Page 171 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
“I’m the same person. I got scared and forced into this mess. I should’ve refused, but they threatened my career. I’m sorry, but it’s the one thing I’m not willing to give up.”
“So our friendship wasn’t that important then?”
“That’s not fair. It’s not what I meant. My career is my identity. Without it, I don’t know who I am.” Her voice cracks. “Except when I had someone like you in my life. You kept me real. Grounded. You’re special, Wyatt.”
Wyatt sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Portia, we’ve gotta go. I’ll leave you to tell Erika and the others that I’m not coming back.”
Portia gasps. “Ever?”
“I just need space. All I’ve had is people in my face, telling me who I am and what I have to be. I need time to figure it out for myself.”
“Okay, Wyatt. I owe you that much.”
“Bye, Portia.”
Her voice cracks again. “Bye.”
“Whoa,” I breathe out when the call ends. “That was intense.”
Wyatt sits back, hitting his head against the headrest. “What a mess.”
I ditch Wyatt’s phone into my handbag and clutch his hand. “You’re really serious about going home with me?”
“Dead serious.”
“Then we should make a detour by your loft.”
Wyatt shakes off the suggestion. “Nah, I can get anything I need in Victoria Falls.”
I squeeze his hand. “What about the journal?”
His eyes brighten, and he leans forward to gain the driver’s attention. “Can you swing by my place?”
“Sure, no problem, boss,” the driver says and changes lanes.
Thankfully, Wyatt’s loft is close to the studio. I volunteer to go inside for him, wanting him to avoid using extra energy. I dash into the first floor bedroom, which appeared setup for him, and realize my handbag is still hanging over my shoulder. Rolling my eyes at myself, I search the closet for an overnight bag. I pull out a light gray duffle bag and stuff it with clothing items Wyatt may need.
I throw the strap of the duffle bag over my other shoulder and hightail it upstairs. I snag his journal from the bed and zip up the bag. I then retrieve his acoustic guitar and smuggle it inside its case. With a mixture of awkwardness and caution, I make it down the stairs with my handbag, the duffle bag, and the loaded guitar case.
More of Wyatt’s things were left in the living space for him, and I spy his walking cane leaning against the couch. I cross my fingers, and collect it just in case. While I’m evaluating how to get out the door with all this gear, the driver enters the apartment to help me. I hand over the guitar case and walking cane, ready to follow the driver out with the duffle bag still hanging over my shoulder.
I leave the loft apartment and Wyatt’s phone rings through my handbag. My gut tenses, imagining it’s Portia again or worse.
“Please, please, please,” I wish as I take out his phone. “Please don’t take him away from me.”
My mind is a flurry with Erika and Lexy making wild plans. I imagine them stopping us at the airport and dragging Wyatt back to the studio. My hand trembles as I stare at the unknown caller ID.
High on adrenaline, I hit the answer button instead of decline, andlift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Oh, uh...” a male voice splutters. “Hi... I...”
I move toward the car and the driver takes the duffle from me. He sits it in the trunk with
Wyatt’s guitar and cane.
“Are you the new PA?” the guy on the phone asks.
It takes me aback. “Huh?”
