I swear, my heartmelts. “Get in it with me.”
He doesn’t need any convincing, coming to stand beside me. He flips the phone to selfie mode, and we lean into each other, our heads together, and Vivi stretches out a paw to tap her daddy’s arm.
I’m so happy, I could burst.
Wednesday morning,Calla calls me just as I’m walking into the building, and I answer with a teasing, “Aw, you miss me that much?”
The truth is,Imissher. I’ve spent three out of the past four nights at Griff’s place, and that means I’ve only seen her at work.Considering I’m used to spending nearly all day, every day with her, it’s a big difference. Not that I’d change my time with Griff, but still….
“You sound… good,” she says cautiously, and my stomach drops as I push the button for the elevator.
“Why wouldn’t I? Has something happened?”
She sighs. “No, it’s fine. You’ve been papped.”
I blink a few times, trying to process what she means, and step almost blindly into the elevator when the doors open. “Ihave? What do you mean?”
“Are you far?” she asks instead of answering, which is damn rude of her.
“No, I’m in the elevator. Calla, what?—”
“Great, see you soon.” She hangs up before I can demand answers.
I grit my teeth through the rest of the very short elevator ride that seems to last an eternity, anxiety beginning to churn in my stomach. I’m a nobody—how could I possibly have been papped?
The elevator doors open on my floor, and Kyle’s waiting for me with a concerned frown. “Hey, Phil. Can I get you a coffee?”
He asks me that every morning he beats me here, but usually he’s smiling. My anxiety amps up. “Tea, please. Chamomile.” I’m probably going to need it. “You’ve seen…? How bad is it?”
“It’s not that bad,” he says immediately. “But you should talk to Calla.”
Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t reassure meat all. I concentrate on my breathing as I turn away to swipe my security card.
In the showroom, Calla, Heidi, and Deeanne are already in, crowded around Dee’s desk, and they look up when I walk through the doors.
“What is it?” I demand, not bothering to say good morning.
“It’s not awful,” Calla assures me. “Everything’s okay.”
I glare at her, because if it was okay, she wouldn’t have called me.
“I think it’s sweet,” Dee pipes up. “If you ignore the invasion of privacy. Though can you assume privacy when you’re in a public space?”
Heidi gives me a commiserating smile, then nudges Deeanne. “Scoot out of the way so Phil can see.”
Dee moves, and my gaze lands on her screen. She’s got a web browser open to TMZ—ugh, really?—and under the screaming headline COLLABORATION OR COPULATION? are two photos of me and Griff.
“That headline is shit” is what comes out of my mouth, but my brain is racing as I take in the photos. First, relief that they’re not explicit. Not that I expect photographers to be peering in Griff’s windows, but then I didn’t expect them to take photos of us on the street either. Why would they? We’re not celebrities. We’re barely even celebrity adjacent. Unless someone’s talking about clothes, neither of us warrants a mention in the gossip press.
The pics were taken last night. The one on the left is of us having dinner. The place we went to isn’t considered a celebrity hot spot, but it can be good for a sighting every once in a while. I didn’t see anyone famous there last night, but I guess the photographer was trying their luck and recognized one of us. The quality of the photos is too good for them to have been taken by an amateur—and anyway, who outside of the business would even know or care who we are?
The photo on the right was taken after we paid the check and got up to leave. Griff straightened the lapel of my jacket, and I rewarded him with a kiss. Pursing my lips, I study the pic. It’sreally good. Like, we both look great and happy and totally head over heels for each other. I might try to save a copy later to use for my lock screen wallpaper.
“This isn’t bad,” I say finally, relieved. It must have been a super slow night in gossip news for this to make the site, and I’m sure it’ll disappear into an archive by noon.
Heidi and Calla exchange a glance, and Dee scrolls so I can see the few paragraphs of text under the photos. My anxiety comes flooding back as I read, joined by anger.
“That fucker!” I don’t know who wrote this, but the nickname fits. “Is this libel? They’re practically accusing me and Griff of—of… some kind of professional misconduct.” Which is a reach, since no announcement has been made about me dressing any of Griff’s clients. Basically, the “article” is insinuating that wemightexploit a personal relationship to boost each other’s careers.
