Page 147 of Red Flag
“I haven’t even said anything,” I mumbled. “I haven’t confirmed or denied.”
“But the world knows,” he said. “The world knows it was you. They also know it’s wrong that they know.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he pressed. “You need time. And I—well, while you can’t fight, I’ll fight for you.”
I scrolled up to see the earlier articles. There were picturesof me. Me and Nix. Me andVinny. Seeing his name beside mine, his hand on my skin made my lip curl.
Seeing the original picture that had leaked clenched my jaw.
When I’d first seen it, I’d been sick. Adam had called me into his swanky new office at PR Princeton and showed me.
He hadn’t known it was my body, even with the tattoo.
We hadn’t had sex since my dad had died. I couldn’t bear the thought after not knowing what had happened betweenVinnyand I.
And when I saw my body next to his, there was nothing I could do but run to the bathroom.
Really, I’d already known. The morning after, the ache between my legs was all I needed to know. But I wouldn’t let the thought fully form. When people asked if I was okay, I gave a smile and a nod and moved on.
If anyone asked, I was fine. I was okay.
Knowing I’d have to face the reality of it in front of everyone made me swallow. Nix rubbed my back through my blouse, looking down at the phone with me. “How bad would it be if you didn’t go?”
I stood straight, heeled feet shoulder width apart, ready to take on the world. “Bad. I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for others who are innocent and treated like they’re not. The ones who are hounded before trial. My issues are not important here.”
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Your issues are most important to me.”
I pressed into his chest, his words warm on my skin through my blouse. We wrapped our arms around each other. “I don’t want to do this alone.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I knew it was wrong. It would expose exactly what the newspapers were insinuating with their posts about us.
Nix was changed into a blackturtleneckand trousers in seconds. I’d seen him last night trimming his beard and then in our wardrobe, trying to secretly prepare his clothes in case I changed my mind.
The journey over, Nix made the driver play a particularly grisly podcast on a serial killer I didn’t know. He had spent days compiling lists of murderers I hadn’t heard of and finding videos for us to listen to.
Nix’s security team surrounded us as we left the car and walked up to the old building. I was only meant to be a small witness, disclosing the emails I had sent, asking for the papers to desist. I was to tell the jurors of the conversations I had on the phone, demanding to talk to editors and mentioningVinnyGarvs’ mental health as a result of the press attention he was receiving. The constant hounding.
But everyone knew my name.
There was a crowd waiting for us before the security gate to the courtrooms. Our security team — four men, including Nix’s trusty Andrew — quickly dispersed them as we waited to go through the bag search and metal detectors.
Though they couldn’t touch us physically, they could try to hurt me with words.
“Not posted your court outfit on Instagram, Olivia?”
“Claws in a new client?”
“Miss Quinn, Miss Quinn, Miss Quinn—”
“MrArmas, is it true that you and Miss Quinn—”
“Call meArmas,” he snapped, accent strengthening as he emptied his pockets into one of the trays. He waved for meto go through the metal detector first. “NotMrArmas. Don’tpretendto respect us when you clearly don’t.” Having walked through with a green light flashing above my head, Nix went to step forward but the group around him didn’t budge. He sighed as his team moved further out. “If you did, you would get the fuck out of our way.”
