“But—”
“No Chelsea. Just scrap LA and fly home instead.”
She tilts her head. “I could be useful. Why don’t you let me field questions from reporters for you?”
Is she serious? “We have people who do that stuff for us.”
She huffs, folding her arms under her breasts. “All right, if you say so. I won’t bother trying to help.”
I’ve never seen Chelsea act like a brat before and now isn’t the time to start. She’d soon realise the spoiled girlfriend routine doesn't work for me. I’m losing my patience.
Taking a steady breath, I try to explain my reasoning. “Look, any time now, the press will find out and, once they do, a ton of paps will follow our every move for this story. It’s going to get crazy. I just think the less attention we bring, the better. The best thing you can do is fly home to New York and sit tight until I find out more. Until then, talk to no one, okay?”
She pouts. “But my flight is booked for LA, not New York. How am I expected to get there?”
I can’t believe she has to ask. “Go to one of the airlines here. You should be able to book direct.”
“You want me to book it myself?”
For fuck’s sake. “I’m not calling Dani or the team. They’ve got enough shit going on.”
“What about one of your office people?” Her little girl lost routine is grating. She used to work for an airline, for Christ’s sake, so she knows how they work better thananyone. But maybe that’s not it. Maybe she’s got used to me taking care of this stuff. Whatever. I don’t want to get into an argument about it. “I’ll call them from the car and let you know.”
“Thank you, baby.”
Her fingers loop around my neck, she rises on her tiptoes, and her tongue licks my earlobe.
“Please, Chelsea. Not now,” I say, removing her hands.
“Mr Graham?” a guy in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and blue tie interrupts. “I have a buggy waiting to take you to your car, sir.”
“Thank you,” I reply as a relieved breath leaves my mouth and my attention returns to Chelsea. “I’ll call you soon.” I'm desperate to reach the hospital and, until I’m certain Ash is okay, I won't be happy.
“This isn’t on, Tommy. I should go with you, otherwise the press might question why I’m not by your side.” Then she gasps. “Oh my God, I can see the headlines now.Tommy Graham and his hot, beautiful model girlfriend, Chelsea Dotrice, are over.The paparazzi will have a field day.”
So, that’s her real reason for wanting to come with me. Not for support or to find out if Ash is okay, but because the press might get the wrong impression. My jaw ticks at the thought. “I couldn’t give a shit about those guys or what they think. Go home, Chelsea.”
She pouts again. “Promise to call as soon as you know more?”
I’m so mad and can’t deal with her crap, so I’ll say anything to get rid of her. “Promise. Speak to you later.” I peck her forehead abruptly. I’m wasting time.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I answer without registering who it is. Walking backwards, I wave towards Chelsea, knowing inside I’m so done with this relationship.
“Hi, this is Tommy.”
“Hey.”
“Max.” I sigh out a heavy breath. I’m relieved to hear his voice. “Have you spoken to Bernie?”
“Yeah, he just called. Are you at the hospital?”
“I'm on my way now.”
“Jesus, this is a nightmare. When I left my place, the press was waiting outside. They’re chasing the story already.”
My heart sinks. Why can’t they just leave us alone? “How did they find out?”
“No idea, but I just heard a news report on the radio. They're saying… Fuck, Tom?—”
