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I clear my throat. “Honestly, the outfit is because I just couldn’t bear the thought of even one more day in a damn suit and tie.” I shudder. Gavin tilts his head in my direction. He’s listening, so I continue. “I felt like I was choking to death. It was too much like being back at the bureau. I just…Let’s just say I didn’t want any reminders of my time there, okay?”
“What does that mean, then? If you aren’t my bodyguard, and you aren’t management, who are you?” Gavin asks.
I force a grin on my face, feeling like I might just twitch right out of my skin. Gavin might not be pleased with my solution.
“I’m your date.”
65
Gavin
My jaw hangs open in disbelief.
“Excuse me?”
Mitch gives me his sexy, lopsided grin. “I’m your date. Your boyfriend. At least until we catch this guy.”
I blink to clear what must be massive cobwebs out of my brain because I do not understand Mitch’s point. In fact, I’m still choking on the image of Mitch’s ass in those tight jeans, proudly displayed right in my face earlier as we walked out to the car.
“I’m not out,” I remind him. “The studio will shit a brick.”
“Exactly.”
Oh. Okay. As if that explains anything.
“What I’m saying is I can’t come out, Mitch.”
“Does your contract specifically state that you can’t?”
“Well, no. But—”
“Gavin, do you want to be out?” Mitch asks sincerely, his voice quiet but supportive.
I clench my fists. What would this guy know about coming out or staying in the closet?
“It’s not as easy as that,” I growl.
Mitch glances at me. “It’s exactly as easy as that. If you want to be out, you can be out. Today.”
Do I?
“How? Or I guess the question is, why?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot. About this stalker, whoever he is. I can’t build a solid profile. He doesn’t make sense, isn’t consistent. That’s not how these guys operate. The only common thread in everything is that the threats are anti-gay. If you come out, he’ll either get so angry that he’ll stumble. Make a mistake. And we can catch him. Or it will take the wind right out of his sails and he won’t have any reason to contact you anymore.”
“You still think it’s the record label,” I mutter.
Mitch shrugs. “Honestly, Gavin? The evidence leads me to believe it’s more than one person or entity. That’s why I can’t come up with a solid profile.”
He glances over again. “I do believe that you have a very dangerous, mentally unstable stalker. But is it possible that the executives at the label capitalized on that fact by throwing their own threats into the mix to keep you in the closet? Yes. That’s why the letters are inconsistent. Half are from an actual psychopath, half are not.”
I mull that over for a few minutes, the car silent while I process everything.
“Fine.”
“Fine? Fine what?” Mitch asks.
“Let’s do it. Fuck them. I’ve played their game for a long time. First one record label, then another. I want to be myself. It was never my decision to hide, Utah.”
