Briar insists on driving us to the cafe. Normally, I would never let a client drive; if something goes wrong, Matt, Glen and I have all been trained in escape and evasion driving, so we can make a quick getaway. But the danger has technically been eliminated. And if I’m honest, I think she needs it. She needs some sense of control, after everything that happened last night. So I key the zip code of a veteran’s cafe into the sat nav and let her have at it.
We’re quiet as she navigates the sunbaked LA roads. It’s a beautiful day. The sky is bright blue, and the California palm trees ruffle their long green leaves like streamers in the gentle morning breeze.
I look across at Briar, taking in her unstyled blonde hair and bare face. The necklace that we bought her sparkles on her collarbone. My chest clenches with a sudden wave of pain, which I quickly stamp down.
I shouldn’t be sad. I should be over the damn moon that she’s here. And safe. And whole.
The few minutes it took us to bust down the door to X’s cabin last night were the worst of my entire life. I shudder as I remember standing outside the thick metal door, hearing Briar screaming and sobbing as gunshots fired. X’s deranged shouts echo in my ears. I’m going to kill her. You’re too late.
In that moment, I thought for sure that we’d open the door to find her dead, bloody corpse. And I knew that when that happened, my life would never be the same again. Never. I’ve never loved a girl so much. Losing her might just break me.
But now she’s sitting next to me, relatively unscathed, and I can barely look at her.
Last night, when I went to pay the delivery guy, I passed Briar’s open bedroom door. I heard her whispering to Glen in the bathroom. Telling him that she loved him. He didn’t sound shocked; it clearly wasn’t the first time she’d said it. Then, when I walked out onto the balcony half an hour later, she was telling Matt the exact same thing. She’s in love with both of them.
Which is fine. I’m used to it. I’ve always been the one who fades into the background. Matt is such a loudmouth no one could ever ignore him, and Glen has a kind of gentle-giant sweetness which gets him a lot of attention, even if he doesn’t realise it. I’ve always been the boring one. The sensible one. And I like that, most of the time. God knows we need a bit of sense in our team.
Right now, though, I wish I could be anybody else.
Briar leans forward and fiddles with a button on the dash, turning on the radio. Her long hair drapes over my bare arm, and I close my eyes as ‘Hotel California’ starts blaring through the sound system. She lingers there for a moment, her soft body pressed against mine, before slowly pulling back. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
In a few days this will all be over.
While I was out on the terrace this morning, I made a plan. I’ll stay here in LA for the next day or two, until Angel Security can find another guard to replace me. Then I’ll fly back to London and ask Colette to find me a solo job. Preferably a very difficult, dangerous one that will distract me for a few months. I don’t like the idea of leaving Matt and Glen; we’ve worked as a unit for so long. But I just can’t be around them if they’re both going to be dating her. I’ll get over it in time. I always do. But right now, I can’t sit around watching her fall more and more in love with them. I can’t do it.
A small hand touches my arm. Briar scans my face carefully, then nods out of the windshield. “We’re here.”
I blink, suddenly realising that the car has stopped. Looking around us, I can’t help but swear.
The street she’s driven us to barely looks like LA at all. It could be London, with its grubby shops and brightly coloured signs. There are bins huddled on the pavement and graffiti tags sprayed on the walls. I thought this place would be safe, but there’s already a handful of photographers hanging around Cricket’s Café. They’re huddled together, smoking cigarettes and chatting in the late-morning sunshine.
“This makes no sense,” I mutter. “How does this keep happening? How did they know we’d be meeting here? We haven’t put it on any of your socials.” I pull out my phone. “I know another location. I’ll text it to Julie.”
Briar stares at the men clutching their cameras. “Kenta,” she says slowly, “only three people knew we were going to be here. You, me, and Julie.”
I close my eyes as everything falls into place. “Shit.”
It all makes sense. How the paparazzi kept finding her, no matter how secure the location was. No wonder X managed to follow our car back from the restaurant; he was probably paying off the paparazzi for her location. The paparazzi, who had been tipped off by her fame-hungry, cash-grabbing PR manager.
I shake my head, pushing open my car door. “I’ll talk to her—”
Briar reaches out to grab my arm. “Don’t. Let me handle it.”
I grit my teeth, but back down, giving her a reluctant nod. I wait for her to step out of the car, but she doesn’t move to grab the door handle. Instead, she leans forward, brushing a tiny kiss to my cheek. My heart stutters in my chest. I feel blood rushing through my body.
“Thank you,” she whispers, nudging her nose against mine.
“For what?” I croak.
“For being you.” I stare at her. She shrugs. “If you were Glen, you would’ve argued with me. If you were Matt, you would’ve ignored me. But you just—trust that I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, sweetheart.”
She gives me another very gentle kiss, then pulls back, grabbing my hand. “Me, too.”
We both slide out of the car. Instantly, the photographers swarm around us, snapping shots and shouting at her.
“How are you feeling, Briar?”
“Will you make a statement about what happened last night? Were you injured in the bombing?”
“Is your stalker dead, Miss Saint?”
She flinches at that last one. I wrap my arm around her, tugging her into my side as I steer her through the crowd and across the road towards Cricket’s Café. My head is spinning. Holding her so close to me is jumbling up my thoughts. Why did she kiss me? What is she thinking?
I shake my head hard. I need to pull myself together. It doesn’t mean anything. Not really. A kiss on the cheek is hardly the same as her confessing her love to me. Maybe she still has a casual interest in me. Maybe she wants to keep me around because she enjoys foursomes. If that’s the case, I have to get out of here ASAP. I’d rather be alone than be her last resort.
Briar reaches for my hand, and I gently pull it away, scanning the throng of paparazzi. She glances up at me. “Are you okay?” She asks slowly.
I nod, leading her onto the pavement and towards the diner. A bell over the glass door jangles as we step inside. It’s an adorable place: black-and-white checked tiles on the floors, vintage photos on the walls, worn red leather booths. Dolly Parton is crackling quietly from a radio in the kitchen, and the whole place smells of cooking waffles.
There’s a burly man sitting at a table by the door, swilling a coffee. He gives me a wolfish grin. “Li.”
“Cricket,” I greet. “How’s business?”
He shrugs. “We get by.” His eyes flick to Briar. He obviously recognises her, but he doesn’t mention it. “Mornin’, darlin’. You Li’s new client?”
She smiles and nods. I jerk my head at the windows. “Keep the scum out, will you? She’s attracted a lot of attention.”
Cricket’s grin just gets wider. “Gladly.”
“You know each other?” Briar asks as I lead her inside.
“We trained together for a while. He’s ex-special forces.”
“And he retired and—”
“Bought a diner, yes. A lot of vets hang out here.”
She smiles. “That’s cute.”
Julie is sitting, predictably, in a booth by the window, where the photographers can see right through to her. She stands up and gives Briar an air-hug as we come over. “This place is disgusting,” she announces.
“I think it’s perfect,” Briar says quietly.
I scan the room, then go to take a nearby table, but Briar catches my hand, tugging me close. “No, sit with us.”
“I need to sit here,” I nod to the table by the kitchen, “so I can see the full room.”
“We’ll sit there too, then.”
I blink in surprise, but nod, and we move over to the corner table. Briar slides into the window seat next to me, handing me a menu. A smiling waitress bustles over with a notebook in hand, and we both order orange juice, tea, and an inordinate amount of hash browns. Julie orders a club soda and a melon plate, then sits back in her booth and examines Briar critically.
“God, your face looks awful,” she drawls. “Please tell me that it’ll heal better than it looks.”
Briar shrugs. “The doctors said scarring would be minimal. If there is a mark, makeup can cover it whenever I’m on set.”
“Hm.” Julie winces as the waitress sets two plates of golden, crispy fried food in front of us. “You’re eating like a pig.”
I hand Briar some cutlery and keep my mouth carefully shut. But, Jesus. The girl almost died last night, and she’s still being expected to diet? My annoyance fades away as I watch Briar take her first bite, her eyes practically rolling back into her head. She hums happily, leaning against my side. “I love you for bringing me here,” she whispers.
My stomach contracts. I smile tightly and turn back to my plate.
“Ugh,” Julie mutters. “I guess you can’t do a video interview until they take your stitches out anyway, you look disgusting like this. So it’s not the end of the world if you’re bloated for a bit. But you’ll have to get back to working out tomorrow.” She pulls a notebook out of her designer purse and licks a finger, flipping to the right page. “The first few interviews will have to be radio or print,” she sighs, scribbling a note. “That knocks about half of these offers off the list.”
“I’m not doing any interviews,” Briar says. “I don’t want to talk about what happened.”
Julie waves her off. “Oh, babe, don’t worry, we’ll have private interviews. No talk shows, nothing like that until you’re ready.”
Briar frowns. “There’s no such thing as a private interview. What does that even mean?” She shakes her head. “Julie, I’m serious. This isn’t something I want to share with people. I don’t want people flipping through magazines in a hair salon, casually reading about the most horrific night of my life. This isn’t entertainment, and I’m not going to let the media treat it like that.”
Julie sighs deeply, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Darling,” she says, her voice low and confidential. “I know it’s difficult. I know it’s painful. But you’ve been suffering in silence for so long. It will feel good to open up about what’s happened to you. Like a catharsis.”
“There is absolutely nothing good about gossip rags profiting off me getting drugged, kidnapped and almost killed.”
“Darling, where have you been the last five years? This is what the Me Too movement is all about!”
I choke on my food. Briar’s mouth falls open. “The Me Too movement is about people choosing to fight back against an entire industry which wants to silence them, not their PR managers forcing them to sensationalise traumatic events as part of a publicity campaign!” She straightens her spine, obviously trying to compose herself. “Julie, have you been tipping off the paparazzi?”
