His face is calm. “We have to consider the possibility. John Lennon, Selena, Christina Grimmie—it happens, a lot more often than people really appreciate. For every celebrity that does get killed, there are thousands of failed attempts.Thousands.”
I nod. I know. Half of the A-listers I know have their assistants carry military-grade bandages with them wherever they go. I swallow, turning back to the book’s front cover. The dark male silhouette seems to stare out at me.
Kenta puts a hand on mine. “I’m not trying to scare you,” he says gently.
“I should be scared though, right? That’s what he wants.” Setting the book down, I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Julie.
B: Post the apology.
She responds immediately.
J: Done
I sigh and drop my phone, picking up my chopsticks. “Apology sent. Do you really think it’ll change anything?”
Kenta shrugs. “It certainly can’t hurt. The more damage control we can do, the better.”
“It’s so bullshit,” I mutter. “I have to write an entire fake apology just to spare one creep’s feelings. Ihatethis.” I try to pick up a piece of avocado sushi, but my chopsticks fumble, and half the rice falls out. I shove the remaining scrap of avocado in my mouth before I can drop that, too. “How did you get into this psychology stuff? Did you learn it in the army?”
He shakes his head. “University. I got my undergrad degree in psychology at twenty, but I hated studying behind a desk all day. As soon as I finished my last exam, I went and enrolled.” He takes a sip of his drink, watching me. “I got some psychological training in the force, and when I left, I got my MSc. Knowing how people’s minds work helps a lot in our field of work.”
“You’d be a good therapist. I’d pay to tell you my problems.” I reach for the clump of fallen rice on my plate, but it just slips back between my chopsticks again. I scowl, stabbing at it. Kenta doesn’t respond. I notice him smiling down at my hands. “What?”
“Nothing.” He ducks his head. “You have absolutely no idea how to use those, do you?”
“I’ve been trying at least twice a week for about fifteen years,” I say mournfully.
His smile gets wider. “Here.” He leans over me, taking my hand and carefully repositioning my fingers. As his loose hair brushes the side of my face, I get a deep breathful of his cologne, and warmth fills me. I lean into him, pressing into his side, and his dark eyes flick up to mine. Neither of us says anything for a few seconds. Slowly, he lets go of my fingers and leans back.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
“For letting me be angry. And explaining this to me like I’m a regular person, and not an idiot. And…” I look down at the chopsticks. “I don’t know. Acting like I’m just as capable as you are.”
Confusion touches his face. “What do you mean? Of course you are.”
I shake my head. “Matt thinks I’m stupid. And Glen… I know he’s just doing his job, but you’d think I was made of glass, the way he watches over me.”
He grimaces. “Yes, well. They both tend to take a bit of a caveman approach to close protection jobs. They like to take control of the client to protect them.”
“But not you?”
His eyes meet mine, suddenly serious. “You’re smart, Briar. You know this industry better than any of us, and you’re very good at navigating it. You’re not a damsel in distress, and you’re clearly capable of defending yourself. At least verbally.” His mouth twists wryly.
“You think I’m smart?”
His brow furrows. “Of course. You’re an immensely successful actress, a product designer, you own multiple businesses, you’ve founded charities, and you’re what, twenty-eight?”
“Most people think I’m a bimbo because I dye my hair blonde and like to get my nails done.”
His eyebrow quirks. “I’ve never really noticed a correlation between someone’s intelligence, and how often they get a manicure. Hell, I’m not even sure how much you need us. You’ve been protecting yourself for years, haven’t you?”
My mouth goes dry. I suddenly feel completely naked. Like for the first time in a very long time, someone is finally seeing through my bullshit. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “The outfits, and the attitude. Flipping off paparazzi and refusing to smile in pictures. Picking fights. The ‘celebrity diva’ branding is really clever. Instead of worrying about public favour, you can just look out for yourself, right? You made a bad reputation part of your appeal. Everyone loves a villain.”
I swallow thickly. My heart is beating in my ears. “When you’re trying to make hundreds of millions of people like you,” I say eventually, “they control you. They control the way you speak, and act, and think. I couldn’t do it anymore. It almost killed me.”
