“The paparazzi are across the street. Right over there.” He gestured in the direction of a small crowd and I nodded in response, offering a tight-lipped smile as he continued. “They tried to come in, but I threatened to call the cops and have them all arrested for trespassing.”
“I really wish they’d pass some laws against this type of thing,” I said with a sigh.
“I know, Miss Lockwood. It makes me very nervous when you drive off and they chase you. Very nervous.” He nodded his head and looked up into the air as if offering a silent prayer.
I leaned toward him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “It makes me nervous too.”
His body tensed. “I’ll have the valet get your car,” he said, his tone defeated. “Please tell me you’re going to Miss Johnson’s? Or home to your parents?”
Sam loved Quinn. Everyone loved her, but Sam especially enjoyed her take-no-shit attitude and told her so every time she came to visit. I constantly spotted the two of them discussing Quinn’s latest shenanigans whenever she came around. She loved embellishing her stories for Sam, and he loved hearing her tales.
“I’m staying with Quinn for a few days. I don’t want to bring this to my parents’ house. They have to work, and my sister would be beyond annoyed if it interfered with her senior year. They don’t need this on their doorstep.”
“Miss Johnson will take care of you. I suppose Mr. Miller will be there as well?” he asked hopefully.
I nodded my head and chuckled at his overprotective nature. “Yes, Dad number two, both Quinn and Ryson will be there.”
He pressed his lips together in a cautious smile and shrugged. “I just worry.”
“I know, Sam. Thank you. I’ll be fine. But hey,” I said as a thought occurred to me. “Will you please remove Colin’s name from my access list? I don’t want him coming up unannounced anytime soon.”
Sam’s face reddened, telling me he’d heard the news. “Of course. Hopefully he knows better than to show up during my shift.”
I smiled, and it felt good after all the tears I’d shed today. Offering Sam a quick squeeze, I said good-bye and headed toward my waiting BMW as the paparazzi jumped into action at the sight of me.
Thank God for Best Friends
Paige
I weaved in and out of traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, driving recklessly and way too fast. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I noted at least ten cars had followed me, all trying to maneuver as close as possible. No matter how I drove, I couldn’t shake them. They’d been tailing me since we left my apartment on Wilshire Boulevard, and I was convinced they knew exactly where I was headed.
My anxiety level escalated as one car shot ahead, closing the space between us, the driver with a camera in one hand and gripping the steering wheel with the other. This was so dangerous, and I never understood why the police seemed to allow it. One of these days someone was going to get killed, and I silently prayed it wouldn’t be me or anyone I loved. A quick turn off the main highway and into what Malibu considered a neighborhood with a view, I slowed my reckless pace and attempted to regain some self-control.
The chase cars screeched to a stop as I pulled up to Quinn’s privacy gates. A group of men jumped out quickly to get to me before I could escape inside. I leaned out my window to quickly punch the pass code into the keypad, and breathed out in relief as the gates swung open before any of them could reach me.
My heart thumped as I maneuvered my car into the driveway and shut down the engine. As I stepped outside, the camera-wielding madmen lined up outside the iron gates of my best friend’s house, shouting random questions at me as they shoved their equipment between the bars and snapped the shutters repeatedly.
“Paige, have you seen Colin?”
“Is it true?”
“We’re sorry, honey. He’s a jerk!”
“Has he cheated on you before?”
“How many times has it happened?”
“What about the woman in Vegas? Is it true she’s pregnant with his baby?”
I paused for a millisecond at the pregnancy bit, but forced myself not to interact with them as I bit down on the inside of my cheek while I rushed to the front door. The paparazzi were rarely ever cruel to me, but then again I didn’t normally give them anything to talk about. I stayed out of trouble, didn’t get sloppy drunk in bars, and never put myself in a position where I might be photographed getting into—or out of—a car without wearing my underwear.
They called me America’s Sweetheart for a reason, and to be honest, I liked being thought of that way. It suited me far better than something like America’s Next Addict or Super-Slut. But I’d seen on more than one occasion how cruel and unforgiving the paparazzi could be, and the thought of being the target for their gossip terrified me.
Quinn sprinted through the front door, her blond hair swaying with her haste. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a pained look as she bit down on her bottom lip.
“Don’t do that. Please don’t do that,” I begged, squeezing my sunglass-covered eyes closed briefly before reopening them.
“Do what?” Her eyebrows pinched together.
“Don’t look at me with pity like that. I’ll break down right here on your front lawn if you look at me like that again,” I warned.
She sucked in a quick breath. “Fine. I’ll just project my feelings somewhere else.” A sly grin spread across her lips before she narrowed her gaze and turned to face the firing squad of reporters. Quinn hooked her hands on her hips and her voice rose to a near shout as the shutter clicks and questions died down.
“Leave her the hell alone. Don’t you have anything better to do? Give the girl a damn minute to deal with her life before you all do your best to make it worse for her. Why can’t you focus on all the good things Paige does instead of trying to kick her while she’s down? Go harass that asshole ex-boyfriend instead. He’s the one that deserves this shit storm. Not Paige.”
I tugged at her arm as my comfort level shrank to virtually nothing. “You don’t have to do that,” I whispered before she cut me off.
“Yes, I do. Screw them. They’re vultures. They love to see any one of us in pain. Especially someone as good as you who never does anything wrong. It makes me sick and I can’t stand it.” She reached for my hand, pulling me into her house, then slammed the front door, shielding us from prying eyes.
“What would I do without you?” I breathed out.
Quinn grinned. “Be way too nice to everyone in your life, including all the assholes outside who don’t care about you and only want to make money. You know, the usual.” Then she grabbed my bag from my shoulder.
“I can carry my stuff,” I started to complain, knowing it was futile. Quinn was hardheaded and strong-minded, two things I absolutely admired about her. They were also the two qualities I believed I lacked the most, which was why we probably bonded so quickly as teenagers. We balanced each other out. She was definitely the yin to my yang, and our opposite natures only made me love her more.
“So can I. Come on.” She headed down her naturally lit hallway toward one of two guest rooms. Quinn had them professionally decorated in themes: the Jungle Room and the Goddess Quarters. I wasn’t allowed to stay in the Jungle Room, even though I loved the rich greens and dark wood that dominated it. She always said, “The Jungle Room is for boys, Paige, and you’re not a boy.”
The decor of my gender-appropriate room was gorgeous, however. Filled with rare and collectible Disneyland art, its classic symmetry and beauty was modeled after one of the suites at the theme park’s hotel. A stunning four-poster bed was the focal point of the room, its heavy silver curtains tied off on all sides, revealing crisp white bedding and oversized pillows. Silver and blue accents swirled throughout the room and into the private bath, where Italian hand-crafted marble and a fairy-tale theme combined to create a heavenly escape. Whenever I stayed here, it was like being in a dream. Everything down to the knobs on the dresser had been carefully chosen for maximum effect.