Page 49 of Such a Good Girl

I couldn’t speak.

All I could do was nod and let him gently guide me out of the restaurant, right past Jennifer and Harry and a few other familiar faces.

On the street below, we waited a moment while the valet fetched the car, West’s hand gently but firmly holding mine. I felt like I was in a dream.

“West!” The shout of a man’s voice pulled me out of my dreamy reverie. West’s hand tightened around mine. Flashes went off, blinding me, just as someone shoved me backwards. It took a second for me to realize it was West, shoving me behind him.

“Back off, man!” West’s voice rose angrily over the rush of the nearby traffic on Melrose.

“Just one shot, West — who’s the girl?” the man yelled back, the sound of his camera shutter going off continuously.

“I told you to back off!” West blocked the man’s way as he attempted to snap a photo of me. “Stay here, Rosie.”

“What?” I asked, still blinded and trying to focus my eyes in the flashing lights. The smacking sound of flesh on flesh snapped through the air, followed by the sound of a body hitting the pavement, then the grunting sounds of a struggle. My vision cleared just as West fell on the photographer, his fist raised high in the air.

“West! No!” I shouted. My voice did nothing to stop him, of course. His fist landed squarely on the guy’s jaw once more, blood splattering across the concrete sidewalk. I jumped in and grabbed West’s arm before he could land a third blow. “Stop it!”

He shook his head and looked up at me with wild eyes.

“Let’s go!” I insisted.

The valet stared at West with wide eyes, West’s idling Porsche waiting behind him. West jumped up and let me pull him away, leaving the photographer lying there in a limp puddle.

“Fuck, sorry, Rosie,” he muttered as we walked over to the car and got in.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I’d just witnessed. West had a temper, a temper I’d not witnessed before. My head was spinning.

Back in the low-slung luxury of his car, intimate and private and dark, with the amber lights of the dashboard washing over our faces, he apologized once again.

“I have a problem with paparazzi,” he explained as we pulled away from the restaurant.

“Apparently.”

“I’m sorry you saw that,” he said, running a hand through his hair, a trickle of blood on his knuckles. I couldn’t tell if it was his or the photographer’s, though.

“The guy was an asshole. But, West, I did notice a person on the sidewalk with their phone out, recording the whole thing.”

“Fuck, it’ll be all over the internet in five minutes. That prick will probably press charges,” he said. “My fucking agent is going to bitch me out.”

“That guy doesn’t have a leg to stand on. He was all over you. And besides, isn’t all press, good press?” I asked, tentatively trying to lighten the mood. He was dark and angry now, and the vibe had completely changed.

“Fuck it.” He shrugged, reaching over and putting his hand on my knee. “I don’t want this to ruin our night.”

I put my hand over his, squeezing it lightly. “I really don’t think anything could ruin this night.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing finally just a little bit. “I like you, Rosie. I like you, a lot.”

My heart skipped a beat. I was beginning to like him, too. That most likely meant I was going to be the one that was ruined.

“Do you want to go to a photography exhibit tomorrow night?” he asked, with a sheepish grin. “Hopefully, there will be less paparazzi. But there are no guarantees on that. I’ll try not to punch anyone.”

“Sure,” I said. “Oh, wait, no — I’m working. My shift starts at eight.”

“Well, it just so happens that I pulled some strings with the boss and got you a night off, with full pay.” He smiled over at me, winking.

“Well, in that case,” I laughed. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Bring Violet, if you want. Or anyone else. I’ll text you the info and you can meet me there.”

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