“Don’t even speak that into the universe, man.” Ned rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “You ready for the next Cinderella candidate?”
“Ready or not.” I tip my neck to the side, and it gives a satisfying crack. I need to buck up and fake some good humor. No matter how much my heart aches at the memory of what I once had and what I won’t allow myself to have again, I can’t let on to the persistent pain. I’ve got a line that’s about twenty women long, expecting to see charming, fun, outgoing TJ Wilson, and that’s something I always deliver.
Chapter 12
TJ
An hour later, it’s just Ned and me and what remains of the security team.
“Well, that was something.” Ned takes down the barricade rope he had in place to corral the line of eager women.
“It was alright,” I say, stretching my arms.
“No Cinderella, though.”
I shake my head. “Wasn’t really expecting her to show.” It’s good she didn’t, I remind myself, when a twinge of regret wiggles through the wall around my heart.
“Yeah, no.” Ned nods. “It was a long shot. You were a good sport about it all.” He holds up his phone and gives it a tiny shake. “The fans ate it up, so on behalf of the comms team, thank you.”
“Anytime, man.” I smile, forcing away the conflicting feelings in my chest. “You need anything more from me?”
“Nah, we got this. You head on home. It’s been a long day.”
“Alright. Later.”
I get downstairs and am halfway to the exit when a person in a dark grey hoodie, baseball hat, and aviator sunglasses steps out from an alcove, holds up a slender hand, and flags me down.
“Can I help you?” I slow as I approach. I’m not super worried about stalkers or anything like that. I haven’t had issues in the past, unlike Anton, who has dealt with his fair share of crazed fans, but my guard is up as I take in the way this woman shifts her weight, like she’s nervous. Marissa better not have come back with more stuffed animals.
“It’s me,” she whispers, darting a look over her shoulder before facing me again.
“Pardon?” I glance around for hidden chipmunks.
“It’sme.” She accentuates the word. “You’re afraid of zebras,” she adds after a beat of hesitation.
My pulse thuds in my ears, all thoughts of taxidermy evaporating.
“You’re here.” My words wobble, like they can’t decide if they want to reveal my happiness or my dread. Deep down, I know having another moment with this woman—another conversation—is only going to make me want more … and more will only cause me pain in the end.
“I know.” She looks around. “I can’t really believe it myself.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—she waves a hand in a circular motion in front of her face—“I don’t want to be seen.”
“By me, or …?” I let my question hang in the air, forgetting my own uncertainty in the face of her obvious distress.
“By anyone. By everyone.” She glances over her shoulder before grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the small alcove with her. She’s got a strong grip for someone with such elegant hands. This isn’t a big space, so when we face each other, there’s maybe six inches between our bodies.
I angle my head to look down at her.
She tips her head up, her sunglasses mirroring my own reflection back at me. “The only reason I came is to ask you to please stop with the whole Cinderella hunt thing.”
“I’m sorry.” I wince, not really understanding the big deal but also not wanting her to be uncomfortable.
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s fine, I just …” She shakes her head. “I needed to tell you not to draw any more attention to me because I’m sort of in hiding.”
My eyes bug out. “Like witness protection?”
