Page 54 of Twisted Little Thing

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.

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