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The following morning, while Ryland’s in the shower, I turn on my phone. It beeps with a message from my friend, Lacey.
Are you okay?
More than okay.
Except for the pounding headache and furry mouth. But the sweet ache downstairs, where Ryland put me through my paces last night, makes up for any discomfort.
Besides, science created Tylenol.
Okay. Just checking.
I’m fine. Why are you acting weird?
After sending the message, I stretch my limbs to shake off the night’s sleep.
Did you open the attachment? I sent a link.
I saw an attachment but hadn’t opened it. My mood immediately sours when I read the headline “Playboy Attorney.”
Underneath it is a picture of Ryland and me running for cover from the photographers who cornered us last night.
All the blood drains from my face as I quickly scan the article, which is filled with insulting allegations.
Who is the mystery woman dining with Ryland Brooks, the darling of the legal scene?
Ryland takes one look at my face and doesn’t bother asking what’s wrong before plucking the phone from my hand.
“Shit,” he mutters. The short bristles of his stubble give off a distinct sound as he scrubs a hand over his face.
“It’s okay. I’ll make this right,” he says, his eyes pleading with me to trust him.
“Of course, it’s okay. Today’s headline is tomorrow’s trash. I understand how the media works.” I plaster a fake smile on to reassure him.
We did nothing wrong, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like my stomach’s dropped to my feet.
Ryland’s eyes follow me. I’m glossing over the issue of Zane finding out the wrong way, but he’s waiting for me to bring it up.
Ryland’s eyes narrow as he begins pacing.
“I know, I know—we haven’t told Zane.” I throw my hands in the air, frustrated that the situation is getting out of hand.
When Ryland pulls out his phone, I push to my feet, closing the distance between us. I place my hand over his.
“It’s four in the morning for Zane. Why don’t we get something to eat and call him after breakfast?”
It’s Saturday morning, and the hotel dining room is crowded. We make our way to a quiet corner near the back of the dining room and help ourselves to the breakfast buffet.
Ryland is unusually quiet. I try to make light-hearted conversation, but my attempts feel stilted.
Seeing the photograph dampened my mood, and I feel as if an ax is swinging like a pendulum over our heads.
Anger and frustration rise within me until I can no longer hold the unpleasantness inside. I reach across the table, placing my hand over Ryland’s.
“About Zane…”
Ryland rolls his eyes. “You know how protective he is.”
I give him a small smile. “Yes, and I love him for it, but we’ve done nothing wrong. Besides, Zane isn’t the boss of my body or my heart. I am, and I’m in charge of who touches me.”
