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“Are you ok? Have you seen it?”
I nod. “Yes, I see it. I will call you later.” I hang up the phone. I angrily swipe the tears from my eyes as I process this new information. How dare he do this to me and who in the hell does he think he is? I try to focus through the tears as I stare at the screen. I don’t believe it. I know I see it in front of my eyes but I still don’t believe it. Am I that stupid that I didn’t see this coming? I run to my bathroom and dry–retch into the toilet. I’m such an idiot. I slide down the wall and sit on the floor and sob. I waited for him last night and he was with a dirty whore. He had sex with someone else. My stomach rolls again. After half an hour I peel myself up and return to my desk. I need to know what happened. My psychologist’s capacity for detachment kicks in and I scroll through the photos one at a time, studying each one and analysing it. My pen taps double time on my desk as I think. He’s smoking as he leaves the club which indicates to me that he is drunk. However, he looks too together to me to be drunk. I’ve seen him drunk and that is not how he looked, not even close. I enlarge a photo of the girl. She’s fucking ordinary, give me a break. I scroll down to the end and back to the top again. What’s wrong with this picture? I look at the number; there are thirty–two photos in all. I think back to how he has been acting the last few days…like he’s distracted about something, regretful even. I scroll to the top of the page again, so the photos run from when he leaves the club to outside when he kisses her and, then, as he puts her into his car. I scroll back to the top…he’s alone. He has a different security guard with him, one I haven’t seen before. I frown, what does that mean? He never goes anywhere without his entourage or group of friends or whatever it is. That in itself is highly irregular. I then go back to the five kissing photos—something is wrong with the body language. I narrow my eyes as I try to pin it down…what is it? I tap my front tooth with my finger nail as I think. He hasn’t had paparazzi follow him at all while he has been in Sydney, so why now? Talk about bad luck…or is it? I sit back on my chair and cross my arms as I think while staring at the screen.
Joshua Stanton, stop fucking with my head. It’s pissing me off.
I stand and walk over to my window and I see Max sitting in the park reading the paper. Why is he still here protecting me? Joshua apparently doesn’t care about me, so why should Max. I grab my keys and go down to my car to pretend getting something out of it as a ruse to talk to Max. Maybe he has some answers for me. I walk to my car and Max rushes over.
“Hi, Natasha.” He looks nervous, probably expecting a neurotic head case. An idea suddenly comes into my head and I get into my car pretending I am going to drive off.
“Where are you going, Natasha?” he asks a little panicked. I smile at him and get back out of the car.
“Mad,” I reply as I do wide eyes at him.
“Is everything alright?” he asks. He obviously knows what’s going on here. That makes one of us. “Everything is great Max, why wouldn’t it be?” I answer too sweetly. He narrows his eyes at me and I can see his brain ticking as he assesses the situation.
“You can go Max, I don’t need protecting anymore.”
He smiles at me. “I’ve been assigned to you for three months, Natasha.”
I fake a smile. “I’m pretty sure Joshua’s mind has been changed, so you can ring him now and tell him I will be just fine and I will not be accepting any protection.” He nods and looks uncomfortable.
“Go on, I want you to ring him while I stand here.” He frowns at me. “Go on,” I urge. He tentatively takes out his phone and dials Joshua’s number and he answers on the first ring.
“Hi, it’s me. I’m with Natasha…yes…yes.” His eyes flick to me. “She’s…fine.” Hmm, Joshua just asked how I am. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem so.” And he looks at me again. Joshua has just asked if I have seen the google alert. He turns his back to me. “No, nothing has been said. Anyway she said she doesn’t want protection anymore and asked me to ring you and ok it.” He holds the phone out from his ear and I know Joshua has just screamed at him.
He can take it up the ass if he thinks I am going to put up with one more minute of his shit. I’m done. This relationship is taking more energy than it’s worth and I intend to rectify that situation right here right now. You’ve fucked with the wrong girl, Mr Stanton. I smile at Max and turn and walk back into the building. My work here is done. Joshua is yelling at him over my non–reaction. He wanted me to see the google alert. Does he really think I’m that stupid?
As I walk through the office I say to the receptionist, “Can you let Henry know I am going home sick?”
She frowns. “Is everything ok?”
“Yes, I just feel a migraine coming on and I need to leave. I will let him know about my plans for tomorrow.” I walk back into my office and bring up the pictures again and click on their website and google their phone number.
“Hi, this is Megan Jones from Joshua Stanton’s office. I need to make a payment for some work that was posted yesterday.”
“Oh, ok, I will put you through to accounts,” the bored voice replies.
“Hello, accounts. This is Tanya.” Boy, she’s chirpy, an exact opposite to the receptionist.
“Hello, this is Megan Jones from Joshua Stanton’s office. You posted some photos for us yesterday and I need to pay the account.”
“Ok, hang on a sec, I will just check.” I can hear her keyboard buttons being tapped double time and my heart is in my throat. If my suspicions are correct I already know what she is going to tell me. At least I hope I know what she is going to tell me; please let me be right.
“No, that’s all fine. The account was paid for yesterday in full.”
I smile… Gotcha. “That’s unusual, can you please tell me what method was used to pay?”
“Yeah, sure,” she replies. Once again I hear her keyboard buttons.
“That was paid on a credit card yesterday at 10.50 am.” I shake my head as my anger flies into uncharted territory—10.50 am. He has thought long and hard about this. I’m going to fucking kill him with my bare hands.
“What was the name on the credit card, Tanya?” I ask innocently.
“Joshua Stanton,” she replies.
“Thank you, Tanya, you have been very helpful.”
The thing about being so angry that you can’t see straight is that you become unpredictable and embar
