Page 57 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
I glance at my phone. I could text Sean. Ishouldtext Sean.
But if I do…he’ll know I snuck out. They’llallknow. And right now, I don’t know if I want to deal with that fallout—or the alternative.
Maeve’s hand is in mine, small and tight, like she knows something’s wrong. “Can we go?”
I don’t answer her question. I just guide her away from the ice cream parlor and down the sidewalk, my pace a little too brisk for casual. The press hasn’t caught up yet, but they’ve seen us. That much is obvious.
One of them calls out behind us, “Bailey! Mind stopping for a minute?”
I don’t turn. There is no placating them. If you stop, then more come out of the woodwork. Any internet stalkers get a bead on where you’ve been, and they can show up too. It’s a nightmare. So, I keep going.
We pass a florist, then a smoothie shop. My car is parked at the curb half a block ahead, but it feels too far now. The block feelstoo open. We’re alone out here. Just me and my daughter.
And the unsanctioned press. Two of them now. Maybe three. Cameras out. Phones lifted. One of them jogs to catch up. “Bailey, how about some pictures?—”
My pulse pounds in my ears.
Maeve glances up. “Mom?”
I look at her. And for a split second, I think about it.
Pulling out my phone. Hitting Sean’s name. Dropping a pin, asking for help. I know they’d be here quick. They’d make a scene if they had to. They’d part traffic with their hands if it meant getting to us faster.
But I don’t reach for the phone. Because I broke the one rule I’ve asked them to follow without question:Trust me to know when it’s safe.
I don’t get to ask for help now. Instead, I squeeze Maeve’s hand and force a smile. “Let’s keep walking. Just ignore them.”
She nods. Doesn’t say anything.
And the cameras follow. We walk toward the car. Only then do I see it.
They spotted my car. There are more of them, waiting right there.
And I don’t know what’s worse—the paparazzi behind us, the ones ahead of us, or the silence that’ll come later, when I have to face the guys and admit I left with no backup and no plan.
I don’t call them. Not yet. Because I’m not sure if I’m scared for us, or scared of what they’ll say when they realize I let it get this far. The car is too far away, surrounded by vultures. Damn LA parking. Where to hide…yep.
Instead of freaking Maeve out even more, I tell her, “You know what? I could use another scoop. How about you?”
“Um, okay?—”
I whisk her to the ice cream shop, and inside, I bribe the counter staff to keep the doors closed to the press. It’s not much, but for now, it keeps the dogs at bay so I can think.
Who the hell am I going to call now?
18
SEAN
We don’t agreeon what to do about David. I don’t remember the last time we disagreed about anything for this long.
Huck wants to break his legs. Literally. He says it too calmly for it to be a joke.
I want something quieter. Strategic. The kind of pressure that squeezes from the inside out until a man self-destructs.
“He’s already humiliated,” Huck argues, pacing in front of the window. “Let’s not wait until he recovers. Let’s finish it now.”
“Humiliation doesn’t guarantee silence,” I say, seated at the desk we dragged into what used to be a guest room. The new ops center is still bare—just the desk, two chairs, three monitors, and a whiteboard half-filled with David’s known contacts. “Sometimes it invites retaliation.”
