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)
“Sorry.” Ezra at least had the grace to look sheepish. “I’ll go talk to the crowd, give a few quotes, make the story less of a big deal.”
He headed toward the dressing room door, but Kate and I reached for his arm at the exact same moment.
“Wait.” I dropped my hand but kept my stern tone. “You’re not going out there alone.”
“You hate the press.” His expression was all apologetic, which wasn’t doing a thing to help my mood. I didn’t need him coddling me and not telling me things and making it ten times harder to do my job and keep us under wraps at the same time.
“I’m your security chief.” I glowered at him, but as usual, he wasn’t cowed and glowered right back, so I continued my lecture. “It’s literally my job to go out there with you. Dealing with the media, amateur paparazzi, and crush of fans is exactly what you pay me for.”
Ezra’s mouth puckered. Whatever. He didn’t have to like what I was saying. It was true. And for all he liked pretending that we were friends first, this was still a job, and it was entirely on me that the lines had blurred to the extent that he thought he needed to protect me.
“Duncan’s right.” Kate rubbed Ezra’s shoulder. “It’s going to be a gauntlet run simply to make it to the bus, let alone if you plan to stop and make a statement.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” He motioned for the rest of us to follow him out of the room, waiting until Kate was busy handing Carl his phone back to whisper to me, “I’m sorry—”
“Later.” My voice was clipped because this was neither the time nor the place, but the pain in his eyes made my chest ache that much more. I didn’t want either of us hurt, but maybe that had been inevitable from the start. And right now, my priority had to be keeping him safe.
A large crowd was waiting behind the security barrier outside the backstage area, and as soon as we emerged, Ezra was pummeled by questions.
“Ezra! What’s this about you saving a life?”
“Ezra, can we get a word?”
“How does it feel to be a hero?”
Each voice was louder than the next. People held up phones, trying to get pictures and sound bites.
Pasting on a brittle smile, Ezra waved to the assembled people. “While golfing with my dad, there was an incident. I was happy to play a small role in helping, but it’s a private medical matter. And really, the kudos belong equally to my dad and Duncan—my security.”
His statement, which had started so strongly, went off the rails as soon as he mentioned me. And given his issues around praise for the rescue, I probably should have anticipated him trying to give me credit publicly, but now all the phones swung in my direction.
“What can you tell us about your role?
“Hey, Ezra, tell us more about your bodyguard?”
“What’s Duncan’s full name?” One of the more aggressive questioners, a blue-haired woman, demanded, only to be jostled by a bearded man with a large phone.
“Aren’t you Daryl Lubov’s kid?” he demanded, expression cagey like he already knew the truth.
“No comment,” I said through clenched teeth.
“We’ll have a more polished statement for you all soon,” Kate chirped as I steered Ezra toward the tour bus. He paused to wave back at the crowd of fans, taking time to blow a kiss.
“Get on the bus.” I had run out of patience for him, his fans, and this whole damn enterprise.
“I’m going.” He gave me a look like I was being the unreasonable one here and reached for my arm before dropping his hand when I made a point of bounding up the bus steps. No matter how badly I wanted it, I couldn’t let him touch me within camera view. He waited until we were on the bus with the door shut before speaking again. “Can we talk?”
“Not here.” Activity swirled around us—the usual movie crew settling into the lounge, others getting ready to crash in their bunk, someone humming part of an oldies song, others joining in. No way could we talk here, and both of us sitting on Ezra’s bunk was sure to attract more notice than when we’d done it the past couple of times to watch TV. Those days were over. Too much attention now.
And honestly, I was okay with the excuse to not talk. Anger kept my muscles tight and achy, and my movements were rough and jerky as I removed my shoes and climbed up to my bunk. I drew the curtain, and only then did I exhale. And even my breathing was frustrated, harsh wheezes.
Aren’t you Daryl Lubov’s kid? The one question I’d spent years dodging, yet I never could fully outrun it. Naval academy, SEALs, building my business. Didn’t matter. The specter of my father always loomed larger-than-life. His reputation would always precede me, and no way would stories omit that tasty tidbit.