwan told the Gazette. “Right lovey-dovey they were. Carter was fair taken with my sheep, Edna.”
* * *
“I swear to God, I will fucking kill her.”
It’s the next morning. Jett and I are sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee with the curtains closed, to protect us from the lenses of the assembled paparazzi, who apparently descended on Heather Bay overnight. The Travelodge just outside the village must be doing a roaring trade thanks to us.
“She’s added another two years to my age,” I go on furiously. “And I see her job title’s been upgraded from ‘celebrity correspondent’ to ‘showbiz reporter’. I mean, the Gazette only has two members of staff, and one of them’s Scarlett’s cousin. Who does she think’s being taken in by this rubbish?”
“Pretty much everybody, by the looks of things,” says Jett without looking up from his phone, which he’s been staring at for the past twenty minutes now. “Those pictures she took of us are everywhere. Asher’s going nuts. And Jakob wants you to call him urgently. Something about your underwear not being ‘on brand’, if that means anything to you?”
I flush, remembering my non-existent outfit of yesterday morning, and how careful Jett had been to keep his eyes firmly above my neck when we’d made it back into the house after our encounter with Scarlett. Not that it mattered, given that the photos were all over the internet an hour later, mind you.
I swallow noisily. I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but, until now, I’ve at least had the luxury of doing all of them — well, most of them — in private. Now that I’m with Jett, though, everything I do is immediately placed under the magnifying glass of the world’s media. And we all know what happens when the sun hits a magnifying glass.
“What’s this woman’s deal, anyway?” Jett asks, finally putting down his phone. “Why does she hate you so much?”
I shrug.
“She’s just a terrible journalist,” I tell him, refusing to meet his eyes. “She wasn’t good enough for the magazine she used to write for, and she only got the job at The Gazette because her cousin’s the editor. She obviously doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“Obviously,” Jett agrees. “But I have a feeling there’s a bit more to it than that, somehow. Like it’s something more personal than just her doing her job badly. So come on, Lady M: spill.”
I take a long sip of my coffee, trying to buy myself some time.
“It’s not just Scarlett,” I say at last, staring into my drink. “There’s… well, there’s quite a lot of people here who don’t like me much. I’m not exactly Miss Popularity, let’s put it that way.”
“Uh-uh. And why’s that?”
