“God bless Texas,” I say. Paparazzi are nowhere near as prominent in Austin as they are in other cities, though in this age if you’re recognizable enough, everyone’s a pap. We’re lucky that people still rely on the news at this point with so many rogue reporters out there. Sadly, being Easton Crowne’s ex and now Tye’s, I am highly recognizable, but in the worst possible way.
Regardless, I have no doubt whoever is in the vicinity is making a beeline for Speak. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll jet. Promise.”
Seeming satisfied, Dad stands and heads toward my office door. My courtship with Tye made headlines for the five weeks we ‘dated,’ which did nothing to aid my belief that we had some sort of fairytale future. Easton did his part to taint the idea the day of the Super Bowl, but Tye and our reality as a couple—which was nonexistent—finished it off.
There were few sparks without a single trace of fire. I’ve had fire, and even if I lost it, I refuse to settle for anything less. I also refuse to believe that my chances of ever having it again are as slim as my ex claims. Case in point, my father celebrated his twenty-fourth wedding anniversary after losing who he thought was the love of his life.
Even if a large part of me believes Easton, I’m determined to die on my stance to keep my eyes open in search for smoke. Otherwise, well…fuck the alternative. I’m too young to consider myself damned and believe it’s already a curtain call for me in the love department.
I’m not aiding Easton’s ridiculous belief that I have no hope of any real romantic future or buying into ‘the one and only’ notion anymore, no matter how true it feels at times and especially on days like today.
Screw Easton Crowne and the awareness that loving him brought me.
Screw men in general, aside from the one man I’ve almost always been able to count on.
Dad lingers at my office door as I do my best to relieve him of the burden of being a concerned parent. “Please tell Mom just how fine I am and be gone, good media king,” I wave him away, “this princess has a deadline. Find someone else to hover over and terrorize.”
Dad lingers a bit longer when my intercom buzzes, and I snatch the cradled phone like the lifeline it is, willing to talk to anyone who will get the overprotective guardian out of my office.
“Line one—”
“Got it,” I say, with the phone already to my ear, continuously shooing my father away. When he’s out of earshot, I hit the button with a ‘no comment’ ready on my tongue. “This is Natalie Hearst.”
“Beauty…”
Stunned, I focus on the blooming flowers of my screensaver and school my expression.
“Are you okay?” His voice is void of sarcasm, but that does nothing to curb my contempt.
“About the puppy? I’m good. I’m not much of an animal person anyway, a fun fact you didn’t know about your ex-wife.”
“I didn’t fucking mean that,” he rasps out, his voice scratchy as though he just woke up.
“Well, you were right about some of it, so feel free to congratulate yourself.”
“Natalie…I’m sorry.”
“I’ve already forgiven you, and I did it for me. Anything else?”
“I’m in Austin.”
“Yeah? Good for you. Go to Sam’s on 12th street, amazing barbecue.”
“Can I see you?”
“No thanks. I barely survived the last scathing interaction.” Heart pounding, I tilt my head and type gibberish on my board to make myself look busy while feeling the prodding blue eyes across the pit.
Not again. Nope. Nope. Nope.
“You’re a stain.”
Easton made every imaginable headline professionally for weeks following the Super Bowl. His sales skyrocketed along with the simultaneous hunger for his picture and any personal information. His half-time performance blasted him into the stratosphere, quadrupling his already impressive sales and putting all twelve of his singles on the Billboard, numbering one through twelve. Personally, he disappeared, not a single picture of him surfacing. Not only has Easton’s success become ceaseless in media chatter, but the Sergeants’ performance was rated by many as one of the top ten half-time shows in NFL history. Even so, Easton seems to have exiled himself from the spotlight.
“Let me come to you,” he says. “I want to apologize in person.”
“No!” I blurt as several sets of eyes fly my way. “No,” I repeat, lowering my voice. “It’s not a good idea, and you know it’s not. Listen to me…you’re okay, you’re better than okay, and I’m going to be okay, and I need you to respect that. I’m happy for you, I really am, and I’ll accept your apology now, but please don’t call me again. There’s nothing more to say. I wish you well.”
I hang up the phone and stare at it, just as the line instantly lights up with another incoming call. The gravity of what I just did begins to hit as I try not to let the burn singe too much of me.
He didn’t call. You imagined it.
The lines continue to explode, and my phone texts tick up in numbers—no doubt Holly and Damon attempting to check on me.
I send them a group text to assure them I’m okay, and they both instantly start an emotional welfare check interrogation.
“Damnit,” I mutter, hanging my head. Dad’s right. I need to try to avoid this circus for at least a few days until some of the storm blows over. Grabbing my laptop, I walk across the pit. Employees eyes follow me as I command my heart to slow.
He didn’t just call. You imagined it. He’s not in Austin.
I knock on Dad’s doorframe, and he immediately puts his call on hold, kicking back in his leather chair while squeezing his stress ball.
“What’s up?” He eyes my laptop.
“You’re right. I’m going to go. I’ll work from home for the next few days. I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
“Look at me,” he commands, and I do. “Do I look upset? This isn’t on you.” I can feel his aggravation for me in his posture, but see nothing but love in his eyes.
“Thank you. Love you.”
“You too. Come home if you want.”
“I may ride Percy later on. I’ll let you know.”
With that, I hurriedly make my way to the back exit of the building. The minute I step out, I’m blinded by the Texas sun while my name is shouted from a block away by a voice I don’t recognize. They’re already here.
“Shit.”
Digging in my purse, hand on my stun gun, I round the building and stop briefly as I spot the few who’ve gathered in front of the main entrance. Turning, I start a sprint as they catch sight of me fleeing toward the coffee shop where I parked this morning in anticipation. The second I turn the corner, a black SUV cuts me off in the alley, just as I’m spotted by a few more photographers. I shield my face with my laptop as a window lowers, expectant of camera flashes. “No comment for the rest of my fucking life!”
“Think that will work for me?” an amused voice replies, followed by an accompanying chuckle. Lowering my laptop, I meet the jade eyes that haunt me in the waking hours when my guard is lowered.
“What in the hell are you doing?!” I snap, realizing Joel is in the driver’s seat, grinning at me, seemingly just as amused. “I told you I didn’t want to see you!”
“Damn, Beauty, you’re foul today,” Easton’s smooth voice reaches my ears, and I shake off the chill, knowing it has nothing to do with the lingering spring temperature.
“Might want to get in,” Easton urges as I glance back and see paparazzi closing in, less than a block away.
“Damnit!” I open the door, Joel rolls the windows up and I manage to slam myself inside just as they surround the car.
“This is just fucking perfect!” I shield my face again with my laptop as we’re engulfed, and flashes go off. Joel lays on the horn before slamming on the gas, giving us a wider berth while tearing out of the alley in reverse.
“Good to see you, Nat,” he chimes in obvious amusement before throwing the SUV into drive and speeding away from the swarming bodies chasing us.
Stare lingering back through the rear windshield, I unload a slew of curses as Joel maneuvers us through traffic while breaking every imaginable law.
Turning my glare toward Easton, I’m struck stupid by the sight of him smiling, his green eyes glittering as he drinks in my appearance. I close my eyes and tilt my head back on the rest as his chuckle fills the cabin.
“This isn’t funny. At fucking all,” I grit out.