Page 25 of Ms. Fortune

“You do realize Rick said that to the police Captain after Ilsa leaves him and gets on a plane, never to be heard from again, right?” Her eyes dance with mirth; she’s enjoying the banter. Good. Progress.

“I do, but the point is relationships go on, even after endings.” It’s weak, and I know it, but what the hell. I didn’t expect her to call me on the damn movie quote.

“I’m serious. How am I supposed to deal with all of this craziness when you’re not here? I don’t have security guards 24/7.” The lip biting is back, and the crease between her brows deepens. I guess I didn’t account for how much this would upset her. I really am an asshole.

“Ah, but you do.”

“Oh? This is news to me.” Her eyes dart to a commotion that starts behind me on the other side of the wrought iron fence across the patio from us. “Shit. Your ten minutes were generous.”

I turn and find a bunch of photographers jostling with my security guards, trying to take our picture.

“You want to run and hide? Or face it and maybe have some peace during our meal?” It’s a challenge, and Normandy searches my eyes. I try to express confidence and comfort simultaneously and don’t know if I succeed, but she swallows hard and nods.

“Do I have to speak? Or can you do all that?” She’s twisting the napkin in her hand nervously. Seeing her so anxious is weaving threads of doubt into my mind. I didn’t expect her to be so damned vulnerable. She was so self-possessed last night at the restaurant, so sure of herself. Now, she’s so fragile she could break with a touch. I dare it, though, and reach over to pull one of her fidgeting hands into mine.

“I’ll try to deflect back to me, but they’ll direct everything to you anyway. Just know that. It’s up to you whether you answer or not.”

“What’s our story? We need a story. We should have worked this all out before. Now they’re going to know we’re faking it.” She’s working herself up and starting to come unglued.

“I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry.” I pull her with me toward the gaggle of photographers at the fence, trying to keep my manner as relaxed and confident as possible. Taylor sees what I’m planning to do and rushes over to interrupt us.

“Sir, I advise you not to approach with the limited number of people I have here. I can’t guarantee….”

“It’s fine, Taylor. We’ll only be a minute.” I pat his shoulder, appreciating his concern. “I promise to keep it as brief as possible, and we’ll keep a safe distance away.”

He practically glares at me, which I don’t appreciate, but steps aside to let us approach the fence. Taylor directs his men to move away but stay close. All the while, the photogs are snapping away, hurling questions at us, or more specifically, at Normandy.

“Normandy, what’s it like to date a billionaire?”

“Is it true you two got married at an Elvis chapel? And is there a prenup?”

“Are you the next Eve Cromwell?”

That’s enough of that shit.

“Guys, c’mon. Have some respect. Please.” I put an arm around Normandy’s shoulders and pull her close to me. She leans against me and puts a palm on my chest, and for a second, I forget what the hell I’m doing. I wasn’t expecting her to respond to me so easily. I thought she’d be stiff and resistant, but I’m pleasantly surprised. “We’re okay with you guys taking our picture here and now, but we’d like to eat in peace if you don’t mind. This is technically our first date, and you guys are kind of cramping my style.” This gets a round of chuckles, at least. “Is that cool with you?”

I can hear the camera shutters clicking and whirring like mad, and I squeeze Normandy’s shoulder quickly, encouraging her to hang in there a little bit longer while the vultures get their pound of flesh. Nobody responds to my request for peace immediately, but they start to break off from the group after a minute. A few even thank us for giving them time, which is rare. When there’s only a couple left, I give them a wave and turn Normandy with me to head to our table.

Taylor gives me a reluctant nod as we pass, and I shrug at him. It won’t always be this simple. Sometimes you have to take risks to get the rewards. I know that better than most. Luckily, it worked this time.

Normandy is back to her icy self when we return to the table, and it appears all the photographers have dispersed.

“So, is that the great wisdom you were going to impart on me on how to deal with this? Just give in, let them take my picture, and throw stupid and offensive questions at me?” Her lips press into a slash, and her jaw clenches.

“That was lesson number one.” I sigh. She’s not going to make anything easy. “Lesson number two is never assuming there’s not a camera on you every second. Just because the photographers left the sidewalk doesn’t mean they’re not sitting in their cars right now with telephoto lenses trained on us.” I flash her a quick smile, though its sincerity at this moment is questionable. I’m still reeling from the about-face between her leaning into me only a few minutes ago and this subsequent cold shoulder. It’s dizzying.

Her eyes widen briefly as she takes in the implications of what I just said, but then she smiles back at me. It’s about as genuine as my own but would fool any photographer. Only I can see the disdain in her eyes since it’s pointed right at me. I can’t blame her for being irritated. The paparazzi are the absolute worst. But it’s what we both wanted out of this, so we can’t complain too much.

“So, am I the next Eve Cromwell?” Her tone is sickly sweet and dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever that means?”

I cringe inwardly, recalling the question that was thrown at her. It was so out of line, but typical of what happens.

“I was going to ask what you thought of the Elvis ceremony, actually.”

We stare at each other, glaring through our smiles, and the utter ridiculousness of the entire situation must hit us both at the same time because we can’t help but break out in laughter. Seeing Normandy genuinely cheerful isn’t something I’ve seen until now, and it’s her best version yet. I want to see this one all the damned time.

Chapter 18

---