Chapter 4
Chase
I’m reeling.
This woman’s worse than I expected, and I didn’t think that was possible.
I check out the windows to make sure no one’s followed her before we exit the building, then I march down the steps and she trips alongside me in those five-inch spiked heels. For a woman who dances professionally in front of millions, she is shockingly clumsy.
When I first spotted her outside the gym, I could tell she was someone struggling with her mental health. But now that I know who she really is, I’m worried she’s having a full-on breakdown.
There’s no limo or anyone else waiting for her in the lot. “Where’s your driver?”
She shrugs. “He left.”
“He left?” I stare at her overly made-up face. “Is he coming back?”
“No, I don’t think so. I thought I was done with the car.”
I sigh. “Fine, we’ll take my car.” I hit the button to unlock my Mercedes-Benz S-Class and open the door on the passenger side. Even if she is the last person I want riding with me, I’m still a gentleman.
She gingerly sets her coffee cup in the holder, then settles herself on the seat so as not to crumple her already disheveled evening gown. She looks up at me with an odd expression, but I close the door anyway, then climb in and turn the key in the ignition.
“Do you know… Have we met before?” she says.
Uh-huh. Total mental breakdown.
“No. Where are you staying?”
She gives me a smirk. “Actually, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? As in, you’re not sure where it is? Or you don’t have a place lined up at all?”
Her back straightens, and she looks indignant. I’m guessing it’s one of her go-to expressions. “I figured I could find something when I got here. With the disguise and all.”
I’m staring at that eye patch, the most garish part of her costume, and I realize it might be the reason she’s stumbling around. It’s affecting her depth perception.
“Speaking of.” I tap my eye. “You can probably take that thing off.”
“Nope, I’m good.” She leans back in her seat, tipping her chin up with pride. It’s making that obviously fake birthmark stand out even more.
Yesterday I wouldn’t have been able to pick Harper Slade out of a lineup.
I couldn’t name a single one of her songs, and I still have no idea what she looks like under that whole getup.
But I do remember a bit of trivia about her: She has a distinctive birthmark somewhere—on her cheek, maybe?
What did she do? Cover up the real birthmark and draw on a fake one?
This girl is something else.
“I’d like to stay in a house, like normal people do.”
Her words are conceited, but I hear a hint of longing underneath them too. As though she doesn’t feel like a normal person, and she wants to.
That resonates with me. I’ve been there. But I’m her bodyguard, not her therapist.
“OK. You’re gonna rent a house?”
“I guess? How do people get houses when they’re on vacation?”
It’s dawning on me how out of her depth this woman is. It’s like she hasn’t thought one minute ahead of where she is right now. I’m starting to wonder if this is her first time out on her own. Ever.
“Try AirBnB, maybe?”
“OK. Is it an app?” She frowns, but then she pulls her phone from her bag, and I bristle.
“Hold on. Is that your regular phone?”
Her chin jerks back in surprise at the sharper tone I’ve taken. “Yes.”
I grab it out of her hand, but she swipes it back from me.
“Why’d you do that?” Lines crease her forehead under that silly blonde wig.
“It’s traceable.”
She scowls. “I know that.”
“You said you didn’t want anyone to track you here.”
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t. But how am I supposed to rent a house without using the app?”
I sigh. “We’ll use my phone.” I show her my passcode. “Yours stays off from now on, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she says in a sarcastic huff.
“And you know not to use your credit cards, right?”
Her uncovered eye goes wide. “What? How will I pay for anything?”
I run a hand across the back of my neck. “You didn’t bring cash?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Not that much.” She’s digging into the wallet on the back of her phone case.
“Well, shit.” Now I need to call Cass to figure out how to handle her money situation.
“I only have a few thousand dollars.”
A few thousand ?
I tip my head to the side. “OK. That’ll do. Only cash from now on, got it?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.” Her words are clipped.
“Then stop acting like one.”
She winces, and I realize I crossed a line. She’s a grown woman, even if she doesn’t have basic life skills, and I have no right to treat her this way. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.” I shake my head apologetically, but she turns away, clearly stung by my words. “I was out of line.”
She nods, her lips pressed tight, but she says nothing.
Cass told me she needed some time away and didn’t want anyone to know where she was. But why did she run off given she apparently doesn’t know the first thing about living on her own? I’m starting to suspect there may be something serious going on. Something I need to know about.
I turn the engine off. “Listen. Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here.”
“Huh?” She blinks at me. “I already told your company. I need a bodyguard because I have a stalker, so it isn’t safe—”
“No. I mean, why did you come here?” I point my fingers toward my lap. “To Cupid City.”
Her mouth tugs to one side, then she stares off into the distance for a moment. “Just because.”
I chuckle. “Uh-uh. Nobody comes to Cupid City just because. I need to understand this situation fully in order to protect you.”
She’s silent, still looking away.
“You have my word that any secrets you share are safe with me. I’ll take them to the grave if I have to. But you’d better be straight with me, right now, or we’re gonna have a serious problem on our hands.”
She nibbles her bottom lip. I can tell she’s not sure whether she can trust me, so I soften my tone further.
“Why don’t you tell me the truth.”
She blinks a few times before she finally whispers, “I grew up here.”
What? Harper Slade grew up in Cupid City? How did I not know? Wouldn’t it be a local claim to fame?
But she looks sincere, and it’s catching me off guard.
In fact, something about this whole scene is throwing me off. I wasn’t expecting her to be vulnerable.
“All right, fine. So why come back? And why keep it a secret? Does this have something to do with the scandal with your boyfriend?”
Her head pivots toward me. “You know about that?”
I shrug. “No. Not really.”
She sighs. “Maybe it does.” She’s still acting cagey, and that’s not gonna fly.
“What kind of trouble are you in, Harper?”
She stares at me for a good long while, then her shoulders droop. “I know it sounds stupid, but I thought if I came back here, I might be able to…”
There’s a long pause. “To what?” I say quietly.
She takes a shaky breath in through her nose. “To find myself again.”
Oh.
She came here to find herself. That right there is some top-shelf celebrity bullshit if I’ve ever heard any.
“Gotcha.”
Not a total mental breakdown. No dangerous extortion situation or criminal blackmail scheme. Just your regular old run-of-the-mill celebrity vanity retreat. “So why is it important nobody knows you’re here? Even your own team?”
“They’d make me go back.”
I squint. “But you’re an adult.”
She nods. “I’m twenty-five.”
Huh.
She’s Lexie’s age. Something about that makes my heart hurt. Even if she is a full-of-herself megastar, she shouldn’t be out here alone given her iconic status and complete lack of understanding about how the world works.
Why isn’t someone looking out for her? Besides me.
“You realize you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to, right? If they tried to take you against your will, that would be kidnapping.”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s not like that. You wouldn’t understand.”
Her tone is resigned, and something in her expression is making me wonder if I do understand. I remember that unrelenting pressure. “Try me.”
She stays silent, so I shift tactics. “Aren’t you worried someone’s gonna report you missing?”
“They wouldn’t do that. It could tarnish the value of my brand.”
The value of her brand. She says it so sincerely it brings a sour taste to my mouth. “Of course.” She seems sweet enough—almost fragile—on the outside, but she’s just shown her true celebrity colors. She’s a total narcissist. They all are.
“So can you help me find a place to stay? A nice house with a cozy bedroom and a quality mattress?”
I scoff. “A quality mattress.”
“That’s right.”
In the end, we waste a solid thirty minutes while she vetoes two dozen perfectly reasonable options before settling on a sprawling five-bedroom mansion along the river purely because the ad mentions the specific brand of mattress she likes.
It’s $800 a night.
I try in vain to convince her to find something less expensive so she won’t run out of money immediately, but she insists, pointing out it has a security system. I charge it to my card, she pays me back in cash, and we finally roll out of the parking lot.
We’re blocks from her rental when she claps her hands together.
“We have to go back into town. I forgot to pack some things.”
I roll my eyes. “All right.” I pull off to the side of the road. Cass is going to owe me big-time for this one. “What do you need?”
“Just the essentials. A sleep mask, earplugs, those noise-canceling headphones with the white noise—but not where you can hear it looping…”
She rattles off her list, and it strikes me that every one of these items is related to sleep. Like the mattress.
This girl is obsessed with sleep.
“But they need to have the soft, bendy strap,” she continues, demonstrating with her hand over her knit cap. “Not the kind with the bar that goes across this way. That presses on my head.”
“Right.” My voice is thick with sarcasm.
“And I like pink.”
I turn and stare at her, dumbfounded. “You realize I’m your bodyguard. Not your personal shopper.”
“Oh. I figured since you’re the only one here…”