Not that it mattered. No way was I ever calling her. I would’ve thrown the card away, but I didn’t want any of my coworkers finding it.
I had to figure out a plan.
“Sophia?” My coworker, Eva, called from the doorway.
“Uh, yeah?” I took a deep breath and turned around.
“You okay? It’s insane out there.”
“Yeah, I just…” I shrugged helplessly. Was there anything I could say to explain all that craziness?
“Tara had to call the cops. They’ll be here in a few. She wanted me to make sure you stayed back here until it’s calmed down out front.”
“Cops?” That filled me with fear. Made the whole situation that much more real.
“The group of photographers multiplied. Now there’s like a dozen of them. They were taking pictures and screaming questions at us—asking about you. Tara got them outside, but they’re still out front, taking pictures through the window. It’s crazy. Are you really dating Roman Grier?” Her eyes were wide.
I shook my head. No way was I answering that. “I can’t talk about it. Sorry.”
“I thought we were friends! Come on. You can trust me.”
I didn’t even know her last name, and I seriously doubted that before today she knew mine. We weren’t friends—we were coworkers. “Sorry, I really can’t talk about it. I’m sure you understand.”
“Right.” A hard glint entered her eye. “Well, in the meantime, Tara wants you to stay back here, and she’s going to call someone to cover your shift.”
My heart sank. I hated not pulling my weight at work, but more than that, I couldn’t afford to miss out on four hours’ worth of pay, not to mention tips. “But—”
“Do you seriously think you or any of us can work with that circus going on? It’s driving all the paying customers away, so we’re getting screwed on tips. I hope lover-boy is worth it.”
Eva sent me another hostile glare, then flounced off to the front of the coffee shop without even a goodbye. Some friend.
I guess I needed to figure out where I went from here. In more ways than one.
I’d just apparently lost my other job and had a mad pack of paparazzi on my case because someone leaked my identity and profession to a stupid online mag. It wasn’t a good feeling. Who would sell me out? Whohadsold me out?
Who could I trust?
There was one person I knew more than anyone that I could always count on. At least I hoped I could. Hunched over my phone, I pulled up her contact and called.
“Molly?” I closed my eyes and gave a little laugh as she squealed and babbled something about Roman Grier. “Yeah, I know. Molly. Molly! I need you to come pick me up.”
“Can’t.” She huffed. “I can’t get out the front door right now. People are knocking and yelling questions through the door. I had to close all the curtains because they were taking pictures through the windows. It’s crazy, Soph. I think I’m going to have to call my uncle.” Her uncle being an officer with the LAPD.
“They’re at the apartment already? What am I going to do? I’m stuck at work and paps are here. My boss says I can’t finish my shift. She’s sending me home.”
“Well, you can’t come here. It’s insane.”
“What am I going to do, Mol? Where can I go?” I sat there with my face in my hands as a sense of helplessness washed over me.
“What did you expect, dating a Hollywood hottie?”
“I’m not getting into this with you right now. You know I can’t talk about him.”
“Right. Nice to see you still toeing the company line, regardless of the shitshow you’ve rained down on us. I’ve got a three-ring circus at my front door, and I’m not even dating the guy. I don’t even know what the hell is going on.Because you won’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry, Molly. I really can’t tell you.”
“I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything. You’ve literally brought the freaking devil to my door. What the hell is going on?”