Page 144 of Make Me Yours
My brows pull together. “Talked to who?”
“Lilah,” he says, glancing at his silver Rolex. “The interview should be starting any minute. And doing it here at the arena was a smart PR move.”
My stomach plummets. “What interview?”
Hugh’s eyes narrow. “The one Rina scheduled a couple hours ago. You didn’t talk to her about it?”
No. No, I fucking didn’t.
And I had no intention of bringing it up either.
Because she shouldn’t have to go on record to explain what’s between us to the world. Not after everything she’s already been through.
Not after I swore I wouldn’t put her in that position.
With my jaw locked tight, I drop my bag to the floor andpivot without so much as a goodbye. My feet move quickly, eating up the distance to the conference room where all the media crap usually takes place.
I shoot Rina a text.
Then another.
But there’s no response.
Fuck.
As soon as I round the final corner, I hear the calm and polished voice of a woman and then Lilah’s. Instead of hesitating, I shove open the doors, and the room goes silent as heads snap in my direction. The cameraman freezes, his lens still mid-adjustment. The reporter blinks like she’s just been caught red-handed. And my sweet girl sits in the chair, looking wide-eyed and nervous.
What pisses me off the most is that she’s alone.
“If someone’s going to speak for us,” I say, striding into the room, “then it’s going to be both of us. As a couple.”
Lilah’s lips part slightly, as if she can’t believe I just busted in here. The last thing I’m going to do is leave her to face this mess alone. I grab a chair from the side of the room and carry it over, placing it directly next to hers before dropping down and slipping her hand into mine.
“You good, lucky charm?” I ask quietly.
She nods, eyes glassy with emotion. “Yes.”
Unable to help myself, I lift her hand and press a kiss against her knuckles. “We’ll get through this together. Understand?”
Her lips tremble into a smile. “Thank you for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And no one else I’d rather be with.”
And that’s the truth.
The reporter clears her throat, trying to gather her bearings. “Mr. Sanderson, I didn’t realize youwere?—”
“Hi, Chandra,” I cut in smoothly. “Thanks for making time. We’re ready to talk.”
She glances between us, then gives a signal to the cameraman, and the red light glows to life.
One at a time, she asks the hard questions.
Are we in a relationship?
What happened in the photo?
Was there consent?
