She nods. “I’ll track them down. Get them to retract the statements.”
I take a deep breath through my nose. My hands are shaking. I hate this. Ihatethat reporters and magazines can make money off my pain. I hate that there’s a table of men outside arguing about how to control my life. I clench my fists, feeling my nails biting into my palms. I’m done. I’m so done.
Handing Julie back her phone, I stomp back into the living room. The argument is still going strong.
“I don’t think you’re getting it,” Matt is saying. “She can’t leave this hotel room. She will not be attending any dinners or drinks. She will not be going to fittings. She will not be going shopping to get candid paparazzi shots.Nothing.”
Derek looks like he’s about to explode. “You’re being ridiculous,” he spits. “Briar’s not just a person, she’s abrand.Hundreds of people make money off her image!”
“She’s not a brand,” Matt snarls back, “she’s myclient. I’m not backing down on an assignment just so you can take photographs of her!”
I clear my throat. “Can you all please shut up?”I call.
The conversation immediately dies down. I turn to Matt. “We’re doing the event tomorrow.”
He stares at me. “What?”
I keep my voice level. “I didn’t hire you to stop me from doing my job. I hired you to keep me safe while I do it. I always honour my contracts.” I turn to Derek. “I’ll make the appearance. Please leave. We can discuss my timetable over email or Skype later tonight.”
Derek opens his mouth.
“Now.” I order. He makes a hasty exit.
Matt watches him leave, then jumps to his feet. “Briar, when you hired us, you agreed to let us make decisions about your safety—”
“I’m doing the event,” I snap at him. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“This might be hard for you to understand,princess,but not everything is about what you want.”
I laugh hollowly, throwing up my hands. “Of course it isn’t. Why would it be? It’smycareer. It’smyprofessional reputation. It’smylife. But I’m not a person, am I? I’m abrand,or aclient,or ajob.You act like I’m this spoiled diva, but all anyone cares about is what they can take fromme. Magazine articles, or brand deals, or autographs. Pictures of me half-naked.” I look down at the papers scattered over the table. “I’m not trying to make your job difficult. And I appreciate your work. I’ll let you pick out my cars. I’ll do all my other interviews remotely. Ipromise. But I will fulfil my contracts. That’s my final decision.”
Matt looks down at me. A muscle twitches in his jaw. I hold his stare. Seconds pass.
He turns on his heel and leaves, slamming into the hallway.
Twenty-One
Briar
?
“I’m, ah, going to see if I can stamp down those stories,” Julie says, breaking the awkward silence. I nod listlessly, and she creeps out of the door of the suite, shutting it softly behind her.
I sag in place, the anger draining out of me.
Maybe all the magazines are right. Maybe Iamthe Biggest Bitch in Britain. And LA too, apparently.
“Briar,” Kenta says softly from the table.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, rubbing my face. “That was rude. I didn’t mean to snap at you all.”
Glen opens his arms. “Come here, lass.”
I take a step back. “Don’t. Don’t coddle me and cuddle me and say it’s okay. It’s not. I’m being horrific.” I rub my face. “I’m sorry for ending the meeting. I just—I’msickof feeling so out of control.”
I drop down onto the sofa, pulling out my phone. “I mean, look at this.” I tap on my latest Instagram post. It’s a picture of me laying by my pool in a bikini. As per usual, whenever I show more than five centimetres of skin online, a ton of guys instantly blow their loads. “‘I don’t care if she’s a bitch,’”I read aloud, “‘I’d still do her.’‘Thanks for the addition to the spank bank, love.’‘Can you tell I’m typing this with one hand?’” I drop the phone onto the sofa, disgusted. “It just never stops. Never, ever, ever. I’ve got stalkers taking photos of me naked through windows. I’ve got whole teams of people telling me what I can and can’t do. And now, apparently the press has found out about the break-in. So I have magazines making money off me getting sexually assaulted. I just want amodicumof control over my own fucking life and body, you know?”
“No,” Kenta says softly. “We don’t. I can’t even imagine how it feels.”
