Damn, the urge to launch himself across the table and punch the smirking journalist was strong. But he hauled in a breath—he’d done enough damage lately. This line of questioning grated more than usual. Normally he shrugged such queries off and gave them no more thought.
It was because the journalist had mentioned Millie. His instinct to protect her left him reeling. When she appeared with him at the polo tournament on Saturday, she would be on everyone’s radar, something he wanted,neededif he was going to ride out this media storm. The press would focus on them and would blow the smallest interaction into a drama. It was part of dating a celebrity, of being seen with him.
Taz pushed a hand into his hair. What would it be like to have someone standing in his corner, providing support for no extraneous reason?
He brushed his thoughts away. He wouldn’t know what to do with a serious girlfriend—or how to handle her. It wasn’t for him, never had been. Trust wasn’t something he could do on a long-term basis.
Millie was different—interesting and funny—but she was his employee and would be playing a part while she handled his PR. This was a business deal.
And because it was business, he had to stop thinking of her as a potential lover, someone he wanted in his bed. He was aware of the power imbalance: He held it all, and he had to tread carefully through this minefield. Had to play the game, get this deception underway—and draw on every bit of his willpower to keep his hands to himself.
‘Taz?Taz?’
He jerked, his attention returning to the curious faces in front of him. He turned up his cuffs, pushed back his hair again and cleared his throat ‘I didn’t hear your question. Would you mind repeating it?’ he asked, thinking that he was being a great deal more polite than he wanted to be.
‘Are you and Phoebe still on track for that Caribbean getaway?’
He let out a slow breath, and turned toward Millie, pulling up a smile he hoped was both affectionate and intimate. His gaze locked onto hers, and he caught the flicker of panic she couldn’t quite hide.
Better to rip the bandage off. Brutal, clean. Yes, this was an ambush, but this way he could take control of the narrative. Control was everything. Besides, it was time for her to start earning her million pounds.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, keeping his tone smooth, ‘allow me to introduce Millie James. Not only does she manage my PR, but she’s also my significant other.’ He let that land, enjoying the shocked gasps followed by stunned silence. ‘Our relationship is still new, but we both agree it holds a lot of promise.’
The crowd in front of him gaped, and he handed them a wry smile. ‘I’d ask you to respect our privacy, but let’s be honest—that’s not going to happen, is it?’
He rose to his feet, the scrape of the chair on the floor the only sound in the room. Then, taking his time, keeping it casual, he crossed the room to Millie. He cupped her cheek with one hand and brushed his mouth over hers—keeping the kiss soft, but deliberately possessive. He swallowed her shocked gasp, and her fingers trembled as he laced their fingers together.
‘Let’s go,’ he murmured against her ear before pulling her toward the exit. The room behind them erupted with shouted questions, some laughter and the general chaos that followed the detonation of a conversational landmine. He didn’t care.
As always, he’d accomplished exactly what he’d set out to do.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LATER THAT NIGHT, Millie left the second bedroom in the hotel suite—apparently sharing a suite was part of the devil’s deal she’d agreed to—and crossed the lounge area to the streamlined galley kitchen, hoping to find some hot chocolate. If she could find whisky, she’d add a slug, hoping the liquor would help her get a few hours of sleep.
She’d been prepared to return to her own hotel room, but Taz had other ideas. When he’d ordered her to move into his suite, she’d protested—loudly and quite vehemently—but he wouldn’t budge.
‘Are you looking to give the press a story?’ he’d demanded. ‘The world expects us to share a suite.Iexpect us to share the suite.’
He ended their discussion by calling an intern to arrange the collection of her belongings and move them to this suite twenty floors up.
This was the first time she’d shared a living space with a man, and Millie would’ve felt uncomfortable with a non-celebrity, someone normal. Sharing a fantastically expensive suite with Taz, incredibly famous and ridiculously good-looking, felt surreal.
How was she supposed to handle this? Handle him?
Dressed in loose and comfortable pink-striped pyjamas, she heated some milk and tried to loosen the tension in her shoulders and neck.
It had been a long day, and she’d have a longer one tomorrow…or was that later today? Either way, she had a raft of meetings, including an appointment with the stylist Taz kept on retainer. He was flying in from New York courtesy of Taz’s private jet, with a vast range of clothes, shoes and accessories in her size. She and Taz had agreed that, while she was on the track, she’d stick to black jeans, her high-tops and De Rossi–branded shirts, but when she accompanied Taz to his charity appearances, she needed to look like someone he’d date.
Sophisticated, cool, at ease.
Everything she was not.
Millie dashed a shot of expensive whisky into her drink and walked back into the lounge area, dropping to sit on a too-low backless couch in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The lights of Miami spread out before her, and she wished she could head down to South Beach, take in the Art Deco buildings, and experience some street food.
As Taz’s press liaison, she’d been able to fade into the background, slipping around the press coterie with nobody noticing. But as Taz De Rossi’sgirlfriend—his brand new, unexpected and highly scrutinised girlfriend—she couldn’t take a step without having a press pack on her heels. They were a bunch of hyenas, looking for an angle, hoping for a soundbite as they shoved microphones in her face. They made her feel disoriented and exposed.
She’d seen the pictures from the press conference earlier, which were now online, and she barely recognised herself. Wide-eyed and pale, she looked like a terrified deer frozen in the headlights of a sixteen-wheeler truck. Young. Vulnerable. Out of her depth.
