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“Ah, Teela.” Hands to her head, he lifted her face. “You’re going to tempt me to say something stupid.”
“Like don’t let the door hit you on your way out?”
“Christ,” he said, pained and amused at the same time. He put his knuckles to her cheek. “Are you going to let me take you to bed one last time?”
“As long as you don’t do that disgusting lovemaking thing.”
“I’ll aim for sheer filth.”
She combed her fingers through his hair, grazing his scalp gently and making him close his eyes. “Perfect.”
“Dinner first?”
“I could be persuaded.”
“Suit on or off?”
“Don’t make me choose.”
“I’ll surprise you,” he said, and closed a button on his shirt.
Dinner was a luxury hotel version of fast food. Excellent burgers, gourmet fries. Likely cost more than her groceries for the week. Teela had a berry smoothie in a twisted attempt to be healthier and Haydn had a designer beer.
“There’s something you need to be aware of,” he said, and she almost choked on her stainless-steel straw because he sounded so serious after all their delicious banter and that moment where he’d seemed a little vulnerable. Not because he didn’t get the money for the refugee aid project but because he thought he’d be alone tonight.
“One of those kids on the bridge climb thinks he figured out who I was. Posted a pic of us to Facebook. It’s gone viral.”
Oh, shit.
“I don’t look like me and your back is to the camera. It’s hearsay. Not an issue for either of us.”
“Really?”
“But.”
Here it comes.
“We got papped getting off the yacht. Despite the hat and shades, Haydn Delany watchers will know it’s me. Plus the wrist brace gives it away. I should’ve left it off.”
There’d been a huge photo of Haydn on stage at the conference wearing the brace in all the papers and on TV and all over social media, and he’d worn it most of the weekend when they’d been out.
“They got a sequence of shots of us transferring from the boat to the car. We’re touching. They’re focused on me. A spread of those shots will be everywhere you can think of by tomorrow night.”
“I’m going to be in the media?” Shit. She’d been willfully naive about that possibility and lulled into complacency by his attempts to evade attention. How professional was that going to look? What would Lynda think? She’d taken a risk hiring Teela instead of a more established firm, and professional conduct did not extend to being caught in compromising situations with the star of the show. If this blew up, it would paint her as a gold digger and prevent her winning other conferences, because no one wants a publicity courting man-eater on their production team.
“You have your cap and glasses on and your head is down,” he said. “Your mother will know it’s you in a twitch. Evie might call bullshit if you deny it. No one has your name. Can you think of anyone who might want to score off you by claiming association?”
“What?”
“Is there anyone who would leak your name for a fee?”
Leak her name? Her mind went blank. “Do you mean call everyone up and say they know who I am?” Other than Evie and Sophie, no one knew what she’d been up to and she trusted them like she trusted the sun would rise and set each day. “That happens?”
He nodded. “It’s up to you how you play this.”
She put both hands up. “Wait. Rewind. How do you know this? I didn’t see any photographers. And what do you mean how I play it?”
“Long-range lens. Had a call from my people,” he said, making finger commas around the word people. “We’ll make no comment. Neither confirm or deny. Ideally you play it by letting it go. Some other celeb will do something more interesting tomorrow and we’ll be old news and you’ll remain the mystery woman Haydn Delany courted in Sydney. But if you think someone might out you, it would be better to get in front of it.”
