I was drunk but not drunk enough to share that thought.
Flashing a forced apologetic smile, I said, “Listen, I’m tired?—”
“We met here a couple months ago. I accidentally fell in your section here.”
That fall almost cost me my movie premiere.
I must not have been doing a good job hiding my displeasure at the memory because she quickly added, “I defended you. I have a ton of followers, so I went live right away to clear it all up so people knew you were innocent.”
I scoffed.
Right.
Me.
Innocent.
Pure as the motherfucking driven snow.
“I appreciate that,” I lied. “Have a good night.”
“I have a better way you can thank me…”
She kept going, alluding to a wild night before outright promising one, but I wasn’t tempted. I gave the cameras a wave as I eased toward the end of the alleyway and left her to answer questions.
She should be the one doing it.
Based on what they said, I was fairly certain she’d been the one to call them there to begin with.
Some followed me, throwing compliments and insults in equal measure, not caring which got a reaction as long as it got one.
Tires squealed as a Rolls-Royce hung a U-ey and slammed on its brakes to park illegally at the curb. Hank—my driver and occasional bodyguard—stormed out of the vehicle before it even stopped rocking. A couple of the men took one look at the intimidating SOB before hightailing it back to get the story from…
Whatever her name was.
Two men stayed, snapping pictures and yelling more.
Hank blocked me with his stocky body and hurried me into the backseat of the car where the tinted windows were blacked out. Once I was inside, the flashes and questions stopped instantly, and the assholes hurriedly scuttled away from his hulking form.
I didn’t blame them. The older man looked like he snorted protein powder for breakfast.
They didn’t have to know that he was one of the nicest people in that shitty-ass town.
He proved it by climbing in and letting his concern show freely. “You were supposed to text when you were on your way out.”
“Figured it was safe since that exit is usually empty.”
“Not anymore.” He met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “This is going to keep happening more and more. You need someone full time.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I was fighting it.
Growing up with Clark Carter as a father meant my old man had a whole team of bodyguards to protect him from the rabid, unhinged fans who truly believed they were in the drawn-out drama of the fictionalMeadow Stars. It made it hard for me to sneak his booze, get laid, or do any of the other typical teenage shit when I lived in a fishbowl with eyes on me all the time.
Eyes that were all too happy to rat me out to my father.
Once I got my own place, I’d been able to blend in with the other mildly famous schmucks. The occasional overzealous fan or paparazzo out for a viral story was a small price to pay for some privacy. I had Hank for when I was going somewhere too populated. Or, more often, when I was in no condition to get behind the wheel.
“I already told you I’m happy to work more hours,” he continued. “Fuck knows you already pay me enough.”
