Chapter 66
HARLOW
Poppy grabs my wrist when she comes in for her shift, which happens to begin in the middle of my own, and drags me to the back with no explanation to Pablo or Sarah who’s due to get off with Poppy coming on shift.
“Girl,” she drawls. “That’s you in those photos, isn’t it?”
I drop my head.
“I knew it!” She swats my arm. “You’ve been ignoring me.”
Her fifty-plus text messages were more than a little overwhelming. “My life just imploded,” I explain. “I’m not quite ready to talk about it.”
“You and Jameson?” she prompts.
“Broke up, obviously.”
She frowns. “I’m so sorry, hon.”
“We weren’t going to last, not after what I did, I just hate he found out like that.” That’s the part that has me the most torn up. I wish I could’ve just told him without him ever having to see those photos.
“So, you and Spencer?” she prompts.
“Are very much not together,” I clarify, knowing where she’s headed with this. “I think after the clusterfuck I’ve turned my life into its better if I’m on my own for a while.”
“Understandable,” she agrees. “Do you need a hug?”
I want to say no, act like none of this is getting to me, but instead, I say, “A hug would be great.”
She pulls me into her tight embrace, and I close my eyes, soaking in the comfort. A part of me feels like I don’t deserve the comfort after what I’ve done. I never wanted to hurt Jameson and I hate that I did. He doesn’t deserve that.
Letting me go, she says, “We better get back out there before Sarah kills me, but we’ll talk more later, okay?”
“Talking is the last thing I want to do,” I mutter.
“Too bad.” She adjusts the straps on her apron. “Because I love talking.”
Lucky for me we stay busy, so we don’t have a chance to chat while we’re working. I’m due to get off at four, but when I glance out the window my jaw drops at the surge of people headed for the shop.
“Incoming. We’ve got a rush,” I warn the others. Just as quickly, I mutter, “What the fuck?” When my brain processes what I’m seeing.
Paparazzi and celebrity news journalists set up outside my place of employment, while one particularly bold one heads straight inside and right up to the counter.
“We’re looking for Harlow Hansen for an interview. Apparently, she works here.”
Pablo glances my way. “Sorry, she quit.”
The journalist curses and heads out to tell the others.
“Go,” Pablo hisses. Nodding his head toward our backroom, he adds, “Get out of here.”
I don’t have to be told twice. I make quick work of tugging my apron off and hanging it up. Scooping up my stuff, I push open the back door and nearly curse when I see even more people in our back lot. I keep my head down, grateful I kept my hat on, and my hair tucked in a bun.
“Are you Harlow Hansen?” someone asks. I don’t know who since I keep my eyes on the ground.
“No, I’m Poppy,” I blurt. “I’m trying to leave.”
By some blessing, I manage to make it to my car and get in. They’re reluctant to move out of my way but finally give in to my persistence.
When I’m out of the lot, I breathe a sigh of relief. That was a massive bullet I dodged. The last thing I need is my face sprayed across more gossip sites and social media.
I’m a few blocks away when a familiar Range Rover races toward me going way above the speed limit. I turn my head spotting Spencer’s profile, and he makes an incredibly illegal U-Turn to get behind me. My phone rings a moment later, his name filling the screen.
I answer and put it on speaker.
“What’s going on?” I ask, hating that the question comes out laced in panic. Normally I’m better at keeping a closer leash on my emotions, or so I’d like to think.
“Someone leaked your information.”
“What?” I blurt. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” he growls across the line. “But whoever it was, I’m going to kill them once I get my hands on them. If it was Jameson, so help me God—”
“He wouldn’t do this,” I defend, and I truly believe that. “It’s more likely to be Lydia,” I spit out in anger.
“Lydia? Why would she do something like this?”
“Because she hates me,” I practically cry. “She never liked me, said I wasn’t good for your image, she knew shit like this bothered me about you working in Hollywood. Do you really think she wouldn’t recognize me in those photos? Heck, you probably told her it was me.”
He’s silent on the other end and then he curses out, “Fuck!” and hangs up.
I drive with shaky breaths and a clinched fist all the way to my apartment. I text my mom to ask her to keep Roe for the night. If they have my job’s address, it’s only a matter of time before they show up here.
Spencer jogs to catch up with me. “I’m so fucking sorry this got out, Low.”
I might be more annoyed if I didn’t hear the true remorse in his voice.
“Did you talk to Lydia?” I ask, fumbling with my keys when we reach my door. He puts his hand over mine, carefully unfolding my fingers from the metal so he can take them from me and unlock the door himself.
“Yes.”
“And what did she say?”
He sighs and locks up behind us. Yanking off his baseball cap, he runs his fingers through his hair before slamming it back down on his head but backwards this time. “She denied it, of course, but I kept pressing and she admitted to leaking it.”
“Fuck her,” I snap, slamming my phone down on the counter.
“I fired her.”
I swing around in surprise. “Just like that?”
“She messed with you. That’s all I needed to know.”
I frown. Realization hits me that I’ve harbored resentment toward him for not firing her in the past, but truth be told, I don’t think I ever told him the things she said to me.
I told him I got weird vibes from her, hoping he’d take it from there, but I didn’t want to sound like a whiny girlfriend who couldn’t handle her boyfriend’s growing fame.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“You’re welcome.” He leans his back against the door and my phone buzzes.
I pick it up, relieved when my mom says they’ll keep Roe.
“Roe will stay with my parents tonight. I won’t be surprised if the paparazzi don’t end up here soon.”
Especially with him firing Lydia. She’s the vindictive type.
His jaw twitches in barely concealed anger. “This is what you were always afraid of,” he chokes out. “And I’ve brought it right to your doorstep.”
“Yeah, well…” I trail off and shrug. “I don’t think you’re solely to blame this time.” I give him a small smile.
He takes his cap off again, holding it in his hands. He squeezes the brim, obviously nervous. Staring down at the floor for a long moment, I’m about to ask him what he’s thinking when he lifts his head and tear-filled eyes meet mine.
“I’ve ruined your life, haven’t I?” he asks with a brokenness I’ve never seen or heard from him before.
I open my mouth tell him no, that’s not the case, but he keeps going.
“I got you pregnant. I should’ve pushed you more to get help for your post-partum depression.
And now I’ve pulled you into the spotlight in one of the worst ways when you wanted nothing to do with this world. ”
“You haven’t ruined my life, Spencer.”
I hate that he can even possibly think that.
“It sure feels like it,” he sighs, dropping his head back so it knocks against the door. “Every time I’ve tried to do the right thing, I inadvertently do the wrong thing instead. I was selfish in wanting you, willing to have you any way I could, and now those pictures are out there.”
“All of the blame doesn’t belong to you, so stop trying to shoulder it.”
“I should go,” he says. “I just … when I learned your information was leaked, I needed to get to you, make sure you were safe.”
“You can stay, it’s okay with me.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be in your way.”
He lets himself out and I drop down on the couch with a heavy exhale of breath.
Every time I think things can’t get worse, somehow, they do.
I jolt in surprise when the door opens again less than a minute later.
“Never mind.” He shuts the door. “They’re here.”
I don’t have to ask who they are.
He drops onto the couch and takes his cap off, tossing it on the coffee table. “Guess you’re stuck with me for now.”