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"Brandon... I'm sorry, but Damien is right. Somewhat." The last part in a whisper, but I know that Brandon didn’t hear it. "I know you're trying to protect me, but who I date is only my business."
Brandon's jaw drops, and he seems unable to recover.
"It is my business. Everything that concerns you concerns me.”
Her mouth agape, Andrea's eyes burned into Brandon's. "This isn't your call." She took a steadying breath, her chest rising beneath the oversized dress shirt. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but who I date is my choice alone."
Brandon recoiled, jaw tensing. Silence stretched as he struggled to formulate a response.
I watched the tension simmer, ready to step in if needed. But a part of me knows Andrea must to confront this herself.
"You manage my career. Not my life."
"And you think he won't affect your career?" Brandon shrieks.
"Keep referring to me as if I'm not standing here." My voice sounds calm, but both of us know that it’s full of dangerous intent.
Brandon stumbles back, his eyes wide with fear. I don't even have to move. He's right about one thing: my reputation precedes me. And if he knows that much, he should know what I'm capable of.
Andrea steps forward. "Brandon, I'll get dressed, and then we'll go to rehearsal. We can talk about this, but I'm not giving in. It's my life, and I decide on this," she says firmly, her chin held high.
Andrea marches off, her steps purposeful as she heads for the bedroom.
I track her movements, eyes lingering on the curve of her body until Brandon's stricken expression snaps me back. Narrowing my eyes, I hold his gaze steadily. He knows I won't let this go easily.
The fucker flares his nostrils like a bull ready to charge, but it's of no consequence to me.
If he's itching for a war, he'd better brace himself for a swift defeat.
I've made up my mind. I want Andrea, and no one, not even this asshole, will stop me.
Andrea Kingsley, you have no idea what you've awoken in me.
But you're about to find out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ANDREA
"This is going to fuck you up in more ways than you think, Drea. Don't think I'll be there to pick up the pieces when it all blows up in your fucking face."
To emphasize his words, Brandon drops a stack of magazines in front of me. Either my name or my face, sometimes both, appears in all of them.
The first one has been left on top intentionally for me to see. The cover shows a clear photo of Damien's figure coming out of my apartment.
What's worse is that when I look at him, I can only think of how fucking attractive he is. His dark sunglasses are on and his unruly hair is being tousled by the wind. His jacket is slung over his forearm as he walks away from my building.
He looks like a model, far more handsome and more desirable than any man I’ve seen before. His handsomeness is not at all forced, but on the contrary, it exudes from him naturally, like breathing.
Curious, I pick up the magazine, though I know in advance what it’s going to read. The news is circulating all over social media.
We’ve been the talk for at least a month—social media, magazines, blogs.
We’re the couple of the moment, which came to light when the paparazzi spotted us kissing while I was getting out of Damien's car.
My Damien. The thought makes me smile.
Since then, they haven’t stopped following us. But unlike other times, I don't mind the gossip.
