Page 109 of The Oscar Escape
Who was Aria Paige-Grant? No, who was Aria Paige-Grant Elliott?
She felt pressure on her shoulders and gasped.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Oscar said, removing his hands.
“I’m jumpy. It’s just nerves. We should get going,” she stammered and internally berated herself. She had to pull herself together.
Oscar got the front door for her. “You don’t have to worry. I told you. I’m here. I’ve got you. My job is to protect you.”
She glanced at him and caught him patting his pocket again. “I know you mean well, Oscar, but I’m not some princess locked in a tower you need to rescue. I’ve got a lot on my mind. This is who I am. I think about everything. After this festival, life will get complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to,” he muttered, the words soaked in bitterness.
What was that supposed to mean?
His cell pinged. He eyed the screen. “It’s another press request from California. Why would some local channel on the other side of the country want to cover the Love and Lobsters Festival?”
“Maybe the cotton candy lobster? Del did mention a video went viral. It’s probably Margo. The California news team might want to cover her. Check your phone and see what’s trending,” she instructed as they walked toward the inn.
“Oscar? Hey, dude, it’s good to see you.”
She looked up. A thin man in worn jeans with scruffy blond hair and a lopsided grin headed for them with a camera on his shoulder.
She peered at the guy. “Who is that?”
“It’s Phil from the news station.” Oscar plastered on a fake grin as the man drew closer. “Hey, man, it’s good to see you.”
She could feel waves of anxiety rolling off her husband.
Phil shook Oscar’s hand, then flicked his gaze to her and stared—no, gawked.
“Phil, this is Aria Elliott, my wife.”
Phil’s jaw dropped. “She’s your wife, like, for real?”
That was weird.
“Yes.”
She studied Phil. Oscar said he was a nice guy—easy to work with and always friendly. And perhaps he was, but the guy appeared starstruck. She swallowed hard, then glanced away as the thrum of helicopters passed over the island.
“Congratulations, I wasn’t expecting you to be married, man. But maybe I should have,” the cameraman gushed.
“What does that mean?” Oscar pressed.
“You filmed her like you were in love with the subject. And I almost didn’t catch it. I sat on it for a few days, then showed it to Lexi yesterday. She sent it to her sister to confirm. Don’t worry. Lexi’s sister is a social media influencer. She’s connected. She told us she knew what to do with the video,” Phil explained, then winked one of those undercover-message-received winks.
Oscar frowned. “Phil, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry, man. I know how this works,” Phil replied. “Accidentally leak a video, then sit back and let the publicity explode. Oh, and I look forward to working with you. I just got hired on to the project. It’s not my cup of tea when it comes to what I usually listen to, but it pays well.”
Aria looked between the men. Phil appeared positively giddy, while Oscar had turned as white as a ghost.
“Hey, Phil, we need to set up the live shot,” a man in aMaine News 11sweater vest called from down the trail.
“Talk soon, and such an honor to meet you,Aria Elliott,” Phil said with another wink like they were speaking a secret language.
Once Phil had made it down the trail, she eyed Oscar. “What the hell was that?”
