Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“I need to shower and change,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt and moving to grab his backpack with toiletries and a clean change of clothes. I stood silently and followed him back to the bathroom, waiting outside as he moved into the small space by himself.
“You okay?” he asked before closing the door.
I met his eyes, warm brown pools I wanted to lose myself in. I wasn’t okay. Not at all. I wanted to touch him, hold him, kiss his fucking face, and tell him over and over again how talented he was.
“I’m fine,” I said instead.
Zane’s eyes flared. “Fine?”
I clenched my jaw against the words that wanted to spill out. “Fine.”
He hesitated before nodding and closing the door between us. We both knew I couldn’t follow him into the bathroom as much as I might have wanted to. Instead, I sat down on the chair nearest the bathroom door and pulled out my phone.
There was a message from one of my brothers with an old photo of me taking second place in a youth biathlon competition. I held up the silver ribbon like it was an Olympic gold medal. Underneath was my attorney brother’s favorite joke.
I don’t understand biathlon…
I mean, how is it possible to have a rifle and still finish in second place?
I grinned and responded the way I always did when he sent this kind of message—by searching for the perfect meme making fun of defense attorneys from the OverheardCourthouse Instagram account.
Just as I heard the bathroom door click open, I caught a news alert in my Instagram feed.
Addison Canto sued by former bodyguard. Two-time Grand Slam tennis champion and host of Zero-Love talk show is accused of sexual harassment, fostering a hostile work environment, and other labor violations.
I stared at the headline graphic. This was the tennis star turned talk show host Derek had mentioned. This must’ve been what that his daughter had been talking about.
I clicked into the hashtags and saw hundreds of reposts and thousands of toxic comments. The ugliness was overwhelming, and it left me in no doubt about what people thought of celebrities hooking up with their security personnel.
My stomach churned with nausea. The salacious news would make it impossible for us to go public with our relationship, not only now but also in the future.
What the fuck were our options after this?
Zane stepped out of the bathroom and smiled up at me. His hair was damp and tangled, but his face was fresh and clean. His tattoos stood out on winter-pale skin. My heart lurched. I hated having to share this, but I’d promised I’d be honest. I’d promised I’d trust him to know what he could handle.
“All clear?” I asked. He knew what I meant. I’d tasked him with examining his bare body in the lavatory mirror to make sure there was no stamp. Even though I couldn’t think of a time when anyone had had that kind of access to him tonight, I still needed to be sure.
“Yes. There are mirrors everywhere in there, and I didn’t see any marks.”
“Good.” I took a breath. “Can we talk?”
I hadn’t meant to phrase it so ominously, but his smile dropped immediately.
TWENTY-FIVE
ZANE
Bears are big on leaving their mark—literally! When bears rub up against trees, they’re not just scratching an itch. By rubbing their backs, heads, and even paws against trunks and branches, they leave behind their scent, marking their territory and announcing, “This place is taken!” It’s like their own woodland billboard, letting other bears know who’s in the neighborhood.
—Bear Facts for Insomniacs, Episode 15
I hated not being able to touch Bear whenever I wanted to. We had a fourteen-hour flight ahead of us, and all I wanted was to curl up next to him and fall asleep against all that muscly warmth.
But when he asked if we could talk, enough adrenaline shot through my bloodstream to ensure sleep would be a long time coming.
“Okayyy.” I gestured to the pair of captain’s chairs closest to the bathroom because everyone else was sitting farther up toward the galley. “What’s up?”
The night had gone well, and I’d seen the look on his face when I’d come offstage. I knew he’d appreciated my song. He’d said it was amazing.
But the look on his face now was totally different. I clasped my hands in my lap to keep from reaching out to grab his hand.
Instead of speaking, he handed me his phone. On the screen was an Instagram post with a large news headline about a famous talk show host.
My stomach dropped. “Oh shit.” After reading the post, I clicked out of it to look for an article that might have more information. Instead, I found the world’s reactions.
It was like a blast from an oven. Hot rage spewed from comments sections and gossip sites, accusing the powerful and wealthy celebrity of taking advantage of someone who worked for her, someone who wouldn’t have been in a position to say no to her advances without losing his job.