Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I jump from the car and jog across the street. At least twenty of them are yelling at the celebrity, oblivious of the little girl.
“Move,” I snap.
Several of them turn to me. One of them, a young man with a cocky, infuriating little smirk on his face, starts to laugh. Then he sees me, and the laughter stops. He takes a step back.
“You—”
Fucking rat, I almost say, but then the little shit aims his camera at me, his only defense. I ignore it, walking ahead and motioning several of them aside. It’s not difficult. They’re all shorter than me, smaller, and they’re cowards.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I tell the girl, leaning down and scooping her into my arms.
“M-M-Mommy,” she cries, throwing her head back.
I carry her down the street, ignoring the cameras, and hand her to her mother. “Oh, God. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Suddenly, a man jogs over. He’s short and not especially fit, but he gives me a dark, serious look, telling me he’s the sort of father any child would be grateful to have. He’s sizing me up like he’s wondering if I’m why his daughter is crying.
The woman touches his arm. “She got swept up with them. He saved her.”
The man visibly relaxes. “Assholes,” he snaps, then offers me his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t mention it,” I tell him, then turn toward my car.
Now, the cameras are all aimed at me. I don’t have to wonder if they’ve recognized me. Or if somebody has told them who I am. They hound me toward the car, snapping photos and shouting questions.
“Why are you on the West Coast, Mr. Kennsion?”
“Is your company failing, Kaleb?”
I slam the door, turn the car, and drive straight at the pricks. Not fast. I give them enough time to get out of the way. They’re lucky they get that much. A strange feeling grips me as I drive away. I get as far from these bastards as I can before I do something I regret. When I saw that lost little girl, for a second, I thought about having a family myself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sophie
“He’s making one hell of a splash,” Paul says, smiling as we both watch the TV.
A celebrity news station shows a video of Kaleb rescuing a little girl from a mob of crazed paparazzi. He looks so heroic as he carries her back to her mother, all the paparazzi stepping out of his way like he’s a force of nature. They cringe away from him, seemingly terrified. When I see him holding that little girl, I don’t know. It makes me think of way, way, way too far into the future. What if…
No, I can’t let myself think about stuff like that. There can’t be a happily-ever-after here. Not unless Paul is somehow okay with what we did.
I feel awkward sitting beside Paul, shifting from side to side, full of energy but nowhere to aim it. Taking out my phone, I check the video. The views have shot up to fifty thousand. The comments are full of people discussing the paparazzi video.
One comment catches my attention. Between this and saving the girl, these two are Fame Warriors!
I smile as I think about working as a team with my man, Kaleb.
“What are you grinning at?” Paul asks.
I show him my phone. “I think it’s more of a nervous smile,” I say because I shouldn’t be smiling about this.
“Oh, damn,” he says. “You’re going to be famous.”
“I don’t want to be famous.”
“A man can’t take a dump without it ending up online these days,” Paul mutters. “What happened, anyway? Why am I only now just hearing about it?”
“I didn’t want to stress you out,” I tell him. “That woman was disgusting. She’s lucky I didn’t break her phone. She didn’t care why he was there, didn’t care we were in a hospital. She saw a celebrity and assumed she had a right to record him. Gross.”
“Speaking of videos…” Paul leans forward as much as he can, wincing even if he tries to hide it. He’s not on the strong pain pills, the ones he needs. He hates drugs of any kind. He would rather stick it out than dull his senses in any way. “I need to tell you something.”
I wait, as Paul explains. The more he talks—telling me about the documentary Kaleb is making—the more fired up my mind gets. Is this the real reason Kaleb came, then? To use Paul for content? Is there a way I can help? I’m torn right down the middle about it.
“Well?” Paul says when he’s explained, and I’m just sitting here. “What do you think?”
“I think it could be a great documentary,” I say, and I think if I agree to help, it will mean more time with Kaleb. I should listen to Gwen’s advice and try not to have one-on-one time with him. That will be impossible if I agree to this. “But I thought Kaleb was just here for you, not for work.”