Page 140 of You Found Me
He watched her sleep. It fascinated him to see her so still. She normally vibrated with energy. What would it be like to experience this side of her every day? To wake up with her next to him, utterly relaxed?
This was a mistake. A big, bone-headed cluster of a mistake.
Their game of pretend had fooled them both. It was understandable on her part. She was used to going after what she wanted with wild, reckless abandon, and it was easy for someone like that to get confused.
He knew better.
This small-town boyfriend-girlfriend act was just that. An act. A fantasy. A month-long daydream.
It was time to wake up.
She looked like everything he never knew he wanted. It physically ached to walk away from her, but he forced himself out of the room and softly shut the door behind him.
Time to regroup. Figure out next steps.
If someone on his field team had done what he’d done, the idiot would be immediately reassigned, if not fired.
His heart twisted sideways at the idea of letting anyone else step in as Della’s personal protection, but his head told his heart to shut the hell up.
He retrieved his towel from where it had fallen in the hallway and wrapped it around his waist on the way to his room. They’d get through the festival, and then he’d switch with Annie and relocate Della.
He picked up his phone from where he’d left it charging on the nightstand to check the house security status.
The stream of texts he found waiting for him put him on instant high alert.
The latest one was a direct message from Annie five minutes ago.
What the hell is up with you? Are you dead? This is a really bad time to ignore your phone.
“What the hell…” He flicked through the messages and alerts to get to the first in the string, sent at 4:16 a.m.
Ward’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t heard the texts come in. He hadn’t heard anything but the blood rushing through his damn ears and Della’s soft moans.
His grip on the phone tightened as he read.
Spencer — This just popped on social media. 10k views and climbing fast. It might have reach.
A video waited below the text. The preview image was blurry, but he could make out shelves and a curly-haired figure in the background.
He didn’t even have to watch the video to know things had gone to hell. It was spelled out in the hashtags.
#WiresCrossingGotTalent #SmallTownBigTalent #NextBigThing
It was too much to hope that it was his brother being featured.
Mason didn’t have curly red hair.
Dread crawled into his chest as he hit Play.
A pair of voices he knew drifted out from behind the half-open door of the Sevens storeroom.
Ward swore under his breath.
She’d lied. She’d flat-out lied to him. Betrayal and self-loathing for believing her burrowed into his skull and pounded.
“Dammit.” He forced himself to watch all twenty-nine seconds.
Della’s voice was unmistakable, and her red hair glowed, even in the low light of the storeroom. Was she recognizable as the internationally famous pop star?