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"Give her time, man."
"Just tell her," I reiterate.
Ears shakes his head again and lets out a deep exhale. He orders, "Have your driver here at two o'clock." He gets out and slams the door.
I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, watching him walk into the building, fighting the urge to follow him and beat the shit out of Noah.
I'm starting to hate that guy. The last thing I need is Blakely getting close to him. And I regret letting her decide on her agent. She wanted me to pick, and I should have.
That's what I get for trying to do the right thing.
Noah's probably eating this up. I don't put it past him to have already tried to do something with her.
My pulse pounds between my ears, and the air turns stale in my lungs. The thought of them in a bed together makes more bile rise in my throat.
I'll kill him if he laid a hand on her.
I debate about staying in the parking lot and finally get a text from Ears.
Ears: Go take care of your shit and get away from my studio.
Me: Did you tell her?
Ears: Not yet. She's finishing a song.
Me: I'm not leaving until you tell her what we discussed.
Twenty minutes pass until Ears messages me back.
Ears: She said she wants to go to Apartment Thirteen.
Shock fills me. Why would she pick Apartment Thirteen? I thought she hated that place.
Me: The L.A. apartment is better. She'll be more comfortable there.
Ears: She doesn't want to go there. She said she'll only go to Apartment Thirteen if you promise to stay away.
More confusion fills me. I debate it, but Apartment Thirteen is as secure as my L.A. apartment. It's the only other property I own besides my Malibu house that has the same security measures. I know she'll be safe there.
Me: Fine. Tell her she can go there.
Ears: She wants a car too.
Me: I said I'll send a driver.
Ears: She doesn't want your driver to know her every move.
Anger seeps through me. What will she do that she doesn't want me to know about?
Divorce.
She's going to try and divorce me.
New panic sets in. I bang my head against the headrest. She's possibly pregnant with my child. No way this is happening.
Me: No. Tell her I said her little secret is exactly why she needs a driver, never mind that she's in the public eye. It's not safe, and her safety is my priority. I'm not budging on it. Tell her she either gets in the car with me today or gets my drivers, whom I deem safe.
Ten minutes pass and my heartbeat never slows. The notion of my pet driving around L.A., where anyone could harm her, scares the crap out of me. The beating only seems to go faster until pain shoots through my chest. I'm clutching it when I text again.
