Page 35 of Tangled Like Us
Not familiar.“You need to keep your feet off my fucking curb,” I say like a grumpy old man.
He lets out a disbelieving noise. “It’s not your curb. Sidewalks are a public right-of-way, so you’re blocking my access—”
“You have access right there.” I extend an armdownthe street. The law is so gray that it allows paparazzi to plant their asses in front of the townhouses. Even though homeowners own the land up to the house and to the curb.
Gavin sighs. “Look, we’re off on the wrong foot here.”
“I’m not debating you. I’m not your fucking transport or access to see Jane. If you want to approach her house or stand here and disturb the peace, you’re going to eat asphalt.”
Akara is in my ear again. “Second batch of temps should be here soon.” Which means I can go take a shower.
I’m still staring this guy down, but I feel for the wire on my chest and then click my mic. “Solid copy.”
Gavin reaches into his suit jacket.
I’m rigid.Could be a gun.Disarming hecklers is also routine. I’m not armed right now. Didn’t grab my gun, barely tied my pants. Six years on the job, and I haven’t had to use it that often. There aren’t many situations where a gun is necessary.
He pulls out an envelope. “Jane will want to hear this. So if you can’t help me contact her, then please direct me to someone who can.”
My gaze is stern.I’m not your fucking friend. “She did three months of meet and greets. You missed your chance.”
“That was before the ad.”
He means before he knew what she was looking for.
Confirmed suitor.
Which means he’s looking to what…date her…coerce her…fuck her?
Fuck him.
Jane isn’t someone you can casually call up for a quick word. This year, she ranked in the Top 20 Most Instagram Followers in theworld.Her mom ranked at 8. Her aunts ranked at 4 and 11.
This isn’t a girl you can email or DM or even cannon blast. She has the tech team, three forces of bodyguards, along with temp guards, and a wall of assistants, publicists, and managers.
He wants to meet Jane. Good luck. She’s an American princess. Take a fucking number and wait forever. Because I’m never letting it happen.
She’s my responsibly.
My duty.
He can go shove his dick in an exhaust pipe.
“What’s in the envelope?” a cameraman asks, swinging his Canon lens to Gavin.
This prick glares back at me. “My resume.” He tries to hand it to me.
I don’t move. “Leave or I’ll drag you off the fucking property.”
“I’m not on it—”
I take one strong step towards Gavin, and he shuffles back in a hurry. “Okayokay.” He raises his hands. All fake bravado.
He walks backwards to his red Bugatti. “I’m supposed to be with Jane Cobalt.” He speaks into the camera. “Everything she listed in that ad, I have. Everysinglething.”
Everything in that ad—I don’t have.
What does any of that matter?
