“Right.”
“Feel free to take a seat.” He waves at the table.
“Thanks. I actually own them all, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen him anything less than composed, and it sends a flutter through my stomach. I kind oflikewatching him squirm.
I grab a knife and a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer, then head to the kitchen table, picking a fat grapefruit out of the fruit bowl. Matt sits down awkwardly opposite me as I slice the grapefruit in half. “What’s the plan, then?”
Kenta stacks up a handful of papers. “That depends. How would you feel about an undercover angle?”
I frown. “I think most people know who I am. That’s the bit that makes me famous.”
“Not for you. For us. You’ve been single for a long time, right?”
“About five years, probably.”
Kenta nods. “It’s possible that finally seeing you with another man will discourage your stalker from pursuing you.”
I take a bite of grapefruit. “You want me to take one of you as my date?”
“It’s a good idea. That way you’d have a visible protection detail, but someone close to you, as well.”
I run my eyes over the men. Even though they’re all incredibly attractive, they’d stick out like sore thumbs on a red carpet. “You’d need to dress up. Tux, designer gear, all of it. You’ll need to blend in with the other stars.”
Glen snorts. “Guess I’m out of the running, then,” he says, waving at his face. I wince, because he’s right. God knows what the magazines would say about him. I imagine the wordsBeauty and the Beastwould be tossed around a little. I study the other two men. Kenta’s an option, and he’s definitely less annoying, but his striking features and long hair would still grab attention.
No. If I want someone to melt into a red carpet, I’m going to have to go with the chiselled white guy.
Great.
I turn to Matt and smile at him as sweetly as I can. “Makeover time.”
Hopefully, the look of horror in his eyes will make up for the rest of my shitty day.
Seven
Matt
?
Briar ignores me completely on the drive to her dress fitting. We sit in silence as her driver navigates the London streets. The memory of me walking in on her this morning hangs awkwardly between us.
I’m honestly surprised at how well she handled the situation. If she wanted, she could easily have reported me and sued the shit out of Angel Security. But she apologised to me. It’s confusing, considering her reputation.
In fact, for the past few days, she’s not really been living up to her reputation at all. She’s cold, but she’s polite enough. For the most part, she just ignores us, which suits me fine. Maybe Colette’s right, and her catty public persona really was just made up by the tabloids.
As we turn a street corner, Briar leans her face against the car window like she’s tired. I glance across at her, and a memory niggles at the back of my mind. Sometimes, when I look at her from a certain angle, I get this feeling that I’ve seen her before. I can’t put my finger on where, but I’m pretty sure it was during our time in the military. Which doesn’t make any sense. How the Hell would I have seen her face while I was serving? We didn’t exactly have regular movie nights. Without meaning to, my eyes track the soft curve of her cheek.
“Jesus,” the driver says suddenly. I blink back to reality and lean forward to look through the windshield. I see the problem immediately.
We’re just pulling up to the curb outside the designer’s address, and the street ispacked with paparazzi, clutching their cameras as they see the car approach.
I turn to Briar, fuming. “Did you tweet where we were going?” I demand.
She checks her lipstick in her phone camera. “I have a stalker,” she drones. “No, I didn’ttweet my location.”
I jab my finger out of the window. “How did they all know that you’re here?”
