Undersold(40)

“Who is this, Mr. Green? New girlfriend? First girlfriend ever, maybe? She’s pretty young, isn’t she?” The man kept taking pictures, and Shane ignored him, hurrying us down the steps. The driver was outside of the car, and opened the door for us to get in.

“Come on Mr. Green, give me something. At least smile. Haven’t seen you with a lady in a very long time, this is big stuff,” the man said, and kept taking pictures.

For half a beat, just before Shane got into the back of the car, he hesitated. I could see the blind rage in his eyes, his face contorted into a snarl, and I thought he was going to go after the guy. Fear dropped into my stomach, and I looked between the two of them. The man was thin, dark haired, and wore ratty jeans and an ill-fitting sweatshirt. He had bags under his eyes, and his skin was paunchy and covered in stubble. He hesitated as well, seeing the look on Shane’s face and the tension in his body.

But Shane pulled himself together and helped me climb into the car. The man resumed taking pictures as Shane followed me in. He pulled the door shut, and the doorman put my bag into the trunk.

“Mr. Green, come on out and chat, I just want to ask some questions. Let’s see the girl, show her off a little bit. The people want to see her! Come on out, Mr. Green, Mr. Green.” The man continued to yell and taunt until the driver got back into the car. They immediately started moving.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Green,” the driver said. Shane nodded in return, and put the divider up. I could tell he was seething.

He looked out the window, and his whole body was tense and filled with rage. This was the first time I had seen a paparazzi around Shane. I was beginning to think he had exaggerated them, but there the guy was, the real deal, taking pictures and trying to get a rise out of us. It was unnerving and violating the way the man yelled and tried to get in my face. I felt a little dirty, and confused. Why would he be such an asshole to Shane? They were perfect strangers. Logically, I knew it was the man’s job to act like that, but even still, it was disorienting to actually be a part of it. I felt a step closer to understanding Shane’s dominating need for privacy.

I reached out and touched Shane’s hand. He flinched briefly, and his whole body tensed, then he relaxed and took my fingers into his.

He looked over at me, and his eyes seemed distant.

“It isn’t your fault. I forgot about them,” I said quietly.

He growled in return and nodded. “I did too, but I shouldn’t have. The fucking scumbags always come back, just in case I screw up.”

“Shane, that wasn’t your fault.”

“It was my fault, Amy. I got lazy and sloppy. We should have gone the back way.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

His eyes smoldered. “I do blame myself,” he said, and his tone was firm and angry. I had never heard him speak that way to me before, and I could only gape at him in surprise.

His face relaxed immediately. “I shouldn’t snap at you.”

I squeezed his hand. “I understand.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you. It’ll be fine. Just don’t go on the blogs for awhile, and if you see anybody lingering near your apartment with cameras, don’t engage them.”

I nodded. What exactly was going to happen now? I had no idea, and I was terrified of what this was going to do to him, and to us.





21.


Back at my apartment, I felt unreasonably paranoid. Nobody was lurking outside my building, and they couldn’t have learned my name already, but Shane had walked me up to my front door anyway. He kissed me there, but he seemed distant and forlorn, and I couldn’t tell what was happening inside of him. I spent the rest of the evening hitting refresh on the few gossip blogs I knew would run a story about a tech company billionaire, but our picture never showed up. I was exhausted, so I went to bed pretty early, but I tossed and turned all night, imagining how Shane would react to our picture on the front page.

The next morning, I woke up to my cell ringing. It was a half hour before my alarm usually went off, which was really weird. I checked the caller ID and it was Darcy.

That was even weirder. She never called me this early in the morning, and my heart sank. I imagined a thousand different scenarios, each one worse than the one before it. Was she hurt, or was my family hurt? I swiped right and answered.

“Hello, Darcy?” My voice was groggy, but I was wide-awake.

“Hello there you little harlot!”

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, you little slut. Got anything to tell me?”

I had no clue what she was talking about. The sun was barely up, and I had to be at work in a little over an hour. Did she seriously call this early and wake me up just to play some weird guessing game? Annoyed, I rolled myself in my blankets.