“What’s your passcode?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to take care of this for you.” Whatever this is.
She tries to reach for the phone. “That’s not your job.”
“I’m here to protect you, and this is part of it so hell yes, it’s my job. Passcode.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and then she gives in. I read the messages. Most of them are angry ones from her manager.
Randle’s pissed. What happened?
Do you know how hard I worked to get you that reading?
Sadie? You need to answer me.
I’m running interference but this is going to hurt you. I’ll set up a meeting and you can apologize.
Helllooooooooo
You were kissing someone?
Call me!
Sadie! Call me right now!
There were more of the same. None from Charlie, though. I file that away. There were a couple of others from people sending her photos of the two of us kissing with omgs! And New lover? I don’t know who those are, so I skip them, but I write a response to her manager.
Sadie’s prepping for tomorrow. If you have any questions, you can direct them to her new guard detail. This number will be inaccessible after this message is sent.
I power down the phone. “Done.”
“Thank you.”
That simple, sincere gratitude sends a flood of warmth through me. I guess it doesn’t matter if she views me as just business so long as she needs me.
It feels like there’s a big-ass conspiracy against her and for what reason? Because she doesn’t want to sell herself for a role? Because she wants to be judged for her skills as an actress instead of what’s going on between her legs?
Chapter Eleven
Sadie
“Sadie.” Locke whispers my name. The sound of his voice alone comforts me.
I sigh, opening my eyes. They land on Locke's neck. I suck in a deep breath, brushing my mouth against him there, unable to help myself. I feel myself being lifted, Locke’s arms tightening around me. It’s then I realize he is carrying me inside the house.
“I can walk,” I say. Not that I want to. I enjoy being in his arms.
“I know,” he responds and keeps carrying me. “How are your feet not killing you after walking around in those shoes?”
“I’m used to them.” I lick my lips shamelessly, letting my tongue brush against his neck. He jerks, almost tripping or something. “You sure you got me?” I tease, knowing he’s fine. He probably missed a step while holding on to me. I’m guessing Locke isn’t someone who trips over his own feet often.
“I’ve got you.” Right. That’s his job. I remind myself.
I was so sure those kisses we shared were real. I wanted them to be. He kissed me as if he was a jealous possessive lover. I’d gotten lost in the idea of belonging to Locke and him getting territorial of me.
I’ve heard other girls over the years talk about how their boyfriends or husbands would get jealous over them having to kiss other men on set. The girls would talk about it as if they were annoyed by it. I’m an actress, and I’m not sure I could deal with the person I love making out with someone else. Even if it was for their job.
I’m not going to lie; I was more turned on thinking Locke was jealous and that’s why he was kissing me with so much passion. Why is it that the first man I actually wanted to kiss me was only doing it in order to do his job?
“Let me get you into bed.”
“Mmkay,” I agree. I let my eyes fall closed again, snuggling in close to Locke, wanting to enjoy the moment while it lasts.
“Sadie.” Locke whispers my name again, his warm breath tickling my skin.
“Sleep,” I huff, pulling the man closer. Wishing we could stay this way forever.
“Baby, it’s time to get up.” My eyes flutter open at him calling me baby. It’s then I realize I’m in the bedroom he’d given me. The sun is filling the room. Locke brushes my hair out of my face.
“It felt as though we just got home.” I wiggle to sit up. He takes a step back from the side of the bed.
“You passed out immediately when I got you into bed. I might have taken some liberties to make sure you were comfortable.” The smallest of blushes tints his cheeks, making him look adorable.
If I wasn't sure I was falling for Locke before, there is no denying it now. I look down to see I’m wearing his button-up shirt from the night before. I can still feel my underwear underneath.
“It’s fine,” I reassure him, not remembering any of it really.
“Didn’t think you’d want to sleep in heels or that dress. I swear I kept you covered,” He rushes to say. “You helped some, but I wasn't sure you were really awake.”
“I must have been exhausted.”