Page 18 of Rumor Has It

I wouldn’t have recommended it otherwise. I nod because the cat’s got my tongue.

Isaiah—the nice guy in my kitchen this morning, who asked me how I take my coffee and sent me a dozen roses—is paying attention to me while wearing the Tom Ford suit that Isaiah Roomer, the country singer’s, assistant had delivered to Kingsbrier. She made the impossible-to-get dinner reservation, and his bodyguard is driving us to Houston.

This is not normal and I’m so fucked.

And it has nothing to do with Rhiannon’s crazy theory that, given a few special considerations, I’d slip my panties off for a celebrity. I couldn’t sleep with anyone if either of us were in a relationship. I have enough respect for myself that, hypothetical or otherwise, cheating is cheating.

We pull into the restaurant parking lot. Monty goes inside to let them know we’ve arrived. I guess this is the part where he scopes out the place? I can’t believe I’m out with someone who travels with security and needs to make sure a public space is safe before entering.

“Hey Cass, where’d you go?” Isaiah dips his face toward mine to get my attention.

“It’s just… different worlds.” I’m not used to this.

His face pinches. “Give it a few minutes and you’ll forget Monty is even here. It’ll be back to being you and me.”

“Do you go everywhere with him?”

I can’t imagine shopping for fresh produce at Richardson’s Market with a burly guy hovering. Does Monty case the freezer section so Isaiah can enter an aisle to choose his favorite flavor of ice cream? What happens at the checkout? Does his security guy make everyone maintain a certain radius from him?

And why am I trying to make sense of the piddly things that are part of my normal life when it’s obvious the man does indeed have “people” who take care of everything? My family is an institution around these parts. Yet, none of us could swing a table on short notice by dropping the Kingsbrier-Cavanaugh name.

“I have someone on the security staff with me most of the time. But sometimes I need space, too. Gatlin reassured Monty the estate had top-notch security because of something that happened with Gatlin’s mom?”

It’s more of a statement than a question and I don’t want to interrupt Isaiah with a story about something that happened long ago, or my family’s investment in Walsh Security, the surveillance company that monitors the entire property.

“I loved your offer for him to stay at the inn, but I didn’t ask Gatlin to find a room for Monty for a reason. And I won’t be sorry when he drops us off at Kingsbrier and heads back to his sister’s.”

I’m stuck taking Isaiah’s word. I agreed to come to the steakhouse for dinner. It would be rude to ask him to bring me home because I’m ignorant about his everyday life. Just because Monty isn’t featured in the tabloid photographs doesn’t mean Isaiah’s bodyguard isn’t around when they are taken. Heck, Monty’s probably responsible for ensuring Isaiah hasn’t been on dozens of magazine covers. I’m not a dumb blonde. Of course, he’d have a security guard given Isaiah’s celebrity status. But why hadn’t I thought of that before?

Monty reappears at the entrance to the steakhouse, waving us in. Isaiah extends his hand to help me out of the car, but unlike leaving the mansion or on the drive, I can’t feel the warmth of him at my side. He walks a few paces behind me into the restaurant with his hands tucked in his trouser pockets.

Heads turn as the buttoned-up young hostess, who I’ll give credit to for at least trying not to gawk, shows us to a secluded booth. She tells us the owner will be there momentarily. He’ll be personally taking care of us.

The restaurant has an intimate vibe. Waitstaff remove menus from the settings after diners order instead of handing them out. The seating, lush leather with high backs, surrounds a parquet floor. I have a vague memory of my parents and grandparents dancing on it at an anniversary party when I was a little girl. The emotions I have in my current surroundings are as familiar as they are at Kingsbrier.

However, as the hostess drags a long, heavy drape across an arcing pipe suspended from the tall seat backs, the feeling is altogether new and unique.

I fold my hands in my lap. My nervousness changes on a dime into shyness.

“We’re alone again, Cass.” Isaiah grins.

“I noticed.” I return the smile, heat beating off my cheeks.

“You’re awfully far away.”

“So are you. Is… was that intentional?”

His lips form a line. “There’s not much of a story to post if anyone out there took a picture. It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you—”

“It’s to maintain your privacy.” I finish the sentence.

“I, um, I get that this is hard for you.” He shakes his head in a self-deprecating manner. “I’d forgotten… I forget what it’s like when there aren’t extra people hovering. The change over the past eighteen hours has been nice.”

“Yet you fell right back into being a star.”

“Can you meet me halfway, Cass?” He pats the space separating us. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to get to know you. Now, I’m back to feeling like I’m walking around with my ass showing.”

I peer around. “Did I miss that? I could’ve sworn you kept your pants on when you were shirtless trying to steal sugar.”

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