Page 111 of XOXO

“My darling, I should thank you! That bag of mine you were wearing at the airport has been all the rage.”

“Your collection is to die for,” I said, as he hugged me, giving me a kiss on each cheek.

“I’ll send more things your way!” he yelled, as I walked out wondering where the hell my agent was.

I was led to the front of the building when I saw a lot of photographers outside and I paused.

“Oh dear,” the woman who was escorting me said.

“Do you have a back⁠—”

“I got him,” my agent said, pulling me down a hall.

“That isn’t for me right?” I asked in Korean.

He looked grim when he didn’t answer and every alarm bell I had been ignoring since this morning went off.

“There are photos of a person who looks like you with that girl and two other guys,” he clipped. “There is no nudity, but people can guess what’s happening.

“No,” I shook my head as every fear I had had in the last few days had come true. “There is no way someone could have⁠—”

“I told you that girl was bad news,” he said, leading me out a back door and into an SUV.

“She wouldn’t.” I defended her, but a sinking feeling made me question my words.

“Well, someone did and this feels like it's just the beginning,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m dropping you off at home and you make sure you get her the hell out of the house. Give me your phone.”

“It’s not her,” I said weakly.

“I don’t care if it's her or not, she’s causing problems and you can’t have that now that you're back.” He grabbed my phone scrolling through my contacts. “Did you know she’s engaged?”

“Excuse me?” My neck whipped so fast to look at him I felt like I had pulled something.

“Yeah, her fiancée is some big tech guy in America. Lorenzo Villalobos.”

“No, that's not right.” I said, shaking my head except I remembered what we had talked about this morning.

She was running from who knows what because she didn’t tell me. I felt like an idiot for not finding out more.

“Look.” He shoved my phone at me.

A picture of Violeta with her fiancée was on my screen. She was smiling softly and he held her by her waist, possessively. Maybe she had no choice but to run.

“Don’t call her please; I’ll sort this out,” I said, pulling up a text thread with her. “Drop me off and I’ll talk to her.”

“Excuse me,” our driver said, and I saw the paparazzi outside the home we were renting.

“Take us to a hotel,” my agent snapped.

“No! Leave me here. There is a side door and a back entrance,” I said, as the driver stopped.

“No, too risky. The less they see you, the more damage control we can do,” he said. “Hotel now.”

“If she comes back, she’s going to be bombarded, and that’s going to look bad,” I snapped.

“I don’t care about her, I care about you,” he snarled. “Hotel, now.”

I watched as the house disappeared, grabbing my phone to call her to give her a heads-up.