"No, I'm just the nanny. For this little troublemaker right here." I instinctively reach out to ruffle Posey's hair affectionately, but when I look around, it’s as if Posey has disappeared into thin air.
"Excuse me," I say to the woman, panic creeping into my voice. I turn to where I last saw Cameron standing.
But he’s moved his position.
A sense of dread overwhelms me as I scout the market for Posey. She was just here, holding my hand a second ago.
The market suddenly feels enormous, full of hiding places and strangers.
"Edison!" I call out, hoping my dog can track her scent. He comes trotting toward me with something in his mouth. A cut of beef on the bone. It could have been given to him by a friendly purveyor.
Or fed to him by someone who wanted to distract him.I pull the meat from his jaws, my hands shaking.
"Help me find Posey!" Edison seems to understand the urgency in my voice. He goes into tracking mode, nose to the ground, leading me through the crowd.
My heart pounds as I follow him, calling Posey's name.
It takes a few minutes, but I finally spot Posey and the man. They're in a corner near the back of the market, partially hidden behind a display of bright sunflowers.
That rude man, crouched down with his camera. And there's Posey, a huge cone of cotton candy in her small hands, posing while he clicks away.
"Posey!" I shout, rushing toward them. She looks up with innocent confusion.
"But the nice man just bought me cotton candy and wanted me to pose for a picture?—"
"It's okay." I scoop her into my arms, cotton candy and all, my maternal instincts blazing.
Then, I turn on the photographer with a fury I didn't know I possessed.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just a few more pictures," he says, continuing to snap photos of Posey. And of me holding her. "You're the nanny, right?"
"Stop! This is a violation of privacy!” My voice shakes with rage and protective fear.
But before I can move away, Cameron appears. The change in his expression when he sees what's happening is terrifying—from concerned father to something dangerous and primal.
"What's all this?" His voice is deceptively calm, but I can see the storm building behind his eyes.
"This man was taking pictures of Posey. He bought her cotton candy to lure her away?—"
Cameron gives the photographer a look that could kill. Every muscle in his body coils with barely restrained violence.
Beneath his charming exterior, Cameron is clearly a man who grew up fighting for everything he has. "Stay away from my daughter," he says, each word precise and deadly.
I pull Posey back, not wanting her to witness whatever's about to happen.
But the photographer doesn't have the sense to retreat.
"Hey, man—chill out! I thought you'd want the publicity!"
Cameron's hands clench into fists. I can see him fighting for control.
"What's the matter? Are you afraid?" The photographer taunts, emboldened by Cameron's restraint.
"Why did you make your debut in this market? Afraid you're going to bomb? Afraid tabloids will?—"
"Don't," I warn, seeing darkness descend over Cameron's features. I know how much he hates the media, how fiercely he protects his privacy. But the photographer taunts him again, and this time, Cameron's control snaps.
