“A question for your therapist, not me.”
“Which one of you came up with the therapist thing, you or Nick? He said something similar.”
“Sometimes the audience dictates the message.”
I frowned. Yeah, that was an insult.
“As for the mess at the cabin, there isn’t one, because Noah got her out of there as a crowd was starting to form. You had to know your hidden spot wouldn’t stay hidden for long when you create a public spectacle.”
Right. Because I’d thought it all out so coherently. I still hadn’t realized all the repercussions yet.
“What was I supposed to do? He was saying shit about her. Looking at her. Treating her like a piece of meat.”
“Newsflash: looking at people is not a crime. Luckily, your attorney is a very capable individual, and you won’t face lasting repercussions. Still, I would advise you to work on getting your temper under control. We’re going to be under enough media scrutiny for a while due to our recent security lapses without you going off half cocked.”
“Which is why I can’t wipe my own ass without security?”
“Unless you’re planning on doing that when you step out on the sidewalk, that doesn’t apply here. Sarah is just accompanying you into the building for ease of transport. She’s worked out an alternate route.”
“You did not just say Sarah. You gave me a female bodyguard? I’m six-foot-four. What exactly is she going to do to protect me?”
“Keep your ass out of jail, for one. Band meeting before rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. Don’t be late.” She clicked off.
“Bye to you too.”
The passenger door of my truck opened, and a blond wearing jeans and a cap climbed in. Fuck. Just what I needed—fan service this early when I was in a bear of a mood.
“Hi, look, I’ll sign whatever you want me to if you’ll make it quick. I’m in the middle of something.” I tacked on a smile, the kind that had resulted in more than a few pairs of bare breasts being presented to me. And bare other things. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.” She gave me a bland look. “I’m Sarah. I do not want your autograph unless it’s on a check, and I doubt you could compensate me as well as Ripper Records is already. We can’t stay here. We need to move. Drive.”
I frowned as I took her in. “You’re the bodyguard? You look utterly harmless. I could toss you over my shoulder.”
“Try it. I’ve been authorized to use whatever force is necessary.”
“On me? Aren’t I the client?”
She sniffed. “Hardly. You’re the equivalent of a society princess who can’t stop partying. In your case, you can’t resist trouble. Same difference.” She pulled out her phone and typed at max speed. “Now move.”
I moved. Under duress, but I did it.
We circled the block for half an hour. When that didn’t give us “clearance” according to Sarah, we went to a diner in Brooklyn and ate eggs and burnt hash browns and said virtually nothing to each other.
The next time we stepped outside, I wasn’t sure if I really did hear the sound of shutters flashing or if I was imagining them.
We finally made it back to my apartment by late morning. By then, I was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and personal disgust, which I was wearing like a cloak at this point. I needed a shower and a few hours of unconsciousness while silent Sarah stood guard and protected me from the big, bad tabloid types circling outside.
She had gotten me into the building with a minimum of fuss, so I supposed I couldn’t bitch. Much.
I showered and dragged a hand over my rapidly growing scruff. Daisy shaving me seemed like a lifetime ago, and it had only been a day.
My phone was blowing up with texts and calls. Several of the ringtones I recognized as belonging to my bandmates. I was sure they were curious what had possessed me to attack a tabloid reporter. It had been a long time since I’d laid hands on anything but some equipment or the occasional piece of hotel room furniture.
It wasn’t a trend I was looking to continue.
For the first time in forever, I took a melatonin to sleep. I was already having crazy dreams, so how much worse could it get?
When I woke up ten hours later after being chased by zombies with high blond ponytails, I decided I didn’t know shit.