Page 48 of Yellow
His jaw tightened. “You made a hundred million this year?”
“Roughly. I did three movies and a series of commercials for a make-up company and then I’m also the Face of Hype.”
“Yeah, I saw you in one of their commercials. Not sure why a manufacturer of pricy motorcycles would make you their front person. Do you even drive motorcycles?”
I shook my head. “No, but I represent the dream that you can buy a nice bike and attract a beautiful woman.”
“Right.”
“I know it sounds like a lot of money, but if you knew what it costs to keep all my houses, security, and wardrobe running, not to mention the jet…” I defended myself.
Adam’s brows shot up. “You have a private jet?”
“Uh-huh,” I confirmed with a low voice.
“Geez, because the world doesn’t have enough pollution. Of course one princess needs a whole fucking airplane to go from A to B. God forbid your having to share space with others.”
“It’s not like that.” I raised my voice. “You know what… before you judge me, you should try walking in my shoes. You have no idea what it’s like to be stared at constantly, approached every minute, or have cameras pointed at you wherever you go. You don’t have to be afraid that someone will kidnap you or some lunatic stalker will harm you. People feel like they know me and everyone wants something from me.”
“And because you have no personal boundaries you give them too much,” he accused.
“Well, what am I supposed to do? Stick my nose in the clouds and ignore my fans?”
“No, of course not, but you have to find a balance, Chloe. Right now it’s like you’re setting yourself on fire to warm other people, but guess what?”
“What?” I cried out.
“You burned out!”
Tears were welling up in my eyes and I turned my back on him to hide it.
“Hey…” Adam’s hand on my shoulder pulled at me, but I shrugged it off. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” I kept my head down, contemplating my situation, and blinking away tears while we walked back to the cabin in silence.
“I’m going to chop more wood for the fireplace, but when I’m done, we’ll do a healing session,” Adam instructed.
“Okay,” I agreed, opened the door, and kicked off my boots.
He stood only a few steps away when he said, “Chloe?”
“What?”
“You know what I appreciate about you?”
“Nothing,” I said honestly but he ignored that answer.
“I appreciate that you don’t give up. I respect that. I was sure that you would be packing your bags after our argument today; and just now when I said we would do a healing session, I was sure you would tell me to get lost.”
Like a dry sponge, I soaked up his praise and my lips automatically pursed upwards.
“Maybe you’re tougher than I gave you credit for,” he acknowledged before he turned his back on me and headed for the pile of wood.
I heard the loud sounds of him chopping wood. A glance out the window revealed that he was skilled at the technique and quickly building a pile.
There was something magnificent about the way he swung that axe so effortlessly and made the wood split at his will. He didn’t have a jacket on, just his black boots, dark jeans, and a knitted sweater that had seen better days. I smiled because its faded color and few loose threads made the sweater look like one my stylist, Michael, once showed up in. Only, Michael had paid a small fortune for it and firmly believed the woodsman look would be the new fashion trend of Hollywood.
Adam was nicely built, and the way he stood firmly grounded, with his legs spread, his broad shoulders squared, and his long black hair almost reaching his shoulders made me wish I had a camera.
