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I sighed. “Well, my favorite place needs a reservation unless we want to wait hours for a table, but?—”
“Nah, you’re probably just too nice to use your celebrity to your advantage,” he teased.
“Uhhh, probably because I’m not a celebrity!”
“Damn, sucks for you,” he laughed. “What restaurant is it?”
I sucked my teeth. “Sucre Noir.”
He nodded. “Done. Let me make a call.”
I shook my head as he stepped away, already knowing he was going to be back in a moment offering a different restaurant suggestion. When I turned around, there was a flurry of movement. Everybody who’d been staring us down looked away, pretending to be immersed in their work.
There was no doubt this was going to end up on social media, if it wasn’t already, but I barely cared anymore at this point.
I couldn’t keep caring.
Especially after yesterday.
I hadn’t, and wouldn’t, mention to Tatum that Monty was actually the one who’d called his livestream to my attention. Despite the fact that the whole internet had seen him trying to provoke a reaction before the game, Tatum’s response in the press room was supposedly out of line.
Monty had texted to tell me so himself.
He should have been off somewhere celebrating his win, celebrating the team advancing further in the championship.
Instead, he was in my text messages bitching about me needing to “get your little boyfriend.”
And then, later, when the livestream was happening and Tatum and his siblings were performing their little dirty macking karaoke show, it was, What the fuck is this? Trying to embarrass me on live? Are you with him right now? Are you in that hotel room? I’m on his ass the very next time I see him. Hope he enjoyed himself.
Meanwhile, I’d been taking a long shower and doing my skincare after an emergency drop-in at the office.
Not that it was his business anymore anyway.
I’d rolled my eyes and put him back on ice, quieting his text messages.
Couldn’t allow Monty and his antics to keep me in an emotional spin cycle, where everything I did, everything I felt, was wrapped up in my connection to him.
At some point, I had to just… be.
I had, however, gone to look at Tatum’s livestream myself, and I… wasn’t amused.
Wait.
That wasn’t exactly accurate.
I was amused, at Monty’s expense, until I remembered that the mishandled woman in question was me, and I was getting tagged in notifications about this new piece of drama added to the pile in real-time.
Very fucked up.
“All set. The building valet is bringing my truck back up front for us,” Tatum stated as he approached me from behind. I turned to find him wearing a triumphant smirk.
My mouth dropped. “You’re joking,” I insisted. “There’s no way…”
“The owner is a Kings fan.” He shrugged. “Easy favor.”
I playfully rolled my eyes. “Of course.”
Shan cleared her throat from the doorway. Before, she’d left me to have privacy with Tatum, but now she was back, with her own proud grin. “Ms. Mitchell, sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know I took care of any correspondence that didn’t need your specific input, and for those that did, I’ve ranked them in priority and added them to your schedule for tomorrow.”