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Whenever we go out, the people always shout—
“Just tell me what you want me to do,” I said.
“Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want an honest answer to that question,” she said.
There goes Ian Dun dadun dundundun—
The sarcasm was starting to get on my nerves. “Could you please stop singing for a second, Clara, and just let me—”
“Please, call me Ms. Zapatadadadingdong,” she said. “It’s Norwegian for ‘someone just fucking kill me already.’”
“May I please finish a sentence?”
“Why, so you can lie some more?”
“No, so I can explain.”
“Fine, billionaire,” she said. “Go ahead. Explain.”
“First of all, I’m not a billionaire, okay? My father is. I’m just his heir apparent. And that makes me a perfect target for gold diggers, blackmailers, and paparazzi. A lot of people out there know me on sight. But you didn’t. I didn’t tell you my real name because—”
I cut myself off mid-sentence. There was suddenly a far more urgent problem at hand. An unmarked white van was pulling into a parking spot on the opposite side of the street about fifty yards ahead of us. I immediately recognized the driver.
I quickly reclined my seat.
“Thank you for lowering yourself to my level,” Clara said. “But I’m leaving, so don’t waste your time.”
She started to sit up, but instinctively, I flung my right arm over her torso. “Stay down.”
“What the hell?” she said, attempting to push away my arm.
“Just stay down,” I repeated. “My side windows are tinted but the windshield isn’t. If you sit up, he’ll be able to see you.”
“Who’ll be able to see me?”
Still holding her down, I clumsily picked up my phone with my left hand. Raising it above the dashboard, I snapped a few blind pictures.
“This is bullshit,” she said, grabbing the door handle. “I’m leaving.”
I pressed down harder, this time grabbing her elbow tight. “I’m sorry, Clara. But I can’t let you leave.”
“Are you threatening me?” she said, grabbing my arm with both hands and struggling in vain to break free of my grip.
“There’s a threat to you,” I said. “But I’m not it. And once you step out of this car, there’s nothing I or anyone else on earth can do to help you.”
She dug her nails into my skin. “I said let go of me!”
I didn’t care if she drew blood. Once she stepped out of the car, it was all over for her. I couldn’t let that happen.
“Look,” I said, holding up my camera so she could see the picture I’d just taken. “Do you see that white van?”
She looked at the photo. “What about it?”
“There’s a guy inside named Tom Carter. He’s one of the most notoriously persistent paparazzi on earth, and the minute either of us gets out of this car, we’re both back in the headlines.”
She removed her fingernails from my flesh. “You’re saying we have a stalker?”
“I’m sayingIhave a stalker,” I clarified. “You just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
