Page 40 of Unguarded

She sets her MacBook next to the food tray on the glass dining room table, scooting closer to me so we can both be on the screen as the call goes through to Katherine. Her face appears on the screen, pixelated at first before becoming clear.

“Hello, gorgeous. How’s the weather Down Under?” Katherine smiles from her home office in LA. She’s wearing a cozy-looking sweatshirt and her glasses, her hand clutching a glass of wine.

“I haven’t even been outside yet.” I tip the water over my lips and take a sip. “But I am jealous you have wine.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Ember hops up from her chair.

“Oh, you don’t have to get it, Em. I was half joking.”

“Well, it’s after nine at home, so we would normally already have a glass.”

Katherine swishes her wine around, nodding her approval. “Have you logged in to your socials lately, honey?”

Judging by the sparkle in her eye, I can sense she has something she’s dying to tell me.

“I’ve been avoiding it.”

Part of me is too centered on the tour, the dances, and the probability of my life being in grave danger to even think about what’s being said online. The other part of me is terrified that the clip of Cash punching the purple-haired content creator is going to resurface in a much darker light—or worse, the clip of us stealing a moped and speeding away is going to suddenly tank my career and paint me as a thief who doesn’t care about my own fans. Thankfully, the police were able to return the moped to the owner from the registration records with no explanation as to who the thief was.

Either way, I find it much better for my mental health to let Katherine keep up with what’s being said about me and the overall tone of my social media presence, only filling me in when it’s absolutely necessary. My nerves can’t take it all. I need to stay focused on my career and performances. No news is good news when it comes to social media.

Ember returns with two large glasses of rosé, filled to the brim, handing me one and plopping down next to me. I take a long sip and nod for Katherine to continue.

Right as she begins to speak, the door to the adjoining hotel room opens, and two heavy sets of footsteps walk into the suite. I don’t have to look to know it’s Cash and probably Brooks.

Great. I can sense what his footsteps sound like now.

I’m overly attuned to his mannerisms, his pattern of breathing, his fuckingfootsteps.

I force my eyes to dial in on the screen.

Katherine’s face shifts to a tiny corner of the computer as she shares her screen with us. “These are just the highlights, of course, but in the last month, these are the most viral clips of you and what people are saying about the tour.”

The screen fills with a clip from one of my concerts. I’m onstage with Clint, performing our duet. It must’ve been Tokyo because that was his last show before he headed back to the States. The camera shows us singing closely and gazing into each other’s eyes. Sometimes, even my own ability to act surprises me. After ten seconds on us, the camera pans over to show Cash off to the side of the stage, eyes laser-focused on us, his mouth in a hard line. His arms are crossed over his black T-shirt, biceps bulging. My heart rate increases at the clear sign of irritation in his eyes. His jaw tics, almost like he’s … jealous?

That can’t be …

I glance up at him. He’s watching from a few feet away, casually leaning against the wall. His eyes meet mine, revealing nothing before returning to the screen. He hasn’t called me Princess since Seoul either.

“The text reads,The way Monroe Blue’s bodyguard watches her.” There’s a sweating emoji and a fire emoji next to the words. “The caption below says,Has anyone found out who this man is yet? Asking for a friend. We don’t think they have, by the way, which is quite shocking. I guess because he has essentially no digital footprint, aside from a driver’s license and a few arrests, one of them being for the attack on you atthe Texas concert over a year ago. I assume it’s still only a matter of time before people connect those dots.”

Katherine scrolls to the next video. I hold my breath at the closeness of the camera. This time, it’s on my face and Cash’s as we enter a hotel in Singapore. I’m wearing his black hoodie again, but it doesn’t help to disguise me anymore now that the fans have caught on. A fan gets close to me, shoving a print-out picture of me from the tour promo, asking for a signature. Cash’s face hardens as I almost trip, and he puts himself between me and the woman, using his corded forearm as a barrier. I smile up at him gently, touching his forearm reassuringly as I reach for the photo and the marker to sign it. He remains where he is until I’m done signing, and he hands the photo back over. My breath catches again when I see myself wrap my hands around his forearm and I let him guide me through the rest of the crowd with a satisfied smile on my lips.

Holy shit, we look like a lovestruck couple. It’s so clear that I’m infatuated with him. He’s going to see it. Everyone can see it. It’s painful how obvious it is.

My stomach muscles are cramped and tight as I remain motionless on the sofa. I don’t dare move or look around and see the reactions from Ember, Brooks, and especially Cash. I have no idea how to play this off.

Katherine scrolls again. I’m desperate to find an excuse to end the call and stop this. I don’t want to see any more. Idefinitelydon’t want Cash to see any more. He might quit right here, right now.

Who would stay after seeing that a professional relationship had been compromised like this?

A trio of British girls with podcast mics are on the next slide. One of them is speaking excitedly with her hands while the others listen in.

“I just don’t think we’ve seen such a hot, romantic relationship from a celebrity since, like, Prince William and Kate? Brangelina? Jelena? I don’t even know! I’m having trouble sleeping, to tell you the truth. Every single clip of Monroe and her bodyguard has me panting and sweating.”

The next girl on the podcast starts speaking, and an overlay on the screen plays different clips of me and Cash. One is at a concert, where he’s brooding and watching me as I sing with Clint. The next one shows him shoving an excited fan back before protectively placing his hand over my stomach. Butterflies erupt inside me at the memory. He didn’t touch me for a whole seven days after that incident.

“They’re all I can think about too. I mean, look at all the clips of him guarding her. First off, can we take a moment to acknowledge the man’s training regimen? What does he do, bench-press her limo? The man is jacked. I need to know where he’s from so I can relocate. Don’t even get me started on the veins in his forearms, or we’ll be here all day.”

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