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“Er, hi, Lexie,” he says, as I press my face to the spy hole set into the door. “Good morning to you, too.”
I peer out at the street in front of the house, ignoring him. Sure enough, there’s a small gaggle of what I’m assuming is photographers standing grouped around my front gate.
It looks like the “Jealous Ex Attacks New Girlfriend With Fried Food” story has made it to the national media, then. I’m not surprised. That video was never going to be purely a TikTok sensation, was it? Violet and Jett are way too famous for that.
And it looks likeI’mpretty famous too, now, thanks to my connection with them.
Or infamous, rather.
“How long were you standing out there?” I demand, turning to face McTavish. “They didn’t take photos of you, did they? Please tell me they didn’t get any photos?”
“I think they did, aye,” says McTavish, confused. “I was standing at the door for ages, pressing the bell. I dinnae think ye heard it, though. D’ye want me to take a look at it for ye while I’m here?”
I mentally add the doorbell to my list of things that need to be fixed, and look through the spyhole again.
Yup, they’re definitely photographers. I recognize some of them from… well, from thelasttime all the major media outlets sent their best shooters to get photos of me coming out of this house. That was back when Jett and I first got together, and he was briefly staying here with me and Mum. Back then, the very idea of an A-lister staying in Heather Bay was more than enough reason for the gossip rags to send their reporters here.
Now, though, I’ve given themmuchmore than that to write about.
At least Scarlett Scott isn’t among them this time. I guess that’s something.
“Wait, why areyouhere?” I ask suddenly, looking at McTavish with suspicion.
Oh God. Surely he hasn’t heard about the little white lie I told Grace last night? Surely he’s not here to challenge me over it? Or, even worse, to tell me he’s secretlyintoit?
“I came for yer car,” he says, scratching his head. “I ken ye said Big Dunco had already tried to fix it, but Dunco’s used to modern cars. Yours is a classic, Lexie. Ye’d be better takin’ it to a specialist.”
“I can’t,” I say, wondering why we’re even having this conversation. “I don’t have any money, remember?”
“Aye, but I know a boy who works on classic cars,” says McTavish, unperturbed. “It’s his hobby. I’m sure he’d take a look at it for ye for nothin’. He’d enjoy it. And I’ve got a tow-bar on the Range Rover: I can tow it there for ye now. It’d be nae bother, Lexie. It’s a braw car. It would be a shame to see it left to rot.”
I chew my thumbnail thoughtfully as I consider this. I can’t deny it would be useful to have the car back on the road again now the paps are here. Walking to work is just going to give them more time to harass me, whereas if I had the car…
“I can’t come with you, though,” I say. “I’m going to be late for work as it is.”
“That’s nae bother,” he says again, cheerfully. “I’ll drive ye to work, then I’ll come back for the car. I can get somebody from The View to come and help me if I need it.”
“You’re an absolutely lifesaver, McTavish,” I say, relieved. “I honestly don’t know what I’d have done without you these past couple of days.”
Impulsively, I reach up and hug him: a gesture which is very unlike me — and which I regret almost immediately, as the front door, which I must not have closed properly, suddenly swings open, providing a clear view of me and McTavish to the small group of photographers at the front gate.
Oh please God, no.
The cameras go off simultaneously. It sounds a bit like gunfire.
“Noooo,” I wail, pushing McTavish away as ifhe’sthe one who hugged me, rather than the other way around. “This can’t be happening.”
I slam the door closed and turn the key for good measure. McTavish and I stand facing each other in the gloom of the narrow hallway.
“It’s no’thatbad, is it?” says McTavish, looking vaguely affronted. “It was just a hug, Lexie. Nobody’s going tae think anything o’ it.”
He’s wrong, though.
He’s very, very wrong.
Because by the time I arrive at The Crown — late, despite my best efforts to get up early this morning — the photo of Jett Carter’s unstable ex-girlfriend and her “hunky” new flame have already hit the news wires… and, more importantly, the Internet.
This is it. My life is basically over.
