Page 159 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

The maître d' recognizes Brittney and discreetly guides us to a corner table, offering a prime spot that allows us to observe the large front windows and entrance. I have no idea where Rick’s gone, but I bet he’s taken some discreet spot to observe everyone in the room. He’s pretty good at being a chameleon and camouflaging himself within the background.

Maybe that’s what always makes me feel uneasy about bodyguards; you don’t know they are there, but they are always watching and waiting like a guardian angel, ready to put their bodies in front to save yours.

Brittney and I take a moment to scan the room. The ambiance here is modern, with clean lines. The dimmed lights cast a warm glow, and the aroma of exquisite cuisine wafts through the air. I spot a few familiar faces and notice discreet glances from other diners, recognizing the unspoken protocol of respecting each other's privacy while acknowledging the shared space within the entertainment world.

“So, how much older is this secret man of yours?” I say as we sit down in this upscale restaurant known for its celebrity clientele.

I’m glad Brittney chose this place; at least people won’t be staring at us. Ever since my last interview, the paps have started to emerge here and there, and old fans are appearing out of nowhere. But most are female fans panting for the guys.

Ten years ago, I left a bad taste on everyone's lips, so they aren’t eager to see me. But if they do, most likely, it's to find something negative and post it online for likes. Women, especially, love doing this. Female empowerment died when social media became a platform for tearing others down instead of lifting them up.

“Forties. Early forties”

I look at her wide-eyed. “Are you f’ing with me? He won’t disclose his age?”

“Does age matter?”

“Not really. But I don’t get what it is with this guy?”

“As I said, he’s very private.”

“And he chose Los Angeles to be a private person?”

Brittney doesn’t miss the irony in my voice and smiles.

The waiter approaches, presenting us with the menus but we both know what we want and place our order with him.

“I know it sounds retarded. He has a place here in LA, but it’s just one of many places he owns. I’ve only been to his place in LA because I haven’t seen him that long.”

“Where did you meet this guy?”

“September, when I started filming season three in San Francisco.”

I look at her in disbelief and a little disappointed in not hearing about this sooner.

“That’s when I met him, not when I started fucking him,” she says, sensing my displeasure. “As you know, I’m renting a condo there, and parking is really shitty in the city, so I usually take cabs or Ubers home, except that evening some roadworks blocked the street where my building is. It was only a block away, so I got out as far as the car could take me, and while I walked home, I got jumped by some asshole. He just happened to be walking his dog. Actually, his ex-girlfriend lived on the same block as me, and he had gone to pick up his dog from her. Anyway, he saved me from the asshole.”

“Sounds very contrived,” I say, rolling my eyes as I dig into my ravioli.

“Stop it, Eden,” she frowns at me.

“He’s very genuine guy. His work doesn’t allow him to get out much.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a scientist, government stuff.”

“Nerd,” I smirk playfully at her.

Brittney giggles.

“Not in bed. Girl….” She leans in closer to me. “he’s hung like a freaking horse and wild like a rabid beast.”

The corners of her mouth curve upward, creating an involuntary, delighted smile as she moves away and goes back to her food.

My eyes widen with a sudden spark of astonishment, as if a burst of unexpected fireworks has illuminated my thoughts. She is in it for the sex. I know Brittney enough to know she’s not emotionally too attached to this man. Her dating history tends to be a lot of unmeaningful fucks, and if she’s interested in the guy, I’d never hear the end of it. The latter type rarely exists in her dating life because the only commitment Brittney has is toward her career.

Shaking my head, I get back to my own meal.

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