“Are you okay?” Elouise asks.
“Yep,” I snap. I can’t even hide how angry I am.
I stay in the bathroom, and twenty minutes later my phone rings.
Hans
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hello, Miss Whitmore. I’m out the front.”
I peer out the door to see the black Mercedes double-parked in the traffic.
“There’s a security guard with me. He’s coming in to get you.”
My eyes well with embarrassed tears. So dramatic.
“Okay.”
I peer around the corner again to see a big burly bodyguard get out of the car and walk into the bar, and I square my shoulders to prepare myself.
I walk out in a rush, and the security guard gives me a kind smile. “Hello, Miss Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go. Stay close.” He turns and walks out of the bar, and I follow him like a child. Cameras flash, people call my name, and in a whirlwind of chaos I am ushered into the back of the waiting car.
The guard gets into the front passenger seat, and we drive off into the traffic.
“Imbeciles,” Hans mutters under his breath.
A text bounces in from Elouise.
I’ve canceled your appointment with Zoe for this afternoon.
We will have to reschedule.
Let me know when suits.
X
I exhale heavily, great.
I can’t even go shopping now.
That was the one thing that I was doing today . . . the only thing.
Now that’s ruined too.
I stare out the window as I internally fume. How dare these fuckers chase me around town? Why don’t they report on an issue that actually matters?
“Where would you like to go, Miss Whitmore?” Hans asks.
“Home, please.”
Two hours later
My phone buzzes . . .
Christopher
“Hello,” I answer.
“Babe, are you okay?” he stammers. “I was in a meeting and just found out what happened.”
“I’m fine.” I’ve calmed down now and am feeling stupid for letting it get to me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“They won’t be able to sell the images. Everyone has been warned. I’m sorry that you had to deal with this alone.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want me to come home? I’ll cancel the meeting I had with Paris for this afternoon.”
“No.” He can’t come home every time I’m photographed. I know I have to learn to deal with this shit. “Finish your day. It’s fine.”
He hangs on the line. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I promise.”
“Just order in tonight; don’t cook. I’m going to be late with this stupid fucking meeting.”
“Okay.”
“Why don’t you go and get a massage or a pedicure . . .”