Page 27 of Last First Kiss
“I don’t have time for this.” The producer pushed back his chair. “The bottom line is: Don’t get killed. If you don’t keep a bodyguard you won’t get insured, and I’m not keeping you on if you’re not insured. Plus, there’s a lot of money invested in this film, and we need to move forward.”
“Fine by me.”
“Good. Great meeting. Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said as he walked out, his beady little entitled eyes scanning Annie’s body as he walked out.
Annie didn’t react. Or so he thought. As soon as the man passed her, she gave him the finger to his back.
Paul and Rocco couldn’t help but snort at the small rebellious gesture. “I know what I’m doing,” she said to the two of them as they got off the elevator and walked to the street. “Don’t let a sexist asshole make you second-guess your decision to hire me.”
“You had a knife to my throat a few hours ago, Annie. I’m not second-guessing shit.”
“You two are strange,” Paul said as he gave Rocco a manly slap on the back and then waved good-bye to Annie.
“Where to next?” Annie asked.
“Come on, let’s go shopping.” She groaned and he laughed. “You’re the only woman who has that kind of reaction to shopping.”
“How do you know I don’t have anything to wear tonight?”
“You came to my house with a duffel bag. You carry a gown in there?”
She walked out, giving him the finger without looking back.
God, he really liked this girl.
* * *
Since the meeting was at the beach, he suggested they walk down to some of the boutiques. He led the way, his hand on her lower back from time to time guiding her to their destination.
“Rocco! Over here! Rocco.” A holler from across the street made them both turn. It was a man with a camera rushing over to cross the street but as soon as he said the name the people on the street turned to look at them and the realization set in. “Rocco Monroe!”
They’d gone from a stroll to the store to full-on mobbed in thirty seconds. Annie was about to reach for her weapon when Rocco laced his hands with hers and turned his face close to her ear. “Relax. Just fans. It’s fine. I got it.”
“I don’t like this,” she said, looking around. They were out in the open, too vulnerable.
“Trust me. I got it.”
In the second it took him to turn around, his entire demeanor changed. This was the Rocco she’d seen thousands of times on television, and she quickly realized something was missing . . . the dimple. This smile, although sincere looking, wasn’t. He smiled, took selfies, signed things, all while she stood nearby, trying to act normal. She was, after all, not supposed to look like a bodyguard.
“Who’s this?” the guy who had yelled from across the street asked. This wasn’t a random fan, it was obvious he was a paparazzi. “Girlfriend?” He spoke over the rest of the mob who were squealing and yelling.
“What’s your name, honey?” He took a photo, which angered her.
Without looking up from signing something, Rocco chuckled, “She hates to be called honey.”
“So what’s her name? Tell us! What’s your relationship? Come on, the world wants to know? Are you cheating on Julia already?”
Rocco chuckled. “Okay guys, I have to go. Really.”
“Where are you shooting? What does Julia think of your new woman? Honey, tell us your name . . .” The questions came out fast and furious as he clicked the camera’s shutter over and over right in front of their faces. How could Rocco take this, day in and day out?
“Call her Tiger,” he said to the paparazzi who continued to speculate on her name. He then laced his finger through hers and pulled her away. “Bye guys. Come on, Versace has a back entrance.”
Versace?
She was completely overwhelmed by what had just happened. If there had been a threat, no way could she have protected him. She needed to be more prepared next time—she had definitely underestimated his fans and the paparazzi.
Rocco buzzed on the nondescript door. “I called ahead. They’re expecting us.”
