Page 97 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
He doesn't say a word. Doesn't warn him. Just pulls back and punches the guy square in the face.
The Texan stumbles backward and collapses like a felled tree, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
The entire room falls silent.
CHAPTER 28
Grayson
The news about the paparazzi harassing Jenna already has me on edge.
I don't know how the fuck it happened, but I'm furious. Sure, I expected a few magazine mentions — my PR team planted those to make the engagement believable. But this? A swarm of vultures outside her office, shoving cameras in her face? That's not normal.
I'm not a fucking celebrity. I'm not someone those parasites should care about — certainly not enough to ambush my fiancée at work. Whatever their motivation, I'm not letting them torment my woman.
My woman?
I pull back from that thought. Since when did I start thinking of Jenna as mine?
I rub a hand over my face. Yeah, that's delusional. She's not mine — not really. Only by contract, and that ends in five months. I need to remember that. I need to keep my head clear and not confuse this friendship and chemistry for something deeper.
As much as I enjoy her company — and really enjoy fucking her — she's not mine. Not really.
But that doesn't mean I won't protect her with jagged teeth.
No one gets to fuck with her work or invade her privacy. Whoever orchestrated that circus is going to pay.
I call my PR agency, and the director, Liam Holliday, answers on the second ring.
"Why the fuck is there a gang of paparazzi outside my fiancée's workplace?"
"I'm… not sure what you mean, Mr. Wolfe." He sounds genuinely confused — which somehow pisses me off even more.
"Really, Liam? You're not sure? I know how this game works. Paparazzi don't just appear somewhere unless there's a scandal or a tip-off. Me getting married isn't a scandal, which means someone called them and promised a payoff. Was it you?"
"Of course not!" His voice sharpens. "You were very clear about your preferences. I only released engagement details to vetted, reputable outlets. Whoever sent those photographers wasn't us."
"Fine," I say, though my tone is still edged. "I'm angry, not at you, but I want answers. Figure out who tipped them off and get them gone from Jenna's office. Immediately."
Before he can reply, I hang up. Liam's good — the best — and well connected. If anyone can trace the leak, it's him. Whoever's behind it will regret it. They'll pay for every ounce of fear in Jenna's voice.
But even after handling it, I can't relax. I'm pissed all morning.
We'd slept curled up together last night, and I'd actually slept well. One of the best nights I can remember. When she moved to shut off her phone alarm, I, half-awake, tried to pull her back, not wanting to let go. She giggled, kissed my cheek, and mumbled something about needing to get started for the symposium.
Oh, right. My symposium.
Still, I didn't want to let her leave. She practically had to wriggle out of my hold. I lay there for a few more minutes, cursing the alarm clock and every meeting on my calendar.
Eventually, I got dressed and came into the office once the lazy morning haze wore off. Even at an ungodly hour, there's always something to do — acquisitions to finalize, deals to sign, fires to put out.
But I can't focus. Every time I glance at my phone, I think about Jenna — how scared she must've been, trapped by flashing lights and shouting strangers. I've been through it before. It's hell.
Should I go see her now?
No. She said she'd be running around all morning managing the event. The last thing she needs is me showing up and adding to her stress.
I want to see her.
