Page 302 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

I walk behind Anthony with Marc close behind me, and I take a breath as the door opens.

Instantly, dozens of voices are shouting questions I can’t begin to make out, and cameras are flashing all around me. Marc puts the flat of his palm between my shoulder blades and keeps me moving forward, though Anthony’s having some trouble cutting through the crowd ahead of me.

It’s only about twenty feet from the door of the shop to the open door of the town car, but it takes more than a minute to make the journey. Once I’m in the car, Marc closes the door behind me.

“He’s not getting in?” I ask.

“He’s protecting our escape,” Anthony answers as Trevor hits the gas.

This is too much. Apart from school photos and driver’s license photos, and the occasional candid by Naomi, I haven’t had a picture taken of me in my life that was in any way public. Even with that, Naomi’s random pictures of me are the most public, and her shots only make it as far as her Facebook page.

It was fun pretending and playing dress-up for a while, but the fantasy’s over. People grabbed at me, trying to get my attention and everyone was shouting, just shouting at me. I’m just a girl from a place nobody’s ever heard of; I don’t know if I can do this anymore.

“It looks like they’re already posting pictures,” Anthony says.

“What?” I ask. “How?”

Anthony shrugs. “It looks like they’re just teasers, so far,” he says, “but don’t be alarmed if you see yourself in a few dailies tomorrow morning and likely a few tabloids over the next week or so. Also, you may want to stay away from the online stories. A lot of those people aren’t concerned with facts as much as they are sensationalism, and you don’t want any part of it. Whatever you do, stay away from the tabloids. Don’t even read the cover,” he says. “Trust me.”

I’d love to answer if only I could speak.

We get back to the hotel and security’s already waiting outside to escort me into the building. I don’t know how the reporters got here so fast, or even if they’re the same ones, but if it weren’t for the additional security, I don’t know if I could have made it through the hotel doors.

By the time I get back up to my room, my head is swimming. I’m so disoriented that I almost don’t notice that every piece I looked at Tiffany’s, every dress, every pair of shoes, every set of earrings, every everything I showed any interest in at all, is in my room, waiting for me.

CHAPTER8

LONG ISLAND

ZACH

“Marly, hey, come in,” I say as my longtime lawyer, mole, and mentor knocks on my office door.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Come in and shut the door, if you would.”

Grace hasn’t left her room in three days, and I don’t blame her. The moment that first reporter got wind of who she was and what she was doing in New York, things were bound to go a little crazy.

A little crazy would have been fine, but the tabloids have taken a particular interest in Grace.

“I suppose you’ve heard about the recent issues Grace and I have been having with the yellow press,” I say.

Marly nods. “Yes, I have,” she says.

I ask, “What do you think we should do about it?”

Marly leans forward, saying, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we both knew this was going to happen.”

“Did we?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “We did. I don’t know what you were thinking sending her on a Fifth Avenue shopping spree right when we’re trying to get the board off our backs, but this is reflecting poorly on you.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her. “Just because I own a company, I’m not allowed to date or buy a girlfriend a few things?”

“A few things would have been fine, but they’re reporting that your friend went home with over a hundred grand in jewelry and clothing,” Marly says. “You don’t think a little discretion might have been nice?”

“A hundred grand is nothing,” I tell her. “What's the problem?”

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