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No good ever comes from them knowing who I’m kissing, and I’m not about to lose a moment of sleep or great sex worrying about what they think about it.
But being in my little lust bubble with Colin doesn’t make us invisible. And I should know better. I should know that gossip is a local pastime around here and remind myself I’m canoodling with a billionaire.
Even though he seems like a nerdy pal when we’re playing chess and walking around the Buttercup Hill property.
Even though Colin and I came to St. Helena to see the movie last week and barely interacted with a soul.
Even though running into Mallory Rutherford barely registered on my radar because we’re old family friends, and she’s basically harmless. Maybe it should have.
Maybe she’s the reason several paparazzi are lurking in St. Helena when Colin and I leave the tiny brunch place next to a high-end clothing store and take a moment to stare at the window display.
I’ve been here dozens of times, and even though the area is always lively, it’s mostly full of locals picking up a few pastries or waiting in line for a latte. If the occasional paparazzo is here, it’s for an A-list celebrity who wants to be photographed. I should know. I’ve courted enough media photographers when we’ve had events at the winery to understand how this works. They don’t show up unless someone tips them off that there’s a story. Or a reason to show up with long-lens cameras.
It should occur to me that Colin hiding out in Napa is just such a story, but I’ve been so blinded by the intense feelings that have been growing by the day that I’ve blocked the big flashing warning lights from my field of view.
But they’re coming into full focus now.
“Colin!”
“Colin Hathaway!”
Two photographers jockey for attention outside the bakery. We’re not far from my car, but they happen to be blocking theshortest route there. Maybe they know that. Or maybe they just got lucky.
One guy scratches his scruffy beard and focuses his lens from a few feet away, walking backward as Colin and I move toward the car. He’s already taking photos before I realize it.
Shaking myself back onto high alert, I instinctively move in front of Colin, knowing I’m too short to fully block him, but feeling protective nonetheless.
He puts a hand on the small of my back, and I want to melt into him. Instead, I dig in and let my publicist instincts rule my actions.
“Excuse us. Could you move, please?” I hold a hand out in front of me and walk us directly into the path of the photographer, who’s moving backward and needs to look behind him to avoid tripping.
That’s when I grab Colin’s hand and pull him into the street, outside the immediate view of the photographer.
It seems the best way to protect Colin from unwanted attention is to use myself as a human shield. So that’s what I do.
“Colin, over here!” The other photographer now has a cell phone aimed at us, and I like that even less than the big camera. Anything he captures on his phone can be uploaded instantly, and I’ll have no ability to control who sees it. So I pivot and move to block that photographer’s access with my body.
“Head down,” I tell Colin, grabbing his hand and pulling him farther into the street. He’s wearing a baseball cap, but it doesn’t do much to obscure his face. I look back at him, and he ducks his head down as instructed.
I can’t imagine why these people want photos of him so badly, especially when his company announced that he’d be back at work on Monday. The media frenzy over the things he said a couple weeks ago is old news.
I’m so busy puzzling through how and why the photographers know Colin is in town and trying to prevent anyone from getting a good picture of him, that I’m not even thinking about myself. I’ve never been the subject of interest, so there’s no reason I would be now.
People on the sidewalk are starting to take notice, and a few of them have their phones out, though I doubt they know what they’re looking at.
Swinging the passenger door of my car open, I block Colin as best I can until he’s inside before slamming the door shut and jogging over to my side.
It barely takes me ten seconds to turn on the ignition and put the car into gear. In another minute, we’ve swerved around the first photographer who I see in my rearview mirror taking pictures of the back of my car. Ridiculous. What the heck does he think he’ll do with those?
“Does this happen to you a lot?” I finally look at Colin who seems just as confused as me.
“Not really. I usually go from lunches to meetings and back to my office. But I guess maybe I got people interested by running my mouth and disappearing.” He rolls his eyes like it’s the dumbest thing ever.
Huffing a laugh, I can’t help my amusement at his lack of media savvy.
“You think?”
He shakes his head. “It does happen…sometimes.” He says the words slowly like he’s admitting a dark secret.
