“DIVORCE SUCKS,” I said for what seemed like the millionth time since this whole ordeal started. Not that I needed to reiterate that for anybody. People didn’t get married thinking they’d ever divorce. Being the product of a divorced household, and a father as a divorce attorney, I never saw myself getting a divorce. I always swore that if I got married it would be forever, but that was before the promise of forever became dreary and cold. It was before the word itself made me want to curl up into a ball whenever I thought of my estranged husband hitting the bottle or those pills he’d been partial to for the past two years. It was before shit went down the drain, basically. And that’s how I found myself talking to the hot new security detail my soon-to-be ex-husband assigned me.
“Are you ready?” Marcus asked. Marcus. Even his name was fucking hot. The first time I saw him I wondered if Gabe’s manager had picked him out on purpose, maybe to see if I’d cozy up to him and leave Gabe alone. Or cozy up to him and have something to hold over my head in this divorce.
“He’s so full of himself, you know?” I said in response. Marcus’s brown eyes flickered to mine in the rearview mirror, holding absolutely no amusement.
“Pardon?”
“Gabriel. He’s full of himself. He thinks hiring a hot bodyguard is going to lessen the blow of the divorce. Let me tell you something, Marcus. I’m the one dealing with all this divorce crap. Me. I’m the one visiting lawyers and trying to sort things out quietly for his sake. You know why? Not because I’m a great human being, but because I still have feelings and he’s a grade-A prick. Having a hot driver isn’t going to make me forget that.”
Marcus’s light-blond eyebrows shot up in surprise momentarily. I wasn’t sure if I was glad for his silence as he let me get that off my chest or pissed off that he had absolutely nothing to add to my rant. I hated when people didn’t rant with me.
“I don’t know him personally, and he’s paying me, so I’m not sure what to say to that,” he said. “Knock on the window when you’re ready to get out.” He opened his door and stepped into the swarm of paparazzi awaiting my arrival.
I was sure they were hoping they’d catch a glimpse of me crying. They would have to set up a tent outside my bedroom window in order to get that shot. I gathered my thoughts as I watched Marcus round the front of the car. As promised, he stood beside my door with his back toward me. I smoothed my hair and took a deep breath as I looked out into the crowd of photographers.
Of all the things Gabe had to endure on a daily basis, this was the one I’d never been able to fathom. When I was by myself they rarely followed me around, but if they caught wind that he was around it was no holds barred. They gunned for us, even if we were with my godchildren, who would cry because they hated the flash of the cameras and the nonstop questions.
A couple seconds passed before I knocked on the window three times. He held his hand out to help me exit the car and sidestepped a photographer who rushed toward me.
“Nicole! How do you feel about the rumors that Gabriel is dating his new co-star, Lina?”
“Nicole! Over here! You look lovely today. Are you filing for divorce?”
“Are you going to press charges against Fey Winters for destruction of property?”
“Do you think Gabriel deserves a second chance?”
“Is it true he’s screwing your best friend’s nanny?”
I never, ever showed emotion when being photographed under these circumstances, but that last question made me frown. My best friend didn’t even have a nanny. I was sure they’d manipulate that frown to mean I looked like a mess when I went to visit a divorce lawyer, but who cares? Obviously Gabe’s people, most likely his manager, called the paparazzi to tip them off about my whereabouts. Make me look like the bad guy, of course. Classic Hollywood tale, the less popular person was always at fault.
I was glad when Marcus opened the door of the building, and we were able to drown out their incessant questions, though the receptionist’s voice replaced theirs immediately.