Page 192 of Torrid Passion
CHAPTER 32
Lochlan
“Damn, I need a drink,” I say, pushing myself away from the desk. I started my day at six this morning and other than a few breaks here and there and a quick lunch, it’s been non-stop. It’s my new grueling daily routine. I cross my hands behind my head and look out at the peaceful horizon. “At least we get a spectacular view out of this,” I say to myself. I can’t come and go as I wish, but I get a shit ton of work done. I guess there is an upside to being housebound.
Fucking stalkers.
For the past three weeks, Balboa Island has been my new residence—and Kyla’s. It’s my first time on the island and frankly, I don’t know why it took me so long to visit. This charming and picturesque harborside community located in Newport Beach is a tiny gem. It has less than four thousand habitants. It’s surreal considering I grew up in a megacity. I think there are more residents in the radius around my house than there are here. Larkin owns a secluded home here and under Falcon Crest’s advisement, my girl and I are staying low. It’s doubtful Kyla’s stalkers would think of finding us here. Still, we have four guards posted at our door and securing the grounds at all times. You wouldn’t know, though. You’d simply think we were obsessive about landscaping. Two of the guards sit in a car, on alert for any suspicious passerby or drive by.
After police arrived to disperse the media circus, Falcon Crest Security got us out of the guesthouse and drove us to a secure location. It was so bad, LA PD had to escort us. It wasn’t easy to dodge the press. Some of the paparazzi were hiding and waiting for us along the way. I didn’t bother going back to my place. Larkin made arrangements for a new wardrobe and anything else I needed. Since I only had my laptop and a handful of clothing at Kyla’s, I was grateful. The security team waited until nightfall to smuggle us out of LA. Honestly, it’s like we were all auditioning for a role in the nextJason Wicksmovie. It was wild. Kyla was brave, but I knew she was frightened. I’ll be honest, I was very worried. I may not have shown it, but I was stressed out as hell. Things could’ve taken an unpredictable turn at the drop of a hat.
Hayden and Stella were moved to another location, far from ours. Falcon Crest believes in ‘divide and divert’ as a defensive strategy. Kyla’s cousins are hiding in the small town of Orange, Orange County. Falcon Crest Security owns a massive amount of land up there, complete with state-of-the-art gated houses. Charlene is running Red Carpet Ready hands-on while Hayden and Stella manage things remotely. Falcon Crest Security has a team sitting in a car across from Red Carpet Ready and a couple guards inside the shop, just in case. Kyla’s parents hired security of their own. So did her brothers. So did Rod for our studio. No one knows who we’re dealing with here.
Speaking of which, her parents were infuriated when they found out Kyla was being stalked. So were mine. Harlow was shocked. And scared.
Although we’re in a safe and secure location, we’re still sitting ducks, at the mercy of a clown or an army of them. No scandalous photos surfaced and no hush-hush money was requested. That’s why we haven’t told our families about Dark Compulsion. My cousins and Beckett know. Larkin’s intolerance for members who ignore the rules is legendary.
Even if her stalkers are still being shady about their intentions, damage has been done to her reputation. There are alleged accusations of Kyla being very inappropriate on text. Had she not been an O’Keeffe it wouldn’t have mattered, but people are quick to crucify someone like her. All the articles are from celebrity bloggers. It didn’t jump at us at the time since we were all so flustered by the media circus. Larkin was the one to spot it. Unfortunately, some of these blogs have a massive following, hence, her story went viral.
Fucking piranhas.
Too many celebrity bloggers spend their lives dissecting—and mocking—the lives of celebrities and the super rich. They aren’t held to the same standards or code of ethics as the press. They don’t always care about fact checking, or facts, for that matter. The only things her stalkers have are a series of screenshots of text messages showing Kyla’s old number—and name—and conversations that have been partially blurred, only leaving a few suggestive words visible. Never mind privacy laws. The SWAT team has retaliated, but Kyla’s cousins are treading carefully because they don’t know what else her stalkers have on her. Since Falcon Crest asked me to get rid of my phone and shut down that account, I couldn’t go back and check our past sexting. When they checked her phone, they couldn’t find anything remotely close to what’s trending online. We’re all at a loss. And this makes for an even harder—and frustrating—mystery to solve. After a lengthy investigation, Magnus has been ruled out.
It’s been an unsettling few weeks, to say the least. The only upside is, I get to spend a lot of time getting to know my girlfriend a lot better. Turns out, I enjoy living with a woman… or should I say, I enjoy living with Kyla.
“All right. I’m done for the day.”
I fire off a quick text to Rod just to make sure nothing unexpected happened. I still shoulder my fair share of responsibilities, but he’s the front man of Pending Inference Productions while I’m in hiding. When he responds that all is okay, I turn off my laptop and head to the door.
I pass the elevator and trample down the stairs.
I still can’t get over this house.
Larkin spared no expense. Then again, he never does.
His stunning Balboa Island custom-build four-level home comes complete with elevator, fireplace, well-equipped gym, Jacuzzi spa––with adjacent steam room––and three decks. When she isn’t working from the downstairs office, Kyla lives on the lower deck.
“Hey, gorgeous, do you want a drink before I get started with dinner?” I ask, stepping outside.
She shifts her attention away from her screen.
She lifts a hand and shakes her head vehemently. “Oh, no. We can’t eat now. I’m in the middle of an amazing scene. I mean, it’s really, really, really good.” She’s on a roll. “I couldn’t figure out how these two characters were going to meet, when a stroke of genius hit me about twenty minutes ago. Now, I’m going for it.”
I chuckle.
Her excitement is contagious.
Her hair is up in a messy bun and she has her usual, ‘I’m in thinking mode’ look—aka two pens are stuck in her hair.
“I didn’t say we were going to eat. I said let’s have a drink.”
“Oh. In that case, sure.”
“Your usual?”
“Hmmm, I wouldn’t say no to a French martini instead.”
“I can manage that,” I say walking up to her and dropping a kiss on her forehead.
