Page 14 of A Different Kind Of December
I let out a huff, and he leans in, kisses my temple, and leaves me with the kids.
Things like this really piss me off. My kids are not part of my past life, and even if they were, nobody has the right to take photos of them without my or Cam’s permission.
In the beginning, we had to have Benny with us everywhere we went, but things have quietened down over the years and the interest in me waned. Now, we only really have security with us if we’re going to a public event where we know there’ll be lots of photographers.
If I am recognised, then people are mostly courteous and will ask to take a selfie or for me to sign something. I always oblige. I think they feel they’re getting a little piece of Sean by getting a little piece of me, and I’d never deny his fans that.
What looks like a manager appears and heads in our direction with a smile on his face.
“Hey, I’m Brett Davies. I’m the day shift manager here.” I take the hand he’s holding out and shake it, returning his smile.
“Georgia McCarthy-King. We honestly don’t want to be putting you to any extra trouble, we were just after a table for six and some lunch.”
“Of course. We’re just setting you up over in the back corner, we thought it’d be a little more private for you.”
We’ve eaten here numerous times, it’s a favourite of the kids, and we’ve never had a problem, but I really can’t be bothered to argue, so I smile sweetly and thank the manager.
“It isn’t a request. Either stop taking photos of my kids, or I’ll take your phone off you.”
Both Brett and I turn to where Cam is standing, arms folded across his chest as he glares down at the woman who was taking photos.
The man sitting opposite her stands.
“Shit,” I whisper-hiss as Brett makes his way over to Cam.
I’m not sure what to do. We should just leave, but then, why the fuck should we?
“Is there a problem?” Brett asks.
“Yeah, there’s a problem. This prick’s accusing my misses of taking photos of his kids when she was just checking her phone.” The man that stood up—her husband I assume—accuses.
“Bullshit, she was taking photos.”
“Prove it.” The woman pipes up. She’s short, blonde, and...curvy? She’s talking to Cam but looking at me with a sneer on her face.
“Mum, let’s just go somewhere else,” Kiki says as she grabs hold of my hand. She hates when this kind of thing happens, whereas Lu, George, and H all have their phones out, checking to make sure their hair looks good. Lu even pulls a lip gloss out of her pocket and promptly applies it.
“Madam, as the manager, I’m going to kindly request that you keep your phone on the table while Mr King and his family enjoy their lunch.”
“Since when did you have a no phones policy?” the husband asks.
“Since I just made one.”
“Oh, I see. Special rules apply just because some D-list celebrity that used to fuck a rock star—”
The bloke doesn't finish whatever he was going to add to that charming little sentence before Cam reaches across the bench-style table and drags him across it.
Chairs scrape and plates, glasses, and cutlery crash to the floor.
“Cam, no, just leave it. They’re not worth bothering with.”
The look he gives me tells me to shut the fuck up and stay out of it, but I ignore it and move towards him.
“Go back to the kids, George,” he orders.
“Yeah, fuck off, Georgia,” the woman shouts. She obviously has some kind of beef with me.
“Do I know you?” I question.
