Rather than complain about me cutting our meal short, Iris nods her agreement and waves at the waiter, who she spots first behind me. Once we’ve paid and gotten our food boxed up, Iris volunteers to carry Hailey out to the car while I get the bags of leftovers. I stop her at the door and peer out to find a few photogs still waiting outside. Before I open the door, I take my jacket off and put it over Iris, making sure her face and Hailey’s are obscured. Then I bolt for the car, hoping to take the brunt of the photographers’ attention so Iris and Hailey can take their time behind me.
The plan works—for a few seconds. Then all hell breaks loose as a cameraman breaks free from the group and descends on Iris, shouting questions about our relationship while flashing his damn camera in her face.
Iris shields Hailey from the bastard, but she can’t stop him from getting entirely too close for my liking. I skid to a halt and backtrack to rescue them.
I watch in horror as the photog reaches out and grabs Iris’s shirt.
I know he didn’t just fucking do that!
Rage clouds my vision as I break into a run. There’s no way I’m letting the bastard get away with putting his hands on Iris. That’s going too far, and he’s about to learn a painful lesson.
I tackle the guy, knocking him off his feet—and off Iris—and tumbling to the ground with him. I hear the clatter of his camera hitting the pavement, but that’s not good enough for me. This guy needs to pay for touching Iris.
With his collar wrapped in my fist, I yank his head off the concrete and pull his face to mine. “How do you like it, asshole?” I scream at him. Spittle flies from my lips, splattering on his simpering face. “You think it’s fucking funny to grab my girlfriend? You think there’s a fucking universe where that invasive bullshit is okay?”
In some distant reality, where I don’t have murder on the brain, a part of me hears the frantic clicking of cameras interspersed with shocked murmurs.
The guy underneath me is shaking, whimpering, and I think possibly urinating. His entitled self probably figured a regular Joe wouldn’t do anything, but the problem is I’m not just a regular Joe. I’m a parent and a boyfriend, and I’m fucking pissed.
“If youevertouch my girlfriend again—if you so much as get within fifty feet of her or my daughter, I’ll fucking end you. Do you understand?”
With tears streaming down his sniveling face, he nods as much as my grip on his collar will let him. I shove him back down and release the fabric, then stand up and dust off my jeans. I look to Iris, who seems frozen in shock, and Hailey, who’s wailing at the top of her little lungs.
“Are you okay?” I ask Iris as I smooth the wrinkles out of her shirt. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Micah, what was that all about?” Iris hisses between clenched teeth. “The others got all that on camera, baby. It’s going to be all over the internet tonight.”
I blink a few times as her words sink in. My head turns slowly back to the other gathered paparazzi, and I realize she’s right. They’ve all got their cameras trained on me, as do a few random people in the parking lot of the restaurant.
I just assaulted a man in public. With witnesses, all armed with the latest in image-capturing technology.
I’m so fucked.
Chapter 27
Iris
Poor Micah. I really don’t think he realized what he was doing until I pointed it out for him.
We luck out and get Hailey in her car seat in a matter of seconds. I order Micah into the passenger seat, taking the keys from his shaking hands, and drive us away before someone gets it in their head to call the cops—if they aren’t already on the way.
Since Micah dropped the food when he jumped the cameraman, we leave the bags in the parking lot. It’s probably all ruined, anyway.
I weave through traffic with an iron grip on the steering wheel. There are several near misses that I navigate through safely only thanks to the tech in Micah’s car. I make a mental note to upgrade to this model next time I get a raise.
IfI ever get a raise. I might not have a job after tonight. The replacement “actor” that I coerced into taking over the role after Sloan quit just damn near beat a photographer in front of almost a dozen people. Depending on how this gets spun, I could be facing a pink slip in the morning.
My worry lies heavier with Micah, though. Despite being the perpetrator, he’s largely innocent in this. It was my fault he got on the media’s radar, my fault he’s got obsessed fans of his own now, my fault he jumped the paparazzo. I wish there was some way to mitigate the fallout from this, like a press conference or something, but even if I try to publicly explain what happened, the media is going to roast Micah.
When we get home, I park in Micah’s driveway and start to get Hailey out of her car seat. She stopped screaming after we left the parking lot and stopped all-out sobbing about halfway home. Now the poor girl is just sniffling and wiping her eyes. I bet she’s never seen her dad act like that. It was scary enough formeto witness; I can’t imagine how terrified she might be.
I’m halfway up the sidewalk with Hailey in my arms before I realize Micah hasn’t gotten out of the car yet. I turn back and rap my knuckles on his window to get his attention.
Micah just shakes his head. He doesn’t get out.
“You’ve gotta come out of there sometime. Let’s go inside.”
He drops his head into his hands and shakes it again.
