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Fuck this.
“I’m out of here.”
I stepped away from the table before anyone could stop me.
Dawson called my name, but I shook my head and moved like my ass was literally on fire. I ran down the hallway to the exit, slapped the restaurant door open, and felt the damp winter air wash over me. It wasn’t raining, but it was misty, and fog had started to roll in, making everything around me hazy.
I turned the corner and leaned against the brick wall of the building.
Reaching inside my jacket, I yanked out my packet of cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag.
I’d had three, no four, glasses of wine, and I was still tense as fuck.
“Iain!” Dawson called out.
“Don’t! Don’t lecture me.”
“Iain.” Dawson walked over to stand in front of me. “Please don’t run off like that. It’s not safe.”
“According to you, breathing isn’t safe.”
“Not with those cigarettes,” he muttered.
I threw the cig on the ground and glared at him.
“Easy for you to say. You can do whatever the hell you want. Go out when you want and fuck who you want, like master chef back there.”
Dawson shook his head. “I took his card to be polite. I have no interest?—”
God, I was so relieved and infuriated at the same time.
“I don’t care!” I yelled. “That’s not my point. Don’t you get it? You have freedom. You can walk out on the street and just… fucking… be!”
Dawson stepped closer, forcing my gaze up. My heart was racing like a getaway car, faster and faster.
“What do you want me to say, Iain? You signed up for this life. And you know what? You’re not the only one who’s stressed out. I spend each goddamn day monitoring everything that moves around you, assessing threats, and never letting my guard down. And when I’m not at work, I’m trying to help my son, who, despite his incredibly sunny disposition, is still grieving the loss of his mom. He’s not even nine, and he barely complains. And I can’t afford to just up and quit my job because I’m frustrated or because you’re always a pain in my ass!”
The mention of Jaxon and his mom reminded me of my own, and I blinked back the unwelcome tears that suddenly threatened. It also deflated any remaining anger in my system, making me feel like a whiny fool.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I know. I know that everything you do is to protect me. And that this is the life I signed up for. And I know that I’m not the easiest person to work for?—”
Dawson snorted, and the sound had me stifling a chuckle.
“I just… that reporter tonight set me off. Mentioning my mom, and I can’t… I don’t want to go there. I’m terrified that it will be all over the news when I wake up tomorrow. And the last thing I need is more scrutiny.”
And I was also worried that something worse was going on with me. That maybe my mom’s battle with mental illness wasn’t unique to her. When I was performing, I felt high and bright, but then, afterward, coming home to an empty house and not being able to do anything without gaining media attention was getting to me.
Or maybe I was just going through an early mid-life crisis.
My sex drive was also unsettling. When I did get it up, I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. And every hot, available man I met recently didn’t do much for me.
Well, except for…
Dawson placed his hands on my shoulders, and I gripped his forearms, not thinking, just acting on instinct. He was so strong, and I could feel his pulse jumping as fast as mine under his heated skin.
“I’ll reach out to Zoe,” Dawson offered.
“But Harlow is supposed to?—”
