Page 38 of On The Edge

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. I’m trusting you.”

We end our call and I stare at my phone for a second, guilt eating at me that I just lied to yet another person. And as soon as that epiphany comes and goes, comes the revelation that there are pictures of me on the Internet. Linked with Cruz.

How?

“Madds? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Cruz asks as he approaches.

“That was my friend. She . . . she asked me if I was here with you.”

“And what’s the big deal with that?” he asks, like I’m not getting it.

“I didn’t tell her where I was. No one has. She saw me or us or—” I pick up my phone and instantly search for Cruz Navarro and Maddix Hart. A gasp falls from my mouth when within seconds, article after article populates with a split-screen image of me and Cruz. The picture of me is from my company headshot posted on the Genesee Capital website. His is in his race suit. “How?” I ask as I see Cruz hold up his own phone and start scrolling.

“Well, I guess I should have warned PR about this whole situation.” He chuckles and then sighs as if this is some kind of joke.

“How can you act so casual about this?” I stare at him dumbfounded. “Like, I don’t understand. I don’t—”

“Baptism by fire.” He puts a hand on my shoulder to quiet me.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. It’s unnerving and invasive. I know that more than anyone.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I find you to be a highly intelligent woman, Madds, but were you that naive to think your world wasn’t about to be turned upside down by agreeing to date me?”

“Yes. No. I mean, how does anyone even know who I am? It’s not like I have a name tag on. It’s not like someone posted a picture about me, and I’m a celebrity so they know who I am. It’s not like we’ve posted any pictures yet. I don’t understand. How could they identify me?”

“Did you give your ID to the hotel staff for anything?” he asks, his voice calm, the playful tone gone now as he senses my panic.

“No.”

“Did you leave anything in the hotel room with your name on it?”

“I mean . . . my luggage tag. My business cards.” The comment comes out in a whisper as I realize he was right about hotel staff snooping and talking.

“And you thought I was crazy for telling you someone would sell our information.”

I stare at him, hearing the mocking in his tone, and blink blankly before drawing in a deep breath. I can do this. I can stop overreacting. I can manage with—I look down at my email and see two hundred and thirty new emails—wow. Guess that’s what it means when you are linked to someone as high-profile as Cruz.

People suddenly seem to notice you.

“I’m fine. I can handle it. I just . . . I guess I didn’t realize how people would react. That anyone else other than your inner circle would care.”

“I tried to tell you.”

“You did. And I heard you but . . . I’m just me and you’re you”—I shove my hands out toward him to emphasize the disparity between us—“so I thought the focus would remain on you. Stupid on my part.”

His shrug does wonders for my self-confidence. “It’s logical to be upset. I do know what I’m talking about when it comes to this though.”

“Yes, I am naive, Cruz. Does that make you feel better to keep pointing it out?” I bite the words out, not sure where the unfounded anger at him is coming from.

But I know. It’s because I feel vulnerable, judged, and like my privacy has been invaded.

This came with the territory. He’s one hundred percent right about my naivety. And yet his being right doesn’t make me feel any better.

“I’m sorry. Truly. I wasn’t trying to rub your face in it. It’s something I rarely say so please know I mean it.”