I try to see what she is pointing at as she turns the magazine around and shows it to her friend. They both look back and forth between the article and me.

  "Damn, you're right!" the other woman says in a loud voice, now facing me again with that devaluing expression.

  I ignore her and try to get a better glimpse of the article. My heart is racing as I see the headlines. Pink, giant letters, underpinned with a questionable number of exclamation marks that read: Evan Beckhart skipping charity event for HER!?!

  My jaw drops as I see the photos plastering the short article. There are very unflattering pictures of me running out of that damn hotel's entrance with my hair flying all over the place and exposing the hickeys on my neck all too well.

  I am sweating and shaking, overwhelmed with fear – and rage. Those damn women are still staring at me, exchanging words that I can barely hear because my ears are ringing and my vision is blurring with tears.

  I turn around, feeling the venom in the women's eyes burning into my back as I race off to hide. Completely ignoring Stephanie's concerned look, I run past her to the bathroom, where I lock myself in.

  I take out my cell phone with shaking hands and dial his number.

  It rings once, twice, five times before his voicemail answers.

  Of course.

  What did I expect? The way he has been acting in regard to this damn paparazzi craziness, it was only to be expected that he wouldn't answer my call.

  I try calling it again. And again.

  Tears are running down my face. I feel so ashamed, so manipulated, so humiliated, and exposed.

  A waitress. How dare they call me a waitress in a tone like that!

  How does anyone dare publish pictures of me? Why did Evan not warn me? Not talk to me even?

  I feel so desperately alone dealing with this. And it shouldn't be this way. No one should be allowed to make feel like this. No one!

  "Where the hell are you?!" I cry when his voicemail answers for the fourth time. "Evan, what the fuck is this?!"

  CHAPTER XIX

  Evan

  Five unanswered calls, two messages in my voicemail mailbox and too many text messages to count.

  "I can’t do this," I tell Roy, who’s sitting across from me, holding my phone up to his face. "I can’t do this to her. And I won’t."

  Roy rolls his eyes and leans forward, resting his heavy elbows on the table between us as he casts me a stern look.

  "Just listen to me for once, Evan," he urges. "She can do without seeing you for a while, especially if you can’t help but leave her in that state every time you guys meet. It’s just –"

  "Leave her in that state?" I ask, contorting my face with disgust. "What really messed her up were those fucked-up paparazzi out there, and what they did with those disgusting pictures of us. It’s your job to keep these things from happening!"

  "And I could have prevented it if I had known what you were up to!" Roy insists. "You were supposed to be at that event, alone, being a professional for once."

  "I’m a business man, not a fucking celebrity," I remind him. "I’ve told you before."

  Roy shakes his head and sighs heavily.

  "Not since you’ve dated Sheila Buffay," he says. "And not while you’re running around looking like… this."

  He waves his hand at me in a disrespectful manner. "Looking like a damn movie star, loaded like hell–"

  "Now you’re the one who’s anything but a professional," I interject. "Stop this pathetic display of envy and just do the job I’m paying you to do, which is to keep me – and Nicky – safe from unwanted publicity. It’s bad enough you couldn’t prevent those pictures from being published, but even worse that you didn’t warn me about it."

  Roy gasps. "I didn’t know–"

  "It’s your fucking job to know!" I yell. "And how on Earth is keeping my distance from Nicky helping anything? She’s understandably distraught; she needs me!"

  Roy leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his chubby lap as he rolls his eyes at me again. This guy has no idea how close he is to getting fired.

  "We just need to get a few things sorted out first," he says. "If you’re dating someone and she walks outside looking as if you’ve beaten her up, the public will want to know more about that. They’re on you now and they will follow you around like fucking hawks. Do you really want to expose the girl to that right now?"

  "Nicky," I interject in a seething voice. "Her name is Nicky, and she’s not just some girl."

  "Whatever," Roy says. "If you want to keep her safe and sane, I’d suggest waiting until things calm down and they lose interest in you. It’s just a bad time for you to be dating just after that silly article was published about you being the hottest billionaire bachelor in the country."

  "Another thing I didn’t exactly agree to," I remind him.

  Roy shrugs. "I always say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but people like you hate to believe me."

  "It is a bad thing when people get hurt," I say, holding up my phone again. "Nicky is a victim in all of this, and she hasn’t heard from me in what must feel like an eternity with the way she’s feeling right now. I’m responsible for that, and I won’t leave her hanging any longer, no matter what you suggest."

  Roy sighs again and raises his hands in defense. "Whatever, man. But don’t come running to me if this backfires badly."

  I get up from my chair; the meeting is over.

  "At least don’t mess her up like this again!" Roy barks at me when I turn around to head for the door. "It makes you look like a fucking abuser, for God’s sake!"

  I’m not listening to him. I’m already dialing her number.

  CHAPTER XX

  Nicky

  "Nicky!" I hear his breathless voice at the other end of the line.

  He sounds exhausted and upset.

  I am sitting on a chair in the kitchen with my legs curled up under me and in the company of my worried roommate Yuka. She has been spitting fire since I told her what happened. She loathes Evan so much right now that I felt driven to defend him at one point. If it was up to her, I would just "dump that egocentric weirdo" and get on with my life, assuming that tabloid readers have a short memory and will forget all about me and the terrible pictures they saw of me associated with Evan.

  I am not completely convinced of her suggestion, but I know that – if anything – she is the voice of reason in all of this. The person who does not have her heart wretched and distorted by a man's inexplicable appeal.

  His charm, his smell, his loving voice and soft gestures that exist in vivid contrast to his brute and domineering way to take me just the way I love it. I hate the control he has over me, yet I love it at the same time.

  Yuka would never understand.

  "Evan," I say, speaking to him in a voice sounding nowhere as cold and distant as Yuka told me to be just a minute before. She frowns at me, obviously annoyed.

  "Nicky!" he gasps again. "Are you okay?"

  What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, I am not okay. I called him at least half a dozen times, hanging up before his voicemail picked up, and then left two very distraught voicemail messages that were a clear sign of how much I am not okay.

  "Well, what do you think?" I ask. His idiotic question made it a lot easier to remember that I am mad at him. "Of course I am not okay."

  He lets out a desperate sigh. Even though I cannot see his face, I do have a pretty good idea of what he might look like right now. And I cannot help but wish that I was standing right next to him.

  "I am so sorry," he says. "For all of this."

  "Are you?" I respond.

  The tone of my voice has changed. Yuka appears to be satisfied.

  "Nicky, you have to trust me," he adds. "I didn't know they would be there. I was just as shocked as you were."

  "Okay," I say.

  "But," he continues, "I should have known. I should have been prepared. I should have taken better care and not let this happen to you."

  He pauses, possibly to give me time to speak. But I have nothing to say. He is right. He should have done all those things.

  But he didn't.

  "Trust me," he proceeds. "My publicist and I tried everything to prevent these pictures from being published. But it was too late. I spent hours on the phone with him to –"

  "You should have talked to me," I interrupt. "How come you found the time to spend 'hours on the phone' with your publicist, but I hear nothing from you? Even worse, you don’t answer my calls or respond to my messages, instead completely ignoring me when I needed to talk to you the most!"

  "Yes, I know, I was advised not to–"

  "Advised? Why on earth were you advised not to talk to me?"

  "We were trying to figure things out, I wanted to protect you," he tries to explain. I swear he is almost pleading with me to understand. "I tried... so hard. You have to believe me."

  "How come you didn't even warn me?" I add, on a roll now. "If you knew those pictures were going to be published, how come you never said anything to me? Instead, I have to run into these bitches at work and –"

  "What do you mean?" he asks, worriedly.

  I tell him about what happened at the restaurant. About the two ladies, their shocked stares as they realized who I was.

  A waitress. Just a waitress.

  "Oh, Nicky," he sighs. "I am so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please don't listen to those hens. What do they know? We both know you are a lot more than a waitress."

  Am I, though? The women's statement could only hurt me so much because it touched a sore spot. It fueled my insecurities.

  "I’m not so sure about that ," I murmur.

  "To me you are," he assures. "A lot more. Can you trust me on that?"

  "Trust you?" I repeat. "You know, Evan, that is a lot to ask, after all that's happened..."

  I can see Yuka out of the corner of my eyes, enthusiastically shaking her head. And, of course, she is right. Trust him? What kind of idiot would I be to trust him?

  "Can I see you?" He asks.

  I let out a sigh, silently shaking my head. "I don't know..."

  He pauses for a moment. I can hear him breathing at the other end.

  I have no idea whether he is waiting for me to say anything, or if he is just trying to think of something to say that might convince me to see him, forgive him even.

  Regardless of what it might be, I decide that it is his turn to speak, so I remain silent.

  "I want to see you," he says. "I need to see you."

  It is the way he is saying it. That unyielding tone of his voice.

  "I don't know if that is such a good idea," I respond in a small voice.

  Yuka nods in approval.

  "I know this must have been scary for you," he says. "But I can promise you that it won't happen again. I will protect you."

  "Protect me?"

  I exchange a quick look with Yuka. She was a big help when I got home from work, and I really appreciate her support – but right now, I wish she wasn’t around. I want to talk to Evan alone. I want to be the person I usually am when I am with him.

  On the other hand, this may not be who I need to be right now.

  "I talked to my publicist at length about this, and he advised me to keep it down for a few days and not be seen with you, or even contact you," Evan continues.

  I roll my eyes.

  "But," he adds, "much to his disappointment, I don't always listen to him. I want to see you. And I will make sure that you will be safe with me from now on."

  "From now on," I repeat. "How come that thought never occurred to you before?"

  He sighs.

  "You're right to be angry, and you're right to be suspicious," he says. "But is this really how you would want to end things?"

  I gulp. His words hurt. Hearing him say that I might end things hurts enough for me to understand that this is not what I want.

  I don't want this to end.

  It has only been a short time. Just a handful of encounters – but they were so unlike any other. He is unlike any other man I ever dated.

  If anything, I want more of him. It is rare for me to feel this way for someone. And Evan is the first man who has made me feel this way within such a short time, likely ever. He is right, there is something between us, something special. And I want to explore that.

  But I know Yuka would object. She is observing me intently, staring at me like a strict mother whose child is about to disobey an order.

  "No," I finally reply. "I don't want that."

  Yuka smiles and nods again. Of course, she has no idea to what I just said no.

  "When are you free?"

  "Tomorrow," I say. "In the evening."

  Yuka's eyes widen with alarm.

  "To talk," I add, thinking that it might calm her down.

  She rolls her eyes.

  "Is six okay?" He wants to know. "I can pick you up."

  "Yes, but that won't be necessary –"

  "Yes, it will be," he insists.

  Okay, whatever. Another ride in his limousine. Things could be worse.

  "No hotel this time," I say.

  He chuckles. "Alright. I will never take you there again if that is what you want."

  "Good."

  "I adore you, Nicky," he whispers. "I really do. I never intended to hurt you – and I will make this right again. If you let me, that is."

  I choose to ignore Yuka for a moment and allow myself to smile.

  "Do you understand?" He wants to know.

  And of course, there is only one correct answer. "Yes, Sir."

  "What the –?!" Yuka hisses, but I stop her with a wave of my hand.

  She would never understand. And she doesn't have to.

  "Good girl," he says, causing my heart to jump. "Did you remember your homework?"

  "What?"

  He cannot be serious.

  "The assignment I gave you," he explains. "Did you work on it?"

  This must be a joke.

  "No, I didn't," I say. "I'm sorry, but I had other things on my mind."

  "I know you have," he says. "But I still want you to do it."

  I frown. Is he seriously trying to lecture me? Now?

  "I think we have other things to talk about first," I reply. "But no, I didn't forget."

  "You still have time until tomorrow," he says. "I really wish that you would think about it and do what I asked you to."

  I sigh with indignation, casting Yuka a quick look before I lower my voice and ask, "Do you really think I am the one who deserves a punishment right now?"

  As I expected, Yuka cocks her eyebrows. I will have a lot of explaining to do to her after this phone call.

  And I regret asking her to sit with me while I talk to him. I thought she would give me the strength and courage I needed to confront him. Instead, her presence causes me to feel bad about myself – and about who I am when I am with Evan.

  "It's not a punishment," he says. "On the contrary. I want you to realize something about yourself. This assignment might help with that. If anything, it will prove to you that you are more than just a waitress. Don't you think?"

  I narrow my eyes and remain silent. It still feels like a punishment. Like a lesson that has been given to a defiant school girl.

  "Do you remember the assignment?" he asks.

  "Yes, I do."

  "Say it," he commands. "What did I tell you to do?"

  I hesitate for a moment. Yuka is still listening, but she has grabbed her own cell phone and appears to be at least somewhat distracted.

  "To think about why I write and what I want to achieve through writing," I say.

  Yuka looks up from her phone, cocking her eyebrows again and tilting her head to the side.

  "And?" He presses.

  "And to come up with a story," I add. "Or an idea. A short scene."

  "Good girl," he praises. "These should be easy for you."

  "If you say so," I mumble.

  "Yes, I am confident, Nicky," he says, pushing my buttons like a pro. "I will see you tomorrow."

  "Okay, bye."

  I hang up, ready to face Yuka. She is still holding her phone in her hand, but her eyes are locked on mine, a baffled expression lacing her face as she beckons for me to explain myself.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Nicky

  As hard as it may be for Yuka to understand, I actually feel a lot better after talking to Evan.

  In all honesty, the conversation I had with Yuka afterward was a lot more stressful than talking to him. I hate having to explain myself.

  Evan awakens a side in me that is strange and foreign to everything else I am. The strong, alternative free spirit who does not let anyone tell her what to do and who to be.

  With him, I feel like I am shattering into pieces, melting beneath his eyes and under his touch – just to have him put me back together. I feel as if I am growing stronger every time I see him. It is liberating and frightening at the same time.

  I call in sick for my shift at the restaurant the next day. Despite feeling a little better, I am still not ready to face the real world , and definitely not ready to go back to that restaurant and possibly run into another bunch of insolent women.

  A waitress.

  It was their faces. The way they looked at me. The way their voices sounded. So disappointed. Disgusted even.

  A cold clamp closes around my heart every time I recall that moment. And I hate myself for it. I have always prided myself on not caring about what other people think.

  After all, I am independent. Free. Different. I don't need what they need. I opted out of that life years ago, when I decided to quit college and figure things out for myself. Freeing myself from any restrictions and expectations.

  But where did that lead me, really?

  I would never admit it, but Evan's request was a lot more intimate than I am comfortable with. He touched a sensitive subject. Just like he unfolds me sexually, masterfully exploring my mind and body, he also seems to see right through me when it comes to this.