Page 231 of Duty and Desire
You’d think a model would have better self-esteem, but my current hang-ups came from an unfortunate reality. The ex hadn’t even liked me taking off my makeup. Said it made me look so much prettier. I know, I know. I should have shot him in the crotch rather than deal with his bullshit. Changing my Netflix account password after we broke up was a pretty glorious feeling, I’ll tell you. I timed it for the day the new season of his favorite show came out. With a bit of luck he was two episodesin when the universe came crashing down around him. Serves him right. He’d always been cheap with the exception of the stupendously stupid flowers he’d so recently sent. Just because he earned millions didn’t make him any less of an ass.
But back to the topic at hand, the last thing I needed would be to accidentally deliberately fall straight back into bed with someone who got real me and fake me mixed up. Then there was the part where Ziggy currently worked for me and all. I was sort of his boss. It wouldn’t be right for all sorts of responsible adult reasons for me to take him up on the surprisingly heated looks he was throwing my way today.
Stupid hormones and thoughts and feelings. Why did we even need them? All they ever did was cause trouble. Me and my vibrator definitely had a hot date lined up for tonight. First, however, maybe I should give Sam a call and suggest Ziggy needed a day off. I know I did. A little distance right now might be wise. Get his hotness out of my face for a while.
Lena finally lowered her camera. “You were on fire today.”
“Thanks.” This made sense what with the excessive heat happening in my panties and all.
“We are going to sell some lingerie, I tell you!”
“Good to hear.” I smiled, taking my robe back from Zane.
It’d been a long and confusing day. Though the mental aerobics pondering Ziggy and his behavior sure did wonders for taking my mind off the horrible deliveries and evil stalker person. That mess had hardly crossed my mind at all.
I got dressed back into my black tank top, skinny jeans, strappy sandals, and big sunglasses. With the fancy hair and full make-up, if the paparazzi were still hanging around, which they inevitably would be given my luck, they’d have pretty glam shots without the need for me dressing up. Not that this was the kind of publicity I needed nor required, but I suppose it would make achange from them snapping me with my baggy eyes and shoddy clothes over the last week. That was something, at least.
There were hugs and air kisses aplenty as we finished up. Lena’s studio was in a gated area so the paparazzi were sort of milling around out beyond the gates. You’d want to be patient. Sometimes I really felt for them. It must be such a boring job, standing around for long stretches of time. Of course, you’d also want to be a bit of an invasive jerk who didn’t particularly care about people’s privacy during their times of trouble.
The sun sat low in the sky and the fresh air outside was a welcome change after all the hours of being cooped up inside. It would be nice not to be touched for a while too. Most everyone on the many shoots I’d been on had been professional and matter of fact, but getting your personal space back at the end of a shoot was a nice sensation.
It wasn’t far to the Rover. Ziggy strode slightly to the side and slightly in front of me. Guess the position kept me in the edge of his field of vision. We still weren’t really talking much today, though the mood felt thick for want of a better word. Or off, maybe?
I don’t know where the stranger had been hiding. In between the parked cars, maybe. But all of a sudden he was barreling toward me. He was thin, but tall, wearing a baggy T-shirt, chinos, and a faded baseball cap pulled down low.
In an instant, Ziggy was there, quickly side stepping. He placed himself between us.
“I just…” the man started.
“Step back,” said Ziggy, hands out in front, ready to hold this guy back. “Move away.”
“What’s your reaction to the gruesome parcels delivered to your apartment, Mae?” he pressed on, running straight into Ziggy’s hands. It didn’t seem to faze him at all. “Have the police got any suspects?”
Over at the gate, the paparazzi were going nuts taking pictures of the altercation. I tried to keep my face down, but the jerk just kept shouting questions at me. His voice was so loud and demanding it was jarring. And the colors on his cap were weirdly familiar. Faded, but familiar.
“You’re trespassing. You need to leave.” Ziggy walked the man back a step. Then he reached into his pocket and used the key fob to unlock the car. “Miss Cooper, get into the car, please.”
No wonder the colors were familiar, they were from my ex’s football team. Orange and blue. And the tissue paper in the boxes had been a kind of orange color too. Neither Ziggy nor the detective had wanted to commit given the bloody state of the paper, but I was certain. The man pushed forward, ramming Ziggy with his elbow. “I just want to talk to her.”
“Who are you?” I snapped. Plenty of journalists had wanted to talk to me over the years. But this level of animosity was something new. “Who do you work for?”
Lip curled, he sneered, “Come on, Mae, have a heart.”
All of a sudden, one hell of a bad feeling hit me. My stomach sunk through the ground. “You’re him. Oh my God. You sent those things. The hearts and…”
His face turned manic, the whites of his eyes huge.
“Ziggy, be careful,” I yelled. “It’s him.”
Immediately, the man upped his attempts to get at me. He and Ziggy tussled and fought. Then Ziggy grunted as there was a flash of metal. A blade was held aloft, clasped in the maniac’s hand, Ziggy’s fingers hard around his wrist. The whole scene was horrible and scary and happening so fast. With great force, Ziggy slammed his forehead into the other man’s face. Bone crunched and the man howled in pain. So much damn blood. It gushed out of his nose, covering his lips and chin. Next Ziggy smashed his knee into the man’s groin and he dropped toward the ground in an almighty rush.
Through it all, Ziggy had kept a stranglehold on the arm holding the knife. As the guy dropped, Ziggy grabbed his wrist with both hands, spun around and snapped the arm downwards. There was a crack as the man’s elbow met Ziggy’s shoulder and was forced into bending in the wrong direction. The knife clattered to the ground. Within a flash, Ziggy was on him. Now the guy’s wrist was bent in another way again, locked in between Ziggy’s legs and twisted around and down in an ugly manner. Ziggy pulled the hand inward and upward, making the guy’s full weight all hang from the back of his wrist. He screamed.
Ziggy nodded and relaxed his grip. “Sit,” he growled. “And if you ever want to use this wrist again in your lifetime, do not move so much as an inch.”
The man just moaned, curling on himself, his free hand trying to reach down to his damaged balls. It was over. Holy cow.
Meanwhile, I felt cold and weird for some reason. My heart hammered inside my chest and my knees turned to water. From the violence, maybe? Whatever. I didn’t have time for this. I had to do something to help. Paparazzi over at the gates shouted out questions and pushed and strained to get the best shot, but we all just ignored them. The whole situation seemed surreal. Like something out of a bad movie.
