Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Not tonight.” I tried to summon some of the charm I always had for fans, but my voice didn’t cooperate, coming out all frustrated. The girl frowned while the guy snaked an arm around my shoulder, waving a camera in my face.
“Smile for my followers.”
“Okay, I’m done here.” I stepped to the side, but they followed, keeping me pinned. From the outside, we probably looked like a sexy dancing trio.
“No, stay.” Continuing to act coy, the girl touched my face, making me recoil, but that simply brought me closer to the guy. Fuck.
“The man said he’s done.” And just like that, right as I was about to get desperate, right when I was totally fucked, Duncan appeared like an avenging angel. “Shut off the phone or hit the street. Your choice.”
“You threatening me?” The guy puffed up, but Duncan still had a good three inches on him.
“No, I’m telling you how it’s going to be.” Lord help me if Duncan ever turned that stony glare on me. As frustrated as he’d been earlier, his eyes had stayed soft and kind, but now they were dark and deadly.
The guy drew his hand back, but Duncan easily captured it in his own muscular grip. The two stared each other down, and from behind us, someone murmured, “Fight.”
“What’s going on here?” Ilene chose that moment to flit over, bringing a cloud of perfume and a censuring tone. “People are watching.”
“People are always watching,” I said. It was true and so damn exhausting.
“Exactly.” She nodded sharply. “How about we all make nice, and let’s get another round of drinks over here for our guests.”
“Whatever. We’re out of here. Asshole.” The duo stomped off as Ilene summoned several servers over to hand out drinks to the small crowd who had stopped dancing to watch.
“Thanks,” I murmured to Duncan as we both stepped back out of the way.
“No problem.” His voice was as tight as his clenched fists.
“Just doing your job.” I had no clue why I sounded sad. I’d wanted the best security guy in the country. I’d gotten that. He’d told me over and over in no uncertain terms that his job was to keep me safe. And being the dedicated professional he was, he was guaranteed to do that job.
“My job doesn’t make me see red every time someone lays a hand on you. My job didn’t make me want to smash that phone. Negative publicity be damned.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” I meant for his sake. He didn’t want any publicity, let alone an avalanche of stories about bodyguard rage, but he made a disgusted noise like I’d said something rude.
“Sure. Can’t have your Royals getting harassed by the help.” A bead of sweat rolled past his narrowed eyes.
“You know damn well you’re more than the help.”
“Am I?” He shook his head mournfully.
Before I could reply, Ilene strode over to tap Duncan’s shoulder. “A word?”
“Certainly.” He glanced back at me as she led him away. “Sorry—”
“Duty calls. I get it.” And I did. It was always going to be duty for Duncan. Duty before anything else, including himself, including me, including us.
As he walked away, my stomach twisted. No one else could push my buttons like him. But then, no one else could make me feel like him either. I had no clue how to fix this, but the one thing I was sure of was that I wasn’t going to figure it out here.
I needed out of this place.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Duncan
I didn’t knock.
Hours later, on the flight back to LA, all I could think about was how I’d stood outside Ezra’s door for a good twenty minutes after the party the night before, no damn clue what I wanted to say. I’d only moved on to pacing and obsessing in my own room when I’d heard footsteps near Ezra’s suite. I hadn’t wanted to be discovered as the lovelorn fool I was. Appearances and all that.
Bletch. It was a damn good thing, too, that I wasn’t much of a drinker. Otherwise, I would have been drunk on a plane somewhere over middle America. I should be toasting all the business Ilene and the record label wanted to toss my way, but instead, I had a pounding head, sick stomach, and a chest full of Ezra worries.
The more I sat in my cramped seat and stewed, the better getting shitfaced sounded, but in keeping with my recent luck, I’d waited too long to decide. The clouds had given way to sunny skies and California vistas, and the flight attendants were already giving reminders about seatbacks and collecting trash for our descent into LA.
And fuck, I’d now done nothing other than think about Ezra since walking out of his room the day before. Even the couple of broken hours of sleep I’d managed had been filled with Ezra-centric stress dreams. Every dream had featured an Ezra who was pissed at me, so not that different from my waking life.