Page 48 of Doctor's Demands
The music must be faced, and I’ll have to do that alone.
Petra
Following Owen’s lead, he decides to go to the club to deal with Chance first. The rental car is now a minivan, and we’re hiding underneath hoodies. There weren’t a slew of paparazzi in the hotel lobby, but there were enough to make things bad if he tried to deal with them without being a bit rehearsed.
The ride to the club is much too quiet. Owen’s mind must be a mess as he tries to figure a way out of this. And everything I’ve said to him so far hasn’t made a dent in his obvious anxiety. But I can’t just stop trying to help him. “Owen, let’s go to Isabel’s office and have her shred our contract. Get the money you have in the escrow account for me out. End your membership with The Dungeon of Decorum. There will be no trail to follow then.”
He glances at me as he drives down the road. “If I do that, then you aren’t guaranteed that money. And I want you to have it, Petra.”
“If the worst happens and you get thrown off the show and lose clients in your practice, then you’ll need that money. I’ll be okay. I’m used to being poor. You’re not.” I run my hand over his leg and watch him frown.
“I’m not about to take my money back.” He picks up my hand and gives it a kiss. “I have plenty of money. No one can touch my investments. If clients drop me, so be it. If the show gets canceled or they find another lead doctor, who cares?”
“For someone with that carefree attitude, you certainly look worried.”
He pulls onto the road that leads us to the parking garage of the club. “I’m worried for you Petra. I don’t want anyone to ever say a bad thing about you.”
My heart flutters. He’s worried about me. Not himself, the way I thought. I can’t lie and say I’m not worried about myself too. But I think the original plan will work. The worst thing we’ve done, according to our lie, is go check out a BDSM club. So, what?
Just as we pull up to the entrance to the garage, we’re met with the missing paparazzi. Cameras are picked up and pointed at us as reporters come toward the minivan.
Owen throws the car into reverse and peels away. “Owen! Shit! They don’t know who we are. You should’ve driven right through them. We have on hoods. We’re in another car. You just made us look guilty as hell. Fuck, you’re dramatic!”
“I don’t know how the fuck to do this, Petra.” He goes faster, as some of the reporters get into their cars and are coming after us.
“These people are insane.” I look out the back window. “Slow down, Owen. None of this matters. Don’t give them the satisfaction of all the drama. Just go the speed limit and stop acting guilty.”
“Petra, you and I are wearing hoodies. We’ve changed cars and we’re pulling back into the parking garage of the club. You tell me how the hell I’m going to downplay that shit.” He turns a corner so fast, I feel like we’re only on two wheels.
“Owen!” I grab the bar at the top of the door.
The van wobbles as we get around the corner. “Please, stop yelling. You’re making me even more nervous, Petra.”
Something more than fear courses through me as I look at Owen’s profile. He’s afraid. For me, for him, for his career, and reputation. All because of how other people see things. And now I’m pissed off even more. “Let me out, Owen. Let me talk to the reporters.”
“Over my dead body, Petra. You’re young. That much is true. You have no idea how other people can ruin your life. I do, baby. I love you. I’m not about to let you hurt yourself by doing things you don’t understand.” He veers to the right, and we fly over a small hill.
He’s heading out of town. The buildings are getting further and further behind us, and the cars are still following. “When do you plan on stopping?”
“When I lose them all.” He takes a sharp left, then a right, and we’re going deeper into the woods.
“You have no idea where you’re going, do you?”
“Away from Portland.” He takes another right and then I see a sign that tells me he has no other choice but to face those who are chasing him. Those who think they can accuse the man I love of doing something terrible.
“You’ve found yourself a dead end, Owen.”
The tires squeal as he comes to a stop. White smoke billows around us. It’s thick and doesn’t clear right away as the dense, tall mass of trees holds it in place. “Get out,” Owen shouts at me.
“Owen …”
“Do as I say. Get out of the car and run.”
Into the burnt, rubber-smelling smoke, I go. I can’t see a thing, and my eyes burn. My hand is grabbed, and I’m dragged along into the woods. Thankful for the sneakers, I run with Owen as he zigs and zags through the woods.
Behind us, I can hear cars and doors opening and closing and people talking. I can’t understand any of them as we run so fast and get deeper into the wilderness with each step we take.
We run and run, and then Owen stops, as we’ve come to another end. We’re on the top of a cliff. A lake is sprawled out beneath us. Neither of us can breathe well. I let his hand go and put my hands on my knees, bending over, trying to catch my breath. “Now what?”
