Page 17 of The Love Chase
“You’re not an easy man to track down,” a familiar voice said, shaking the thoughts from my mind, my head snapping up mid-bite of my burger.
“Bwijet?” I asked around the food in my mouth, confused as to why she was here and how she’d found me.
She let out a fake laugh that I was all too accustomed to. I wasn’t sure she’d ever laughed for real—at least not in my presence. Bridget plopped down in the chair across from me before flagging down one of the waitresses with a frantic gesture in that impatient California way of hers.
The waitress—who I was fairly certain was named Ivy—couldn’t quite hide her scowl as she arrived at the table and took Bridget’s order of a coffee—black—and a salad with a side of lite ranch dressing. Heaven forbid she ate the full-fat version. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
I was tired of the way women were obsessed with their bodies, as if eating a single crouton would make them blow up like a balloon. It was exhausting watching them peck at their food like dainty little birds, sucking in their stomachs and sitting in such a way that made them look as slim as possible. It was exhausting to me and I wasn’t even a woman.
Emma never worried about those types of things. She—
Why am I thinking about Emma again? Why am I comparing other women to her?
“Where have you been?” Bridget asked, snapping me back to reality.
I took another bite of my burger, making her wait. It would do her good to learn some patience.
“I’ve been here. Where you sent me.”
“You haven’t been answering my calls. I stopped by your family’s house and you weren’t there. When I couldn’t find you, I had to get a room at that awful, stinky motel in the next town.” She must’ve meant Moe’s Motel. It was the only motel for miles around.
“I turned my phone off.” I took another bite. “And my parents’ house is the last place I want to be.”
She gaped at me like she didn’t even know the power button on a cell phone existed. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“You told me to lay low.”
She scoffed. “Lay low, not disappear like a dead man.”
I took a sip of my drink. “Well, maybe you should have been more specific then.”
Bridget rubbed at the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut like she always did when she was annoyed with me. She muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Ignoring her, I went back to devouring the rest of my food, dipping the glorious greasy fries into the sour cream. It had been far too long since I’d been able to eat food like this. Sure, I could get a burger anywhere, but Dina’s food was always better. It tasted like home.
The waitress brought Bridget’s salad and coffee and scurried off before my manager could demand anything more. Smart girl.
I watched as Bridget poured—quite literally—a single drop of ranch dressing on her salad, after picking off each and every crouton, of course. She then took one teensy little bite of lettuce before she shoved the plate a few inches away and downed her coffee.
No wonder she was so…testy all the time. She barely ate and lived on a diet of black coffee and stress. I’d be miserable company, too, if I lived like that.
“So,” she began. “First things first. I secured a townhouse for you, so you have your own place now. Don’t need the paparazzi getting word of you staying in a hotel or something. They might start some new crafty rumors then.”
Well, at least I’d be able to stop staying in that empty house with too many memories I’d rather not relive at the moment.
At my grunt of acknowledgement, she continued. “Second, I figured out a way to improve your image.”
I cocked my head. “Excuse me?”
She waited, blinking at me like I was duller than a box of rocks.
“I thought that was the purpose of coming back to Meridel. Get out of the spotlight and let things calm down.” I regurgitated the words she had spoken in Cali and then washed down the bitter taste filling my mouth with another sip of pop.
“Yes, well, thus far it hasn’t had the intended effect. Now there are even worse rumors circulating about why you’ve disappeared which I’ll spare you from, and the fact that you’ve been entirely absent on social media hasn’t helped your case. We need something else. Another reason you’ve left California and why you’ve been off the radar.”
“I thought you said this would fix things.”
Maybe it was mean of me to respond that way, but this was part of her job—helping my public image. It was her idea for me to come home, not mine. If I’d known I’d have to do something else, I probably would’ve stayed in California and taken my chances.