“Honey,” the guy says, “I’m not interested in you, so fuck off, okay?”
Gripping her arm, I pull her to me and shove my face in his. “You ever speak to her that way again and I’ll have my lawyers all the fuck over you until you wish you’d never heard of me. You got it?”
“Jack,” she says, trying to drag me away from the guy.
I want to smash my fist into him, but instead, I search her for signs of harm. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
She nods before glaring at the paparazzi. “Yes, but we need to get inside before you do something you’ll regret.”
She’s right that we need to get inside, but wrong that I’d do something I’ll regret. Presently, I’m curbing my intense desire to punch the fuck out of every fucking asshole here, but I wouldn’t feel any remorse if my fist connected with their faces. This is my fucking property; they should not have come here. And they should not be any-fucking-where near my woman.
Camera flashes explode.
Questions are fired.
The crowd closes in on us.
It’s fucking bedlam.
Chaos.
A situation I wish like hell I hadn’t put Jessica through. I’m used to this, but she isn’t. Not anymore.
“Jack!”
“Over here, Jack!”
“How long are you planning on staying here, Jack?”
“What’s happening with your movie, Jack?”
The questions are relentless, as is the furious push and pull as reporters and photographers fight to get the story they came for. As much as I try to get Jessica out of the feeding frenzy, we struggle to make progress towards safety.
She holds up well, but I see the moment when it overwhelms her, and fuck if this doesn’t incite a new level of anger in me.
I tighten my hold of her and jab my face closer to the reporter in front of me as I roar, “Get the fuck out of my way!”
I’m done with trying not to punch any of these motherfuckers. I’ll knock them all to the fucking ground if that’s what will get Jessica out of harm’s way.
She lets me take charge without hesitation, and I bulldoze my way through what feels like a thousand bodies to get to my front door. I ignore all their questions and all their camera flashes. I really don’t care about the stories or the photos they’ll share; I only care about getting Jessica inside the house.
We finally make it to the door, and a minute later, when we’re alone inside, I run my eyes over her again, this time getting a good look at her. “Are you okay?” I reach for her arms and check every inch of her skin for damage. If those motherfuckers hurt her, I’ll sue their fucking asses faster and harder than they ever imagined a person can be sued.
“I’m okay.” She pulls her arms back. “How long are they likely to stay before giving up?”
The noise on the other side of the door is deafening. And, I imagine for Jessica, scary. She’s holding herself together, but I don’t miss the concern in her eyes.
I grab my phone out of my pocket and pull up the number for Zane Stone, the guy I use for security when I’m in Australia. “Not fucking long if I have anything to do with it.”
Zane answers on the second ring. “Jack. It’s been a while.”
“I’ve got a situation I need your help with.”
“What’s up?”
“I need you to send me some guys ASAP. I’m at my property and it’s crawling with paparazzi.”
“I can have two there within four hours.”
“I need more than two and I need them here sooner than that.” In all the years I’ve been dealing with the paparazzi, I’ve never felt the sense of urgency that’s coursing through me right now. I will do whatever it takes to keep Jessica safe.
He’s silent for a beat. “Okay, I’ll send you four men, but I can’t get them there much faster than that.”
“Send me six, and I’ll pay you double to get them here faster.”
“Jack, four will cover your needs.”
“Six, Zane. Two hours max. Make it happen.”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’ll do my best.”
I end the call and catch Jessica’s hand as she makes a move to walk past me into the kitchen. She looks rattled, which is out-of-character for her. It takes me back to when she had to deal with this type of situation often. I hated it just as much then as I do now. I never worry for my own safety, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to Jessica.
“You were right,” I say. “I should have organised security. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. Then, louder, in a more determined Jessica-like tone, she adds, “You need to gather a new team, Jack. You can’t just come here and think you can live like the rest of us. You’re not like the rest of us, and you need to surround yourself with a team who can manage everything for you.” She tries to deliver that directive with her usual precision but doesn’t quite manage it. Most would miss it, but I hear the slight shakiness in her voice.
I squeeze her hand and gently pull her to me. “You don’t need to put on a brave face with me, sweetheart. I know that’s your thing, but here, when it’s just the two of us, you can let this moment be what it is for you.” I slide the strands of her hair that have fallen across her face to the side. “Take a second to catch your breath and then you can go right back to slaying dragons for me.”
She stares at me in silence for a long moment and I wonder if she’ll let me peek over those walls of hers. I’d be happy with even the quickest of peeks if she let me. She doesn’t, though. There’s a split second where it looks like it could go either way, and then she lets go of my hand, straps herself back into her tower behind those walls, and says, “I’ll make some calls for you today. We need to find you someone here in Australia who can handle all this.”
It’s the ‘we’ that catches my attention and causes me to nod my agreement. I couldn’t give a fuck about finding someone to handle my shit, but I give all the fucks about that ‘we’.
Two hours later, we’re both two cups of coffee into a long discussion about my team. Jessica’s found me a few candidates to take on my publicity and manage ‘the situation’ as she keeps referring to it. I’m finding all the reasons why each candidate is unsuitable. We’re both aware of what’s really happening here, though: I’m being a stubborn bastard and she’s reaching the end of her patience with me.
Leaning back in her chair, she hits me with a frustrated gaze. “I don’t understand why you’re making this harder than it has to be. You need someone to manage your relationship with the media, and I’ve found you the top three people in Australia who can do that. Just choose one and get on with it.”
The paps haven’t moved. They’ve settled in at my front door. For the first time in years, I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I’ve had to deal with the paparazzi often, but the last time I recall this happening was directly after Jessica left me.
The buzz around our break-up was intense because it coincided with the release of a movie that helped my career hit a new high. Gossip flew thick and fast, and it’s always been one of my greatest regrets that Jessica had to deal with that. I argued with my manager and publicist relentlessly over their insistence I do an interview to clear shit up. I refused to put Jessica through that. I stuck to my guns and let her get on with her life away from the harsh spotlight. To this day, I don’t regret that decision, only the fact she was caught up in it in the first place.