Page 53 of The Chance

I want my freedom back.

Fuck, I miss him even though this is all his damn fault.

Severing the contact with the lens when the room breaks out in gasps and applause, I glance over to our host and cover the mic pinned to my collar. “You good?”

She’s flustered, her words refusing to come, her cheeks flushed beneath the layers of makeup as she fans herself with the cue cards she’s yet to look at. As if gaining her composure and remembering the lines preset for her, she checks the words written, her brown eyes shooting between them and me.

She clears her throat, but still does not speak any words.

Her subtle nod is all I catch. It’s all I need to stand and rip the cords from my neck. I leave the shit laying on the table set between the chairs and stomp off the stage without another glance at the host, the crowd, or the camera.

Eyes follow me as I leave the entire live shoot behind, my abandonment of the interview on every television set, the shock and awe of the staff burning at my back almost as much as the heat from the body that sticks too fucking close to my ass.

I bob and I weave around people that begin begging for my attention once the shock wears off, demanding my exclusive interview after a show such as that—walking off stage, how dare I?—in hopes that I don’t get too far and leave the scene.

“You think I’m green?” Paul’s words break my concentration, and I glance over my shoulder at the man I would have thought was cute in another life.

He’s not Jordan.

“Yeah,” I mutter, my attention going back out in front of me when I nearly run over an assistant carrying a stack of files and books. “The fact that you have to ask that ...” I trail off as I maneuver around the girl and reach for the exit, only to have Paul brush around me and snag the handle from my grip.

Mother fucker.

I growl when he clips my shoulder and wait for him to push the metal wide enough for me to clear while he checks the alleyway that I step into anyway.

“Don’tgrab the door from me like that,” I snarl when he steps back up to me with the intent to walk in front. I whip my arm out and stop him with a blockade across his chest. “And donotlead me.”

“Oh.” He pauses at my side, his step faltering. “That’s the rules, though, Mac.”

“No.” My headshake is stiff, my tone gruff as my hand falls away from him. “It’s my fucking life.”

I knew it’d be a difficult transition.

Because there’s not supposed to be one.

“But Mac,” Paul tries, his steps spinning him until he’s walking backwards so that he can face me—just the same way that Jordan used to—and I have to swallow back the bile that threatens to rise. “It’s my ass if something happens.”

“Goddammit.” I freeze on the spot. “I’m still a fuckingperson.” I growl the words out, my fists clenching at my sides, desperate to make contact with his nose.

“And I have a job to do.” Paul’s resolve is palpable, almost choking, as the collar plants its place right back around my neck for him to tug the leash on.

Fuck him for ruining this for me.

I growl at my security, tear my gaze away from him, and move forward without another word.

“I could back off, if you’d like,” he offers, his gait catching back up to me easily. “I just thought we’d get along.”

I spin on him, his chest slamming into mine and stealing his breath with the gravel skidding beneath our shoes.

“Why’s that?” I sneer, my nose only an inch from his face, a pointer finger poking into his thick chest. “Because I’m the cool one?” I snap, my venom flying all over his face, but I don’t care.“Or because I likeanythingwith a dick? Looking to just replace my last one?”

That rumor hurt a little.

I’m tired of the labels people put on me.

The hate they spew at me when they don’t know the truth.

“No, I just …” Paul takes a timid step back but meets my flaming gaze. “I idolized you, man.” He swipes the back of his hand over his jaw. “It’s not often people are open in the media like you are.”

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