It’s a picture of me asleep. I’m sprawled over my sheets, my mouth open, my arms both flung out. Tight bands suddenly squeeze around my chest.
“The note was a nice touch,” the man adds, grabbing his jacket from my coat rack.
“Note?” I say numbly. He makes a spinning motion with his finger, and I flip over the picture. Scrawled on the back in florid cursive are the words:
You look beautiful when you’re asleep, my angel. And soon, we’ll be sleeping next to each other forever.X
“Oh my God,” I whisper, staggering back into the wall. I can’t breathe. “Oh myGod. Please, just—” I try to pass the photograph back to the policeman, but he steps away, putting his hands up.
“That’s for you.”
I frown. “You don’t need to take it?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know how much good it would do us, ma’am.”
“What do you mean?” I demand. “It’s evidence!”
He huffs a laugh under his breath. “Right. Do you know what the penalty is for wasting police time, Miss Saint?”
“What? I didn’t waste your time, this is your damn job!”
He gives me a nasty look. “And I’m sure the paparazzi who photographed our cars coming onto your property justhappenedto be hanging outside your house at four AM on a Tuesday morning?”
I’m gobsmacked. “Probably! It’s notmyfault they make their living by invading my privacy! If I set all of this up, how exactly did I get a pile of come in my bed?!”
He shrugs. “You got your boyfriend to do it? I don’t know, ma’am, but Idoknow that my officers don’t appreciate being used in your publicity stunts.”
I gape at him.
There’s a scuffle behind me. Rodriguez and Julie both step out of the kitchen, whispering to each other. I snap my mouth shut and wave them to the door. “You. Both. Out. I’ll send you your severances. Enjoy unemployment.”
Julie runs a hand through her platinum curls. “C’mon, Briar,” she wheedles. “It was just a mistake. How was I supposed to know one of your creepy fans would try and break in tonight?”
I stare her down. Julie has been my PR manager for the last eight years. She’s a typical rich Chelsea girl: blonde, always made up, and constantly draped in a fur coat. During her time working for me, I’ve almost fired her about fifty times, but she somehow always manages to worm her way back into my life.
She apparently finds my silence encouraging, grabbing my hand. “Listen, will you forgive me if I get you a new security team?” Rodriguez looks hurt.
“No,” I tell her.
“But—”
“You got methissecurity team,” I point out. “And then youslept withmy security team. So, no, I’m not letting you pick out my new guards.” I shake her off me. “You’re fired. Get out.”
She pouts. “But—”
My last fibre of control snaps. “For God’s sake, will everyone just get the Hell out of my house!” I shout. I’m shaking. The Polaroid drops out of my hand and flutters to the carpet.
There’s a few seconds of silence, then the front door opens, and everyone starts to file out. I swallow hard, feeling tears roll down my cheeks. I lift a hand to swipe them away.
There’s a sudden flash of light. I look up, and see the policeman facing me in the doorway, holding his phone up and snapping a nice little shot of my breakdown. He flashes me a smarmy grin. “‘Preciate it, Briar Saint.”
I step forward to grab the phone out of his hand, but he slams the door shut behind him.
I stare at the door for a second, breathing hard. Then all of the energy drains out of me, and I sink to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees. The Polaroid lies on the floor by my elbow. The note on the back stares up at me.
Soon, we’ll be sleeping next to each other forever.
I bury my face in my hands. I’m so screwed.
