With the heat, the sermon seemed long and drawn out. My medication made me tired, and the painkillers were wearing off; Blake was also next to me nodding off. Mamaw kept poking him, reminding me of when we were kids, which played out the same every Sunday.
I tried to concentrate back on the sermon.
“Where do you find the most wealth in the world? In our cemeteries. All God’s unused gifts and talents wasted on souls that did not fulfill their destiny. Fate is stealing them away. The Devil and his team are busy at work, knowing their time is short. Satan’s goal is to destroy you before you achieve your destiny. Never forget, we are caught in between a war—God and his angels—Satan and his.”
Jackson was being impatient, and I couldn’t blame him. We hadn’t spoken since the gossip report broke. I needed time to think, but that was impossible. He blew up my cell and left countless texts during service. I had to respond.
J- Talk to me.
L- I can’t, at church.
J- Are you upset?
L- No, annoyed.
J- Tried to stop it.
L- So I see . . .
J- Please believe me.
L- They harassed my mom!
J- Vultures!
L- There was no warning.
J- I promise I will make this up to you.
L- You must be in a lot of trouble.
J- Loads.
L- Sorry.
J- You are worth it.
My heart sank. I stared at his comment for a moment. Then, I replied what was going through my mind, and heart.
L- Are you sure about that? They’re saying that I’m no catch.
J- Why are you listening to gossip?
L It’s about me!
J- Please, let’s talk about it now.
L- I can’t.
J- Then when?
L- Soon, I have to go.
I wasn’t in the mood to discuss it anymore. I wanted to hide in my room, stay under the covers, and never come out.
Cary met us outside the church with two more cars. He put me in a car with Jonathan, and I didn’t have the energy to question why. I wanted to go home. Blake and Ruben, another guy Cary sometimes used, went in the next car. Cary and Mamaw rode in his car.
When we were almost to the Mamaw’s house, I saw numerous cars vehicles parked along the road that led only to her house, and it was part of her property. I thought, Why would cars be parked alongside the road? The answer came when we drove by at least six news vans. Reality seemed to rear its ugly head.
My cell phone ranged, and Cary started barking orders. “Yes, yes, I understand . . . stay in the car until Jonathan comes around to get me.”
Jonathan and I were in the first car to arrive, and as soon as we pulled into the driveway, reporters and cameramen surrounded the car.
Regardless of how hard I tried to stay calm, my body switched to panic mode. This was crazy. I was a fool to believe everything could be normal, and still date Jackson.
I looked into each of the faces around us; they didn’t care if anyone got hurt, they simply wanted a story. One guy looked as if he were foaming at the mouth. He pushed and shoved his way to my window, banging and yelling questions.
It was hard to believe, by the scene around me, that there were actual newsworthy events more important than Jackson. There were a few wars going on, and he was front-page news?
I tried to calm down, but given the circumstances, that was difficult. Yet, I wanted to be strong. I could handle it—I hoped.
As I kept my eyes downcast, I saw legs swiftly move to both sides of my door, and I looked up. Two lines of large men cleared a path through the crowd. I jumped as my door opened. Jonathan pulled me out, and swung his jacket over me. He bulldozed us through the crowd, and up to the house, leaving several casualties along the way. I knew I should have felt bad for them, but somehow I could not.
“Is Mamaw safe?” I asked, as he closed the door behind us.
“She’s fine. We needed you out first to distract the others from being noticed.”
“Where are Cary and Blake?”
“With Ms. Lili. They’re coming through the back now.” He tilted his head as if he were listening to someone in his earpiece. He proceeded to speak into some gadget on his wrist. “All clear.”
“Child, what a mess. I need to go back out there and give them a piece of my mind. Messing with my babies. I’ll slap the good book upside their heads, I tell ya.” Mamaw shook her head as she took off the black hat with large feathers that circled the rim.
“I’m sorry, Mamaw.”
“Why are you apologizin’? You had nothin’ to do with this mess, you hear. The Devil is busy, and God’s angels are hard at work, child.”
“If it weren’t for me, this wouldn’t be happening.”
“No Lauren, it’s not all because of you. Trust Mamaw on that.” She headed to the kitchen stove.
The commotion didn’t faze Mamaw. She started getting her pots and pans out to prepare supper, putting on an apron Ashley gave her that said, “Don’t mess with the Chef!” with a picture of a hand holding a frying pan.
Blake and Cary walked in. “Sis, I’m going to change. You okay?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“I’m used to this, remember?” He punched my arm and walked toward his room.
Why was I the only one freaking out?
Cary hadn’t taken his eyes off me since he walked through the door.
Yes, I noticed.
“How do you do this all the time?” I asked, my voice soft and defeated.
“This is nothing.” His tone was off. “Try dealing with thousands of screaming girls chasing after you . . . that’s something.”
“Scary.”
“That’s why I have Jonathan.”
“What’s with the back-up?”
“With the severity of the situation, it called for reinforcements.” The know-it-all smirked. “Jonathan wanted the house guarded for a while. At least three people will be here at all times.”
“That’s overkill!”
“It’s for your protection, and I insist.”
“You insist?”
He raised his voice. “Lauren, you need to realize how dangerous this could be.”
“All because of the pictures?”
“All because of the bloody nut cases,” he hissed.
“We aren’t talking about reporters?”
“No. They know how to control themselves, mostly. Jackson and Zara are critical to their studio because of their large fan base. Something I know a little about,” he said with a deadpan expression.
“Why don’t we have this problem when we go out in public?” I asked.
“Because we go to places that have been cleared, or we stay inside.” Cary was adamant I stayed out of the public spotlight.
“I never knew that.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know, love. You have to be cautious of the few fans Jackson has who are overly affectionate—to the point of being maniacal.”
It took a minute before “strong” Lauren surrendered and let hysteria set in. “You’re telling me some crazed fan of Jackson’s is going to come after me?”
“No, love . . . maybe?”
“Ohmygawd!”
“Lauren, no one is going to touch you!” He kissed my forehead and turned to Jonathan. “Did anyone see me?”
“No, sir. You’re good to go.”
Cary saw the confusion on my face. “You’ve already been pictured with one celebrity, Lauren. You cannot afford to be seen with another.” He grinned. “Remember, everyone knows Blake and I are friends, but no one knew about you. They had no reason to snoop, until now.”
I considered that for a moment. “Well, everyone knows Jonathan is part of your security team. You better make sure you cover him up before you leave.” I laughed, shaking my head as I walked to my room.
Every time Cary was photographed, so was Jonathan; always standing protectively nearby. Several articles e
ven mentioned Jonathan as the “Viking by Cary’s side.” Anyone who followed Cary would recognize Jonathan. I bet they didn’t discuss that little realization in their security detail meeting.
Men.
They thought they knew everything.
L- Can you talk?
J- Heading into a meeting. Am I forgiven?
L- Yes . . . maybe . . . reporters are at my house.
J- Welcome to Hollywood, baby.
L- Not interested!
J- Does that mean . . . ?
L- Mean what?
J- That you won’t see me again?
L- You want this homewrecker to see you again?
J- LOL
L- NOT FUNNY!
J- Sorry, but you didn’t answer my question.
L- I can’t see you again. I am under house arrest.
H- HA-HA No, really.
L- I am being serious. Cary has me guarded 24/7.
J- What? Why?
L- He wants us safe.
J- The studio should have taken care of that!
L- They didn’t.
Jackson didn’t respond for a while. I figured he must have gone into his meeting, then I received one final text.
J- Adrianna will contact you in a moment.
The phone rang within five minutes of Jackson’s last text.
“Hello, Adrianna.”
“Ms. Moreau, my apologies. I thought the studio already sent your security detail.”
“Again, please call me, Lauren. Security won’t be necessary. I have a close friend who’s helping.”
“Cary Baine.”
“How did you know?”
“Jackson.”
“Oh, well, I’m fine.”
“We’re sending two men over to your location. I have also notified the local police to patrol your area for trespassers. Lauren, you do not have to be concerned about your safety. Continue to live your life as you normally do.”
Was she joking?
How was I supposed to do that?
I could see it clearly, as it flashed across my eyes. I walk into a store and a girl stops me with a knife in her hand. Oh, hi, crazy girl with a knife. Yes, feel free to kill me. I’m sorry I destroyed your fantasy about Jackson and Zara.
That was more theatrical than normal.
“Lauren?”
“Sorry. That won’t be necessary, Adrianna. Cary’s people are great, and I feel comfortable with them.”
“Jackson insists.”
I’d heard that word “insist,” a lot lately. “You can tell Jackson I insisted that it’s not necessary.”
“You and I both know that will not change my orders. Now, we’ll have a car pick you up every day for work—”
“You want me to come to the set? Won’t that be a problem?”
Ashley and I spoke earlier about returning to work that Monday. We decided it might be best for me to stay away from the set until things settled down.
“A problem for whom, Lauren? Everyone, including Zara, knows about you. This isn’t the first mishap. Zara has had a few, as well. This will pass and everything will be forgotten.”
Hearing her confidence and reassurance actually gave me some relief. “Thank you, Adrianna. I needed to hear that.”
“I know, dear. It’s my pleasure. I’m sending over some paperwork the studio wanted you to review and sign—more confidentiality statements, NDAs, and so forth. I also have some notes. They will help you deal with the new pressures of dating Jackson. We can go over any questions later. I thought you might need time to process the situation. Get yourself settled in your new role before I give you everything.”
“Role?”
“You are Jackson’s girlfriend. Even unofficially, you have a role to play.”
“Um, well, we haven’t officially—”
“No? Jackson usually makes himself clear; he isn’t one for ambiguity. If he said girlfriend . . . well, the driver will be there soon. You can bring me the forms when you come in tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
L- Overprotective much?
J- Very.
L- Girlfriend, huh?
J- Yes.
L- It’s only been 3 dates, Jackson.
J- Yes.
L- I like exclusivity.
J- I can manage.
L- ?!
J- Kind of.
J- Are you saying yes to being my girlfriend?
L- Hmmm . . .
J- Say YES!
L- You don’t have to get shouty! Yes. BUT, we need to talk.
J- I’m home tomorrow. We can talk then.
L- Can’t wait.
J- Me too, baby.
I have a boyfriend.
Jackson was my boyfriend.
Jackson Cruz was my boyfriend!
Jackson would forever hold the title of Lauren Moreau’s first boyfriend.
I felt sick.
Reporters, photographers, and other thrill-seekers had been lurking around Mamaw’s property for days. The house phone had been ringing non-stop. Cary’s assistant took care of changing the phone number to unlisted. That upset Mamaw, though, because she’d had the same telephone number for as long as I could remember. It was a messed up mess.
Adrianna’s notes she’d sent over helped me better understand Jackson’s demanding schedule. She wrote down the various challenges that could occur, while dating a movie star.
She surprised me by including a personal note card attached with the studio’s documents. It said to enjoy the time I had with Jackson, as well as savor the times away from him, and to choose new friends carefully; keep family close, and not to let it get to me.
I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to take her last words as encouragement, but she ended with the suggestion I shouldn’t spend a lot of time worrying. They’d get bored of me soon, and it would all go away. Normally, I would have been insulted, but becoming boring was the best thing I’d heard all week.
That reminded me never to Google myself.
I didn’t even have to type in my full name before it popped up in the search field. About 576,000 results appeared at the top page. I was also trending for over a day. Blake had to confiscate my reading tablet, because he was tired of my outbursts. One moment I’d be screaming at the screen, and the next, sobbing uncontrollably as I hugged it. In every new post, they had vilified me. It was difficult not to be affected, when all I read was lies and threats.
Even the extra week away from the set wasn’t enough time. I didn’t want to go into work, but everyone encouraged me to try to get back to a normal routine.
Jonathan decided a new bodyguard would be best for me. Ruben seemed nice, but he didn’t talk much. He took his job very seriously, and having him around was intimidating. He looked fresh out of boot camp: buzz haircut, stout frame, and broad shoulders, with a thick neck. Ruben’s hard features emphasized his strong, square jawline and thick brows. I tried to find out something personal about him, especially since he would be with me all the time, but he shied away from my questions, mumbling about protocol related to personal information.
The arrangements made were for Ruben to drive me to the set and pick me up at the end of the day. The studio wouldn’t allow him on the property, because they had their own security team. Cary wasn’t thrilled, but he agreed to their terms.
When I first arrived back on set, Adrianna was waiting for me. I knew who she was from Jackson’s description. She looked as if she stepped out of a 1940’s pin-up poster. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, white long-sleeved blouse, and Mary Jane platforms. She had amazingly shiny platinum-blonde hair, pulled in a messy bun, and flawless porcelain skin. Jackson mentioned she was in her forties, but she looked much younger. We shook hands, and I handed her the paperwork I had signed.
“Thank you for everything. I appreciated your card, Adrianna.”
“It’s my pleasure, Lauren. Jackson would like to see you this afternoon, but first Mr. Black wants to speak with you in his o
ffice.”
That message made me want to vomit all over her gorgeous shoes. Great. Perfect start to the day.
Adrianna escorted me to a trailer, directing me to enter. Behind a large, uniquely carved desk sat the formidable Mr. Black. Even with the hollow eye indentations that circled his almost-black emerald irises, he still was one of the most outstandingly handsome men I had ever seen. Unfortunately, it was only a façade. His insides had to be rotted out.
“Ms. Moreau, have you thought about my offer?” He got straight to the point.
I was expecting a reprimand about the photographs and problems they caused. That I didn’t expect, and his calmness was unsettling.
“I already told you, there’s nothing to think about, Mr. Black.”
“I assumed after your unfortunate . . . shall we say, mishaps, you would have seen things clearer.”
His words hit me like a brick. I never guessed he would be capable of . . . what, getting rid of me. There was something in his eyes, which said he wasn’t talking about the paparazzi invasion, and it pissed me off.
The Devil has a British Accent: Book One: Jackson (White Carpet #1) Page 16
