Page 24 of Ms. Fortune

He is right about one thing, though. There is no going back in time to reverse what’s already happening with the press, so I need to figure out how to navigate this now that I’m knee-deep in it. It would be foolish of me not to at least talk about it with him and get some help in that regard. He’s had to deal with the tabloids and paparazzi for years and is probably an expert on handling it. Plus, he’s conceded to count this against our agreement dates, so there will only need to be one more after this before the gala. That’s a bonus.

He's still looking down at me as if he’s expecting some sort of reaction about the kiss comment. I need to disabuse him of the notion that I will be doing any such thing.

“I do realize that I’m free to kiss you, and as you can see, I’m not availing myself of that option. Shall we go?” I smile wide and tilt my head in question.

His grin grows wider at my response, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. He does like a challenge, doesn’t he? He has no idea who he’s up against.

“We’ll need to coordinate with Taylor for security if we’re going to be in public for any amount of time. Let me go find him.”

He squeezes my fingers before stepping outside my office and waving Taylor over. They have a hushed conversation for a few minutes, and his head of security is not happy with whatever Brandon tells him. He apparently has a short time to arrange the outing as he looks at his watch, and I can tell he internally swears. The poor guy. I feel like this is my fault for causing all of this trouble. If I’d followed my instincts in the first place and never gone out with Brandon, none of us would be in this position. Taylor reluctantly nods and walks away.

“A plan is in motion.” Brandon swings his arms and claps his hands together to a strange internal rhythm as he paces the office and talks. He’s anxiously fidgeting, obviously not a fan of waiting for things to happen. I’m sure he’s used to the snapping-fingers speed of his requests being filled.

A few minutes later, Taylor is back with another security guard, and this time Chelsie is tagging along with them, an excited smile on her face. Bianca follows a second later, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. Her smile is amused, but she twists a long dark curl nervously as she assesses the situation. I need to find out what that’s all about.

“We’re going to run a decoy with Chelsie and Mike here pretending to be you and Brandon,” Taylor says. “They’ll head west toward Mr. Carmichael’s home while we go north to the restaurant a few minutes later. Additional security is en route to meet us there. The restaurant has been alerted to expect us. This won’t eliminate all of the paparazzi, but it should fool most of them for a little while.”

“Are you okay with doing this, Chelsie?” I don’t want her to think this will be a regular thing because it most definitely will not. Our lives will not be full of body doubles and cloak and dagger maneuvers. That is not how I want to live the rest of my life. Surely, after this initial buzz dies down and Brandon returns to his life, the press will leave me alone, and we won’t have to worry about things like this. “It will be just this once.”

“Are you kidding? This is the most excitement I’ve had since Phil Helton threw his chips at me during the World Series of Poker three years ago. I’m more than okay doing this.”

I can only shake my head at her. My stomach is starting to do flips in anticipation of this crazy ruse, and her kinetic energy is feeding my anxiety.

“All you two have to do is to pretend to hide your faces under these jackets.” Taylor hands them each a Mischief Motors jacket I didn’t even know we had. “There will still be privacy glass, but silhouettes are still visible to a camera, so do your best to avoid a clear profile shot in case it gets scrutinized later. Alright?” He includes Bianca in the question, and she nods her understanding. “Let them chase until they hear about the true location and abandon their efforts. Then you can come back here.”

“Right, then.” Brandon sighs, but his mouth twitches up into a half-smile, flashing a single dimple. It’s still devastatingly handsome. “Let’s go eat some breakfast in public.”

Chapter 17

HUNTED DOWN

BRANDON

The deception works for the most part. We arrive at the restaurant in a strip mall, with a back patio where we find a table with a little bit of cover from some large leaf foliage in planters. The space heaters are full blast since it’s still a bit chilly. Normandy eyes them curiously.

“Is there a reason we’re not sitting inside the restaurant like normal people in the middle of January?” She wraps her Mischief Motors jacket around herself snugly.

“That’s precisely why we’re out here. Normal is boring.”

“So, you’re abnormal. Got it.” She nods to herself, confirming an internal thought, but she smirks. God, she’s even gorgeous when sarcastic. I might be in love.

I glance down at my watch and do a quick calculation in my head.

“In about ten minutes, give or take, paparazzi will show up to take pictures of us sitting here, talking and eating.” She looks a little shocked, but I go on. “The key to dealing with all of this is not something you’re going to want to hear.”

“Oh?” She shifts in her seat and bites her bottom lip, obviously anxious. “What is it?”

I absolutely know she’s not going to like this. When we were negotiating this whole thing, she made a point to leave the press out of every counteroffer she came up with. Unfortunately, it’s a fact of my life I need to deal with daily. I probably should have explained that much to her better than I have.

“The way to deal with the paparazzi is to give them what they want.” I can tell by the grimace now shadowing her face she’s not happy about this. I predicted as much. “They only chase when they don’t get what they want, a picture they can sell. If you give them that, they will mostly leave you alone.”

“It can’t be that simple….” She’s dubious, and I don’t blame her. She’s not wrong; it may not be that simple.

“It might not be. You’re an unknown quantity. They could be more aggressive with you and me since they know nothing about you. Once they know more, it should be easier. But the press is a monster that needs to be fed fairly regularly. It’s just the way things are.”

“So, what am I supposed to do after the gala, when our agreement is over, and you’re gone, but they’re still hounding me? Will it ever end?” The worry clouding her features floods me with guilt. She’s in this position because of my selfishness in wanting to be with her. It’s not enough for me to stop, though. My want for her is greater than my guilt. Much greater.

“What makes you so sure we won’t go beyond our agreement?” I lean back as the waiter places our food on the table. Once he steps away, I go on. “In the immortal words of Rick Blaine in Casablanca, ‘I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’ You disagree?” I know I’m poking the bear, but I can’t help myself. Something about Normandy brings out this spirited side of myself I’ve not visited in years. I’ve not allowed myself to explore this part since college, which seems like forever ago.

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