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"Why was Charlotte at your place last night?" Kelsey asks.
"Her apartment caught fire, and she was…wait. How do you know she was here?"
"Because there was a photographer camped outside your house. They got pictures of you guys on your porch. You weremaking out. And why were you outside in your boxers? You have neighbors, Theo."
"What the fuck?" I growl. "How did they even get to my house?"
"How should I know?" Kelsey asks. "Is Charlotte okay?"
"Yes. No. Fuck," I growl, not sure how to answer that question. She's going to freak the hell out when she finds out someone got pictures of us. We weren't exactly singing Kumbaya on the porch last night. I was all over her. In nothing but my boxers. "She's not hurt. I'm going to fucking murder whoever published those photos."
"That would be everybody," Kelsey says. "Camila and I are already working on it. A barrage of cease and desists have gone out. We also put out a general statement that you're doing well and recovering at home with the people closest to you, and to respect your privacy, blah, blah, blah. No one even cares about the fight at this point. They all want to know about Charlotte."
"What are they saying?"
"Nothing."
"Kelsey."
"Fine," she huffs. "They don't know what to say yet. They're trying to figure out who she is and if you're dating or just…sleeping together."
"What the fuck?" I shout, gripping onto the edge of the dresser as my blood pressure skyrockets. "They think she's a puck bunny?"
"They don't think that," she hurries to say. "Most of them don't, anyway. But you're never photographed with anyone. People are curious, Theo. That's all."
"She's not a fucking puck bunny," I growl. "She's the reason my heart beats."
"I know, I know. But the pictures are a little racy, so people are curious. We have to say something."
She's right, goddammit. If we don't say anything, they'll make up whatever story they want to tell, regardless of whether it's true or not. They'll eat Charlotte alive, just because they can. John really is going to kill me. If Charlotte doesn't do it for him.
Fucking Jackson Hurst. I hope he gets crotch rot.
"We're dating," I growl to Kelsey. "I'm in love with her."
"Obviously," Kelsey snorts.
"Tell them she's the love of my life. Keep her name out of it."
"I can try," she says.
"Don't try. Do it," I order. "Buy me as much time as you can get me, Kelsey. If this gets fucked up and I lose her…."
"You won't," Kelsey promises, her voice soft. "Camila and I will do what we can. Good luck."
"Thanks." I start to hang up and then think better of it. "Hey. I was going to move her in here today, but I'm guessing there are reporters camped outside the gates. Can you send her clothes and girly shit? Whatever she needs."
"Yeah, just send me her sizes, and we'll take care of it." Kelsey hesitates. "But if you want the world to know she's not a puck bunny…."
"I know," I grit out. Moving her in will solve that problem in a hurry. But it might send her running in the other direction too. Fuck. I hang up and toss the phone onto the dresser. Photographers are assholes. They've been making shit complicated for us all goddamn year.
Shit. Maybe this time, it'll play out in my favor.
It has to because I'm not losing her. That's not an option.
Chapter Four
Charlotte
