“Then the tabloids get what they want… the controversy, the drama. C’mon, Em, you know how it all works.”
“I know. I just don’t agree.” I remain sullen, feeling sorry for myself. “How much longer do I need to stay here… with Wes?”
“Look. I know it’s hard. It can’t be easy to stay with a man you don’t love—”
“I never said I didn’t love him,” I interrupt.
“Then what are you saying? You want to marry him? This changes the whole game.”
The game.
Two words that impact my already-fragile emotions.
I want to run away from it all. Give up and just move to some country town in the middle of nowhere where nobody gives a fuck about who I am. Where I can walk down the street dressed in the grungiest of clothes and people simply don’t care or judge me.
“Nina, Wesley and I are over. I know what’s going to happen when this story breaks… I’ll pretty much have to go into hiding till it all dies down. I just don’t get why this article is still going forward? It might not sit well with some people.”
It won’t sit well with Logan.
His jealous streak has only gotten worse—a side of him I’ve never seen. In some ways, it terrifies me. I don’t know what he’s capable of. He isn’t the Logan Carrington I once knew. He’s this obsessive creature who doesn’t know how to express his feelings.
A quick phone call turns into an hour-long conversation about our upcoming commitments. I can hear the constant beep in the background, knowing everyone’s chasing my tail to see if it’s true.
I could kill Wesley with my bare hands right now.
When we hang up the call, so I reluctantly check my screen and see only Logan’s name. You received 10 missed calls from Logan Carrington.
Logan: Why won’t you pick up your fucking phone?!!
Logan: I’m dead serious Emerson. Answer my calls.
Logan: If this is your way of paying me back, we’re fucking over. I never pegged you to be this vindictive, but apparently you are. Have a nice fucking life, Mrs. Rich.
I don’t know how to react to such a snarky message. I could call him. Set the record straight. But I told him to trust me, although we did leave things in the air back in London. Several times I find myself on the verge of dialing his number but quickly retract, knowing that any communication between us won’t end well. I need time to think about us, away from him, because he has a way of confusing my state of mind with his charm and irresistible body.
Sitting on the large wicker chair, I tuck my legs beneath me with George snuggled into my side. The day is slightly overcast with a chance of rain in the late afternoon. The wind picks up a little, yet still warm and refreshing, as we continue to sit in silence.
The temptation’s too great.
With my cell resting on my lap, I grab it and Google Logan Carrington and Louisa Hemmings.
Several images appear of the two of them—mainly at dinners and charity events. Remembering Ash’s comments, I study the photos looking for traces of happiness. Something in Logan’s face which indicates she was or still is the love of his life. Dammit—where’s Poppy when I need her?
I hit dial, and ring her number wanting her to do another one of her face readings.
“Em?” She sounds surprised to hear from me. “Is everything okay? What’s with Wes’ baby mama comment? Everyone’s going nuts. I was filming with Farrah when she read it, and the cameras caught Farrah’s very colorful opinion of his post.”
“I didn’t realize he’d do that. I’m too tired to think about it. Let people think what they want. The truth will come out in nine months when no baby is on that vagina log ride.”
Poppy’s infectious laugh barrels through the speaker. “Your brother, honestly.” She sighs.
“Are you okay? You sound a bit off.”
“Who me? I just have... a nasty bug. Must have picked it up from traveling.”
“Oh, I’m sorry...” I can tell she’s distracted.
“Listen, Em… can I call you back? I need to grab some painkillers or something.”