“I’m pretty sure every pap got a good shot of us when the door opened.” I rest my head against the window, watching the streets of L.A. whiz by as the driver heads toward the studio where Jared’s helicopter awaits.
“I’ll do damage control. I’ll call Amanda when I get home, and we’ll come up with a plan. Try not to worry.”
I snort out a laugh as I fix him with an incredulous look. “That’s an impossibility, J. I’m fucked. My life as I know it is over, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough for what comes next.”
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Sydney
The following morning, I clasp my hands around my mug while I sit outside on my patio, bundled in a thick cardigan, staring out at my colorful garden and the ocean beyond, as my thoughts churn violently. What started out as one of the best nights last night turned into one of the worst. The return journey to Half Moon Bay was silent and tense. Both of us were lost in thought and melancholy. All trace of our earlier passion was gone, and there was no recovering the night. Neither of us were in the mood any longer. Jared walked me home, pressing a soft kiss to my lips after promising he was going to fix this.
But I don’t see how.
A shudder works its way through me, and it’s not from the gentle October sea breeze. I’m too chickenshit to check out social media, but I’m plagued with all kinds of horrors, thanks to my vivid imagination. Even the familiar sound of waves crashing to the shore and the brisk salty tang in the air fail to soothe me today. I’m terrified to step foot outside my door and grateful I don’t have a shift at the museum until Tuesday. I’m not sure what awaits me when I leave the comfort and safety of my home. Or how long it will remain my private haven.
Finishing my coffee, I head inside to my art studio and attempt to paint, but I find no solace in creativity either. I swipe my finger across my cell phone, preparing to call Jared, but I think better of it. I need to know what’s happening, and I’d rather talk with him face-to-face. I can’t hide in my house forever.
I grab a quick shower and change into jeans, sneakers, and an oversized hoodie before snatching my keys and setting out on foot to Jared’s house. Nerves fire at me from all angles when I take that first tentative step outside my front door. My shoulders slump, and I relax a smidgeon when there is no baying crowd lying in wait holding pitchforks and screaming for my blood. Maybe Jared’s PR people worked some magic and got the story killed. It’s probably wishful thinking, but I’m clinging to it.
Exiting through the side gate at my front entrance, I race across the road heading in the direction of Jared’s house. Déjà vu slaps me in the face when I pass by a familiar Mercedes SUV with tinted windows, and all the fine hairs lift on my arms. Normally, I wouldn’t notice, but this model has a gold trim and distinctive custom wheels, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it parked outside my house on a few different occasions in the past few weeks.
It could be a paparazzo, but my gut says it isn’t. If someone knew about me weeks ago, there would already be speculation online, and there’s been nothing.
It’s not a pap, but someone is clearly spying on me.
Motherfucker.
Rage infiltrates my veins as the thought lands in my head. My hands ball into fists at my side as I quicken my pace and snarl into thin air. I fucking told Jared I didn’t want a bodyguard, and he went behind my back and hired one anyway. That is way out of line, and I’m ready to rip him a new one as I run the rest of the way to his house and let myself in.
“Jared!” I roar, slamming the door with force behind me. “Where the fuck are you?” I race down his hall, poking my head in his studio, living room, and dining room, but they’re all empty. I find him in the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the island unit with his cell in his hand and a resigned expression on his face. He cautions me to be silent with bloodshot eyes as an unfamiliar woman talks ninety miles an hour on the line.
I shoot daggers at him with my eyes before I turn and grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. It’s tempting to reach for something stronger, but that’s a slippery slope. I pace the room as the woman—his publicist I assume from the nature of the conversation—discusses strategies to minimize the damage.
So, I guess the word is out after all.
Awesome.
Unable to listen to it anymore, I head out to his terrace and drop into a chair, grimacing as I sip my water and wonder what the hell I’m going to do now. The door slides open behind me a few minutes later, and tension bleeds into the air when Jared claims the seat beside me.
I grind my teeth to the molars and grip the arms of the chair so tight I break a nail.
“You’re upset,” he says in a gruff voice, breaking the silence first.
“Ya think?” I turn and smother him with a glare. “I expressly told you I didn’t want a bodyguard, and you still went and hired one!” I narrow my eyes. “That is a massive invasion of my privacy. I don’t care if it was for my protection. I made my feelings clear, and you ignored them.”
His brow puckers as he scrubs a hand along the stubble on his chin and cheeks. “What are you talking about?”
“The fucking car camped outside my house!”
“Fuck.” He drags a hand through his disheveled hair. “It must be one of those scumbag photographers.”
“It’s not,” I snap. “I’ve seen this car around on other occasions.”
He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away before he can hold it. Hurt splays across his face. “Syd. I swear to you I have not hired a bodyguard. I wanted to, but you made your feelings clear, and I respected your wishes.”
I stare into his earnest features, and I see nothing but the truth. Some of my irritational anger eases. “You swear that’s the truth?”
“If there’s a guy outside your house, babe, it’s not any bodyguard I hired. I planned to talk to you again today about hiring one, but I swear I’d never go behind your back. I wouldn’t do that to you. Please say you believe me.” He bravely reaches for my hand again, and I let him thread his fingers in mine as the intense heat of my anger completely fades.
