Page 170 of Challenge Me

“Damn. We might have to consider hiring a bartender. I know it’s not ideal, but don’t worry, I’ll pick up whatever it costs. Or better yet, I’ll make Renshu create a budget for it. It’s the least these bastards could do if they want us at their beck and call.”

“I’m not hiring a bartender. It’s my bar, and it’s my responsibility to work it.”

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “I admire your work ethic, but you can’t be in two places at once.”

“I know.”

The meaning behind my words settled slowly, darkening his eyes. “Remi—”

The sliding door opened, and Mal came inside with a bunch of cars cradled in her arms. “Is Renshu gone?”

“Uh, yeah.” Amir managed to compose his expression and smiled at her. “We’re going to start dinner. Chicken and rice?”

She nodded enthusiastically. When she darted down the hall toward her room, Amir dragged me into the kitchen. I pulled my arm away and leaned against the counter.

“I’m not making any more appearances.” I kept my voice calm but firm so there’d be no room for argument.

“Alright,” he replied. “Renshu won’t be happy, but I’ll figure it out. It won’t be hard to tell the press that you can’t leave the bar unattended.”

“Amir—”

“It might make you look more responsible, actually.”

“I don’t care if I look responsible.”

“I know. I’m just thinking out loud.” He grabbed a few things from the fridge, and I watched him silently. “I can handle doing the interview. Besides, I don’t think it’s fair to expect you to answer questions about . . . that.”

“No questions about that. I want to be removed from the narrative entirely.”

The container fell from his hand as he turned around. It shattered, sending glass and rice in every direction. With a curse, I stepped over it. There were footsteps behind me, and I mentally prepared myself for what was about to happen.

“Amir, I don’t want to argue,” I said as I grabbed a broom from the laundry room.

“We don’t have to argue if you just explain yourself.”

I started to sweep up the mess, but he grabbed the broom from me. Running my fingers through my hair, I tried not to let the look in his eyes get to me. It always did, and that was why I’d wanted to avoid this, but Roman was right. So, here I was.

“It’s too much,” I explained softly. “I’ve tried. I really have, but this . . . this life isn’t something I can handle.”

“It’s not usually like this.”

“Except it is. Your divorce didn’t blow up, but it was reported on.”

“It’ll get better. I know I keep saying that,” he added before I could respond. “But I’m serious.”

“Okay, but it’s not what I want.”

His nostrils flared. “You don’t want this?”

“I can’t breathe, Amir. Every move we make is bait for them.”

“So what?”

“So I don’t want that,” I repeated more harshly. “I don’t want eyes on me. I don’t want to answer for my past, my present, or my future.”

He came closer and gripped my shoulders. “Then don’t answer. We can stop, okay? No appearances. We’ll lay low. If they have nothing to talk about, they’ll find the next interesting thing.”

I pushed away from him, taking a few steps to gain some distance. “It’s not only about when it’s bad. It’s when it’s good too.”