Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I pull her toward a taxi, wait for her to get in, then slide inside and slam the door. Another flash catches my eye and I almost give the finger to the asshole who snapped our picture.
Leaning back in my seat, I open my mouth to address the driver, only to be cut off by Maggie. I’m taken aback when she softly gives out directions to the Olive Martini.
I frown. “Are you sure you want to go to work?”
“I don’t have a choice,” she says weakly. “My shift starts in an hour.”
Silence stretches between us. Maggie keeps her gaze glued to the window, but I can tell she’s still shaken up and confused by what just happened. I’m pretty fucking confused myself. How did the vultures learn Maggie’s identity? I hadn’t told a soul that I was staying at her apartment. Not even Stu or my publicist know about her. And the resort would never release the information—Marcus Holtridge and his staff respect their guests’ privacy far too much to sell them out to the media, especially since the resort caters to important figures and prides itself on discretion.
Unless it wasn’t a staff member who’d said anything, but another guest…
I stifle a groan as it hits me. Sonja. It had to be Sonja. She was undeniably pissed when I left her in the casino after she offended Maggie, and I wouldn’t put it past my ex-fling to get even by talking to a couple of paps. Sonja knows much I hate the vultures. If she wanted revenge for my rejecting her, calling the press would be right up her alley.
The silence in the cab drags on so long I begin to feel claustrophobic again. I want to say something, but I fear anything I say will only push Maggie farther away. She was so happy and relaxed when I first brought her to the Bahamas. I know she’d been having a good time, at least up until we ran into Sonja. But despite her shutting down afterward, she’d seemed to come around again on the plane, when I told her the truth about Gretchen. I could swear we reached some kind of turning point, although I can’t quite put a label on it yet. And now it’s all blown to hell, thanks to a few nosy reporters.
I want to tell her I’ll fix this, that somehow I’ll make the media storm go away, but I know better than to make empty promises. The press will hound me no matter what I do, and even if Stu and my PR team manage to spin the story in a way that makes my relationship with Maggie not seem so tawdry, the reporters already know her name. And that means they’ll soon learn everything else about her. Where she works, where she lives.
And if I know the vultures, they won’t hesitate to make Maggie’s life as miserable as they’ve made mine.
Fuck.
27
Maggie
“You’re late.”
My head snaps up, my hand poised over the laces of my sneakers. In the doorway of the employee lounge, Lynda stands with her arms crossed over her chest. I can tell from the look on my manager’s face that she isn’t happy with me.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I burst out, quickly kicking off my shoes and grabbing for the heels at the bottom of my locker. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not.” With a deep frown, Lynda stalks off.
Ouch.
I glance at my watch, which confirms what I already know, that my shift only started five minutes ago. Since when does Lynda get so crabby over five measly minutes?
I would’ve arrived at the Olive sooner, but Ben and I got stuck in traffic on the way back from the airport. And boy, had that been one awkward cab ride.
We hadn’t said one word to each other, though I know it was more my fault than his. After being barraged by those reporters at the airport—reporters who knew my name—I didn’t know what to say or how to react. The cameras, the photographers, the questions…it was all too overwhelming. Terrifying, if I’m being honest. So I’d stayed silent, despite the fact that Ben looked desperate to talk about what happened.
Well, I’m not ready to talk about it. Not now. Not when I have an entire evening of serving to get through, and when I still can’t put into words how the sight of those reporters had made me feel.
Smothering a sigh, I finish dressing and tie my hair into a ponytail. God, I don’t want to be here right now. How can I possibly focus on work when my body still feels bruised from all those nosy questions, and my mind is still swimming with confusion over my feelings for Ben?
The last thing I feel like doing is working, a feeling that only strengthens when I step out of the lounge and realize the owner of the bar has finally decided to make an appearance. I give a startled gasp when I bump into Jeremy Henderson in the hallway.