No more words. No emojis. Nothing. We agreed to limited communication this week because the media are assholes and they’ll no doubt steal my phone or something else untoward. It’s frustrating. Frustrating that I can’t just be with my girl, take her out, date her, spend time out in the open with her. But for her safety, for her secret to remain just that, I need to play the game. If it wasn’t for the media attention and my global fame, I could have her all to myself. That’s the downside of being an actor.
But for the first time ever, I’m in complete control of what I’m doing. I’ve planned this with Sawyer over the past week, down to every last detail. Her safety is paramount, and while I’ve fucked up a lot of things in my life over the years, she isn’t going to be one of them.
I look at the other message on my cell. From Bobby.
Meet you at home.
Bobby has been blowing up my cell and calling or texting almost hourly. He’s also harassing Sawyer in Whispers. He flew in like he said he would, and for the week I was away, he hung around Whispers, chasing and calling Sawyer until my brother threatened legal action, and then he went quiet. But he clearly knows I’m heading back to LA, and he’s smart enough to know that this is the end of us.
Jackson and my security team are briefed. They’re doing regular sweeps of my property, and no one is allowed in. Not the cleaners. Not even Bobby. So if he comes to the house, he’ll be turned away. And the media will be all over that. It’s long overdue and maybe should be handled differently after ten years of working together, but he brought us to this point because of his own behavior. Did he make me into the superstar I’ve become? Maybe. But that took a lot of my own blood, sweat, and tears as well.
With the media focusing on Bobby and the breakdown of our relationship, it gives them the leading story that they’re drooling for. And then we’ll leak our own stories about me taking a career break to reassess management options, which should explain my time in Whispers. Enough so that it will draw everyone away from the small town I’ve grown to love. Hopefully, any leads of me having a secret family will be thrown to the side as fake news. I’ll do anything to protect Charlotte's identity, including using my asshole of an ex-manager to cover it.
Sawyer is putting the final touches on the letter Bobby will receive, severing our partnership, paying him a small fortune as thanks for ten years, and then he’ll be permanently out of my life. At the thought of my brother I see his text message.
Eagle is in the nest.
She’s at the cottage, safe. I feel unsettled not being with her, trusting Sawyer with the most important person in my life, so he better look after her.
As the jet descends, I wipe my palms on my jeans, my heart pounding, and I try to focus on my persona. It’s like acting a part. Sutton Silvers, the movie star, is a completely different character to Sutton Silvers, the man. And I’ve only just realized. My true self rarely comes out in my day-to-day here in LA. It was exhausting. No wonder I ran to Whispers to hide. I needed it. I was burned-out.
Being back here will be the biggest acting job of my career. Because I don’t want to be here. Even seeing the LA skyline gives me hives. Hives. I have my beehives all in place at my new home, and I grin to myself, knowing my beekeeping suit and all my tools of the trade are arriving this week. Griffin is going to think I’ve gone mad.
The jet lands, and with it, I mentally put my mask on. I straighten my shoulders and roll my head, getting into character.
As we pull up on the tarmac, I take off my seat belt and spot Jackson, my head of security, out the window, standing near the car, waiting. He looks refreshed, ready for anything. I guess that’ll happen when you have a few months off.
“Good to see you, Sutton.”
I shake his hand as I disembark. He’s the one person who’s been by my side for years. He and Bobby are my two longest employees.
“Miss me?” The Sutton Silvers grin is now in full effect.
“No.” He smirks, and I slap his shoulder.
“Mm-hmm. Liar.”
Jackson maneuvers us out of the airport and through what can only be described as a barrage of media. They’re at least ten deep; you would think I was the fucking King of England or something.
“Shit.” I rub my chin as I look out the window, flashes of white almost blinding me, but I keep my face open. I need them to see me. I need them to confirm to the world that I’m in LA.
“They’re at the house too. Have been for weeks, but today, the media scrum is thicker than I’ve ever seen it.” Jackson’s eyes stay focused on the road. “Even taking time off, I was keeping an eye on your surveillance. It’s been pretty much nonstop since you went away.”
“Seems like I can’t just take a fucking holiday,” I grit out.
He shakes his head with a sigh. “Seems not.”
Let the games begin.
I step off the set of the daytime talk show, my grin wide and fake as hell. The camera flashes almost blind me as I walk across the sidewalk to my waiting car. It’s been four days. Four days of running around LA, paps following me, my car being tailed. Four days without my Tinker Bell.
As soon as I slide in the back seat of the car, I’m calling.
“How is she?” I ask before Sawyer has time to answer.
“She’s fine. Just like she was two hours ago when you called.”
I drop my head back and pull at my hair, the tension building. I don't want to be here. I don’t want to do this anymore.
