Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
A cameraman puts the lens to the windshield and Maximoff almost loses it. He unsnaps his seatbelt.
“Stop.” I extend my arm over his chest. “You’re not fighting these bastards—”
Maximoff suddenly reaches across my body and shoves the fuck out of a camera that inched into the car. A camera that almost hit me in the face.
I roll up the window, my pulse thrashing because Maximoff is in serious pain. He stretched his right arm. Used strength on his right arm. Right shoulder. “Maximoff,” I say tensely, lifting my aviators to my head.
“I’m alright.” He shuts his eyes, breathing through his nose and leaning back against his seat. “I’m going to puke.”
I reach back and find a workout towel on the floor. I toss it to him, and he throws up between his legs. Into the cloth.
The cameras go wild. Banging the glass. I keep a hand on Maximoff’s back, and I check through the rear windshield. I can barely spot security’s SUV through the masses.
Instinct tugs at my body to jump out of the car. Create a path. But also keep him safe.
Keep Maximoff safe. I need security’s help. I’ve been in that SUV before, and sometimes paparazzi will purposefully cage bodyguards and try to jam doors. Just so they can’t reach their clients.
Bruno should be widening a path for us to drive. If I could crack a guess, I’d say he’s being trapped in the SUV.
I put a hand on the wheel. I’m about to drive more aggressively and whoever I lightly hit, I hit. Before I press the gas, water drips on the windshield. I hear ping.
Ping, ping.
I smell rain on metal, and I feel gravel…
Shit.
This is a steering wheel. A leather steering wheel. I grip harder. Fucking pissed. Out of all times this could be happening, a storm has to rip through the sky now.
“Farrow,” Maximoff calls out, breathing hard through physical pain. He sees the rain cascade onto the windshield.
“Wolf scout…” I hear the crush of metal. My pulse spikes into a cutting breath. Slowly, I reach out for my boyfriend, and his hand is in mine. I bring his large palm to my face. He clutches tighter.
I breathe, trying to reorient my senses. My hand encases his jaw, smooth from a close shave. And I blink and only see his tough forest-greens.
He’s searching for the intense focus in my eyes. I’m sure it’s flickering in and out.
Camera flashes still shade us. A sinking realization: I can’t drive Maximoff to safety.
All I want to do is drive us somewhere else, someplace else, and I’m certain Maximoff wishes he could do the same.
With another breath, I take what limitations I’m given, and I’m going to work with them. My heartbeat rides a rocky rollercoaster, rising and falling in rapid succession. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” I whisper to Maximoff. “I’m going to climb in the backseat—”
“I’m coming with you.”
I almost smile. “That is the plan.” I unbuckle my seatbelt. “You’ll need to call security. Tell Bruno he has to drive.”
“I will.”
Before I go anywhere, I hone in on his pain. I pull at the collar of his crew-neck to check his traps. The muscle is inflamed and swollen. He needs ice.
Maximoff’s hand descends to my neck, and while he dials security, he continues to search my eyes.
30
FARROW KEENE
“There’s no way to swing this in your favor,” our publicist says over the phone. Speaker on, I listen to her talk to Maximoff. “It looks bad. It will continue to look bad. You should have thought about the repercussions before you took a midnight flight to a private villa in Mykonos.”
I comb a hand through my dyed white hair, and Maximoff exchanges an irked look with me. Kendra isn’t one of my favorite people, and as much as we’re on a final straw with her, she’s definitely on the last one with us. In most instances, we’ve chosen to take the media backlash, every hit, rather than sideslip away from it.
And the mud slung at me stings a little bit this time.
Farrow Keene Quit His Residency to Vacation with the Hale Family in Tahiti
The trending headline is not even close to the truth.
Shaded underneath pergolas, Maximoff sits rigidly on the wicker barstool, cool wind whipping his dark-brown hair. I slice a pineapple on the bar counter behind him. Our views from the villa are endless blues, the Aegean Sea serene and breathtaking, contrasting the paparazzi shit storm we left behind in the States.
Maximoff raises his phone to his lips. “Kendra,” he says. “You don’t need to come up with a manifestation on the meaning of the universe. Just send out a press release and explain that Farrow had to quit because he was a distraction in the hospital. That’s it.”
“It won’t help,” Kendra says. “But I’ll do it.” She hangs up abruptly.