Page 51 of Taming Irish

As soon as Tommy walks away, a teenage girl with a silver hoop through her eyebrow and black eyeliner that looks painted on approaches thetable.

“Sorry to bother ye, but I was wondering if I could get ye to sign this.” She holds out a piece of paper and apen.

“Of course,” I say, scribbling my signature, then handing it back toher.

The girl shifts from one foot to the other, her gaze drifting to Makena. “Would ye mind if I got yers,too?”

Makena’s eyes widen for a moment, before her brows drop and she frowns. “I think you have me confused with someoneelse.”

“Aren’t ye MakenaHollister?”

Color drains from Makena’sface.

Hollister.

She told me her last name was Fraser, but maybe it was her marriedname.

Suddenly, it hitsme.

ChadHollister.

Hollywood’s newestheartthrob.

Shit.He’sher ex-husband.

I met the man a couple months ago at a Gala in New York. Owen forced me to go since we’d given a large sum of money to the cause and were being honored at the event with a recognition for the donation. I’d been pissed drunk most of the night, but I remembered the bastard. Hadn’t liked him then. Now that I know what he did to Makena, I hate him evenmore.

“I saw yer picture in Starz magazine this morning,” the girl continues. “I can’t believe ye were actually married to Chad Hollister.” Her voice rises and is more of a squeal when she says, “He’s sogorgeous.”

“M-magazine?” Makena stutters. “Thismorning?”

“Didn’t ye see it?” The girl pulls out her phone and starts scrolling, then hands it to Makena, who takes it with shaky fingers. “There was a full article about yer break-up. I don’t believe half the stuff they write in there, and ye seem perfectly sane tome-”

“Thank you.” Makena hands the girl back her phone, her face a mask of composure. The slight quiver to her bottom lip is the only evidence of the emotion she’s trying to hold back. She doesn’t meet my gaze when she scoots off the bench and says, “I’m not feeling well. I’ll meet you by thecar.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have brought her here. Not with thiscrowd.

After I find the owner of the green Volkswagen that’s blocking my car, and apologize to Tommy for leaving so abruptly, I make my wayoutside.

Arms wrapped around herself, shoulders slumped, Makena leans against the passenger sidedoor.

“Are ye allright-”

“Can we justgo?”

I sigh and unlock thedoors.

We both get in, sitting in silence while the driver of the Volkswagen pulls the car a few feet ahead so I can get out. But this silence isn’t the kind I enjoy. It’s filled with tension, and I can feel the anxiety rolling off Makena. I’m not sure what she’s more upset about. That the girl recognized her, that she was caught with me, or about thearticle.

“Do ye want totalk-”

“No.”

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