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Still, for whatever reason, I hadn't yet given up. Likely because I was too cursed stubborn.
I spotted a few paparazzi camped out at the entrance to the beach as we were still parking. "Did your publicist call them, or is this a coincidence?" I asked Anton.
He looked annoyed even with his sponsored shades covering his eyes. "I told her what I was doing, so I'm sure she called."
He seemed salty about it. "It's all part of the job," I reminded him. Small price to pay for the world to know your name, as far as I was concerned.
"I know, I know," he said, already shrugging out of his shirt. "You mind playing it up with me? The photographers always love it when we're affectionate."
I grinned wickedly, all too ready to play that role for anyone that cared to watch, in particular my oldest stalker. "It will be my pleasure." I was glad I'd worn makeup, dressed scantily, and had brought a spare pair of killer heels for the short walk from the car to the sand. I was decked out in metallic hues, head to toe, and it brought out the new gold ombré color in my hair.
I was ready for my close-up.
I waited for Anton to come around and open my door because it made for better pictures. I let him pull me from the car and up into a brief press of our bodies.
I giggled gamely when he kissed me on the neck, my hands stroking intimately over his hair, playing with his little man-bun like it was foreplay, then let him lead me with a familiar arm wrapped cozily around my waist, his big hand on my stomach.
I gave the paparazzi my warmest smile when they called out for Anton. Hell, they even called my name. That's how long and how much we hung out together.
"When will you finally make an honest woman of her?" one of them called, all good humor. We'd been encouraging on again off again rumors for years.
We laughed on cue. "Who says she'll have me?" Anton called back, flashing his perfect white teeth.
"Who says he's up to the challenge?" I said.
They got a kick out of the banter, laughing with us as one of them got it all on video, another snapping pictures of us and our entire entourage.
We walked past them leisurely (for better pictures), but we didn't linger. The idea was that we were in a bit of a hurry, like the photographers weren't half the reason we were there. It would never do to seem too desperate, even if desperation was half of our profession.
At least half.
We'd chosen a particularly nice day to visit Carbon Beach. Only a dozen or so other people were lounging about, giving us plenty of room to play.
"Did they follow?" Farrah murmured as we laid out our towels.
I glanced around surreptitiously. "Yes. At ten o'clock."
"Looks like the show must go on," Demi added, her tone flat.
I glanced at her, studying her face. She didn't seem like herself. Not at all.
I moved under the shade of the umbrella that Anton was propping up for me and closer to Demi. "Is everything okay?" I asked her.
She sent me a sheepish smile. "Yes. Of course!" she rallied, shrugging off her purple cover-up. Underneath was a lavender string bikini that was tinier than anything I'd ever seen her wear.
I checked her out. "You look fucking hot, Demi," I pointed out. It was not her usual style, but she was knocking it out of the park.
She blushed, and it was as adorable as it sounds. "Thank you."
"I second that," Harry said with a grin.
I shot a glance at Anton, who had the balls to be eyeing her bountiful chest, the lech. Some devil got ahold of my tongue. "Do you third it, Anton?" I asked him archly.
"She's basically naked, but yeah, the view is fantastic," he said succinctly, sounding downright bitter about it.
I glanced down at myself, then at Farrah and Leona, who were already laying out. It was skimpy for Demi, but she wasn't showing more skin than anyone else was.
My eyes narrowed on Anton as my preoccupied brain finally caught up to what was going on.
