Page 190 of Off Limits Mogul

A few members of the press oooh and ahh.

“I’m sure,” the redhead says. “Do you get to keep the diamonds?”

That question gets old fast.

“Only if I’m willing to fork out the money,” Keira says. “And that’s unlikely to happen.”

The reporter moves her attention to me and gives me a onceover before staring me square in the eyes.

I resent the insinuation I read in them.

“Rhys is my boyfriend,notmy sugar daddy.” Keira answers the redhead’s silent question. “The jewelry isn’t mine to keep.”

That’s my girl.

The redhead inhales before shooting off another question. “Rumor has it your former record company is looking to piggyback on all the media attention you’re getting. Were those video clips teasers? Are you considering a duet with Trinity after vanishing for so long?”

“SCORE Yours is my focus right now,” Keira says.

Great answer.

Good for her for being unperturbed by the redhead’s comment.

Her former record label put the duet offer on the table again. Like the first time, my girl rejected it. Two group mates are dead. The group is defunct.

As a last-ditch effort, the label threw the press a bone—a recording of Keira and Trinity in the studio. The song—and performance—fell flat. Still, the media is turning the old clip into breaking news. It’s laughable.

“Don’t you think it’s a shame to keep your voice bottled up?” The redhead soldiers on.

“I haven’t made any decisions yet in regard to my career as a singer. Right now, I’m having fun being a model.”

“That, and havinga lotof fun with…”—the redhead’s eyes fix mine with a sharp stare—“one of SCORE Yours’s sexy billionaire executives. It’s a coveted position to be in. Lucky you.”

Holy fuck, she’s out of line.

“If bythat remark you mean I have a pretty kickass boyfriend who happens to be the COO of the company, then yes, I agree with you, I’m a lucky woman.” Keira’s smile is tight. “If you’ll excuse me, I see another reporter who’s trying to catch my attention.”

Bravo.

Keira grabs my hand and pulls me forward, our bodyguards matching our steps.

We’re blinded by a thousand flashes, too many mics are shoved in our faces and we’re bombarded with a deluge of questions, but it’s not like we didn’t expect it. Most of the questions are addressed to the dazzling blonde hanging from my arm.Tonight, I’m not as fascinating as my girlfriend. I’m okay with that.

We keep moving down the press line and soon, we’re so close to the entry, I could reach out and grab the door handle.

Finally.

This isn’t my first red carpet walk, but it’s a lot of pressure to keep your cool. You’re under intense scrutiny. You have to keep a stoic face and bite your tongue no matter how stupid or far-fetched the question. If the press gets a reaction out of you, you become easy prey. So far, my girl is doing a bang-up job.

A middle-aged, bald guy lifts a finger up. “Keira, one question before you go inside, please.”

“Sure.”

“My name is Jedd Maitland and I’m with theHollywood Herald,” he says.

“Hi Jedd,” Keira says. “What’s your question?”

“In a tell-all interview we’re about to publish in our magazine and online, Chelle’s mom claims you’re partially responsible for her daughter’s death. How do you respond to that?”