Page 36 of Stormswept Colorado (Hart County #3)

Teller said that to me all the time. How did Paul manage to sound infinitely sleazier?

He smirked. “Ouch, no compliment for me in return? Tough crowd.”

I hid my eye roll. “You look nice too.” He was wearing the same designer clothes as usual. And too much cologne.

“That’s more like it.” The engine roared as we pulled away from my house. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight. I’ve hardly seen you lately. It’s like you’ve been hiding from me.”

Cheryl’s voice intoned in my head. Be nice .

“We were at that business dinner just the other night,” I pointed out. “And I’ve seen you at the Santa Monica studio.”

He’d been inviting himself to my sessions with my collaborators. It was his job to show up and monitor how I was doing, offering advice and smoothing the process. But I didn’t have to do whatever he said.

Or accept his suggestions of grabbing a private dinner or drinks after my recording sessions.

“Yes, but that’s work.” Paul’s smarmy grin inched up his face. “This is much better. You’re my date tonight. We can finally get to know each other on a personal level.”

I almost choked.

I’d been thinking a lot about what Teller said that last day in Hartley, after he met Paul. It’s like he owns you . I remained under contract with this label for another year.

But playing nice didn’t mean rolling over and playing dead .

“Tonight is business, not personal,” I said. “I have a boyfriend. Just so you know.”

Paul’s smile froze. Turned ice cold.

He blasted music for the rest of the drive. When we reached the red carpet, I stepped out to shutters snapping and cameras flashing. Paul raced around the side of the car to put a hand on my back as we walked. I smiled for the posed pictures and video segments and entertainment reporter questions.

This was publicity for my upcoming album. It would be worth it. Or that was what I kept telling myself.

But as soon as we got inside the restaurant, I slipped away from him. After weaving through the crowd, I dove into a conversation with some musicians I knew and liked.

There were more cameras and reporters here, so I posed. Performing for the audience like I always did. But there was no way I’d pretend to be Paul’s date.

Hell no .

Sometimes I loved these types of events. Getting dressed up, chatting with other artists and meeting their partners. Which made me wonder what Teller would think of it. Would he ever want to come to something like this with me? Would he hate it? He would definitely hate the red carpet.

Yet he was so sweet and thoughtful that he’d probably tolerate it all, for me. I could just imagine his deadpan responses to reporter questions and industry small-talk.

I smiled, picturing it, even as sadness dulled the fantasy. Teller would be giving up a lot to be with me. His privacy first and foremost.

God, how would this ever work? A sudden wave of despair had me reeling.

When I’d mentioned my “boyfriend” to Paul, it made me realize how much I wanted that. To call Teller my boyfriend. To be with him whenever we wanted. Share what I felt about him with everyone we knew .

But was there any possible ending where we could both have the life we wanted and still be together?

I missed him more than ever, so much right now it was painful. Finding a quiet corner, I went to open my text messages. Just needing to talk to him. Remind myself how much Teller wanted this too. Us .

But then I noticed a new email notification. The restaurant started spinning like I had vertigo.

It was from him . Biggest Fan. Tonight, about half an hour ago, he’d finally replied.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Smile for me

Dear Ayla,

You asked how I’m different. It’s because I know the real you. Because I’m always watching. Someday we’ll be together, and you’ll understand how perfect I am for you.

Love, your Biggest Fan

There was another photo attached. One of me outside the Santa Monica recording studio this past week, probably taken through a telephoto lens.

My hand trembled. Bile rose up in my throat and coated my tongue. I was going to be sick.

“So here’s where you’ve been hiding,” Paul said in a sing-song voice. “What’s so interesting on your phone?”

I stuffed the phone back into my clutch purse. “Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. What’s the matter?”

“It’s not your concern.” I didn’t even try to hide how upset I was. I just had to get out of here. “I’m not feeling well. I need to go.”

I needed Teller .

When I tried to weave around Paul, he blocked me. “Ayla, I can help.”

“No, you can’t . I’m going to call my driver to pick me up.”

“If you need a ride, I’ll take you. But let’s go back to my place. Have a drink and talk this through. Babe, I’m here for you.”

Babe? “Absolutely not. I’m not your babe .”

“Wait a minute.” Paul’s hand seized my shoulder, keeping me from walking away. “Look, I heard about that Biggest Fan guy. Why won’t you just let me in? Let me help you.”

Chills seemed to radiate from where he was touching me, slithering along my limbs. “How the hell do you know about that? Nobody knows about that.” Except for River, Aiden, and of course Teller. None of them would’ve shared it with another soul.

Paul laughed nervously, glancing around at the faces turning toward us. “We should talk somewhere quieter.” Raising his voice, he said, “We’re just having some creative differences. We’ll be back.” I opened my mouth to tell Paul where he could stuff his creative differences .

But he pulled me down a hallway before I could get a word out. I struggled to pull free. “How do you know about the stalker?” I demanded.

“I didn’t really. I guessed. You just confirmed it.”

“Bullshit. You knew he calls himself ‘Biggest Fan.’ Don’t play games. How did you know?”

Names flew through my mind. Could Ricky or Cheryl have whispered something in his ear? They’d been there at the concert venue in Toronto when I first got the flowers. But a lot of other people had too. Nobody knew about the emails or the flowers I’d received in Hartley… right ?

I hated that I could never fully trust my industry friends. Always had that inner doubt.

Paul let go of my arm, but cornered me against the wall. “It’s my job to be aware of what’s happening with my artists. You could’ve come to me. I just want to be here for you.”

“It’s not your business. ”

Paul’s fingers squeezed on their way down my arm. “Ayla, why are you being so difficult about this? We could be good together. If you just stop fighting it and give this a chance.”

For a moment, I was so shocked I couldn’t even respond. This guy was such a stereotype of a toxic Hollywood male. Like he had no idea what a sad, tired cliché he was. I was done with it.

He chose that moment to lean in, puckering his lips.

I slammed my knee into Paul’s crotch. His eyes bugged. He made a high-pitched squeak and slumped into the nearest wall.

“Those creative differences can be rough, can’t they? Come near me again, and I’ll creatively separate your balls from your body.”

Texting Bryan to pick me up, I marched for the nearest exit.