Part 18 (2/2)

The smile falls. He's all business now.

”An exclusive interview,” he says, ”with the two of you.”

That's not much better than the alternative, but at least we'd have some control. We'd just have to be very careful about our answers, make sure that anything we said couldn't be edited or twisted to stir up more drama. We'd just have to give the dullest interview in the history of interviews.

But Asher isn't done.

”We'll discuss what happened at Huntington Manor. How you two met and developed this relations.h.i.+p. We'll talk about what led to the events on the morning that you fled,” he says to me. Then his eyes move to Ward. ”You will talk about your relations.h.i.+p with Edward Carolson. How you found out you were his son. How you felt when you heard he was dead.”

I shake my head. This is too much.

”Of course you'll have some control over how you're presented,” Asher continues. ”If you like, I can arrange for an exclusive photo shoot. Otherwise, we'll just use photographs from the last few months.”

”This is f.u.c.king ridiculous,” Ward says.

”No,” the reporter says. ”This is just intelligent business. In addition to everything I've mentioned, you two will promise me that any major news regarding your relations.h.i.+p will be mine first. If you break up, if you get married, if you discover that one of you has cheated... you'll come to me and give me first go at the story. If I hear it from someone else, then I'll release these pictures.”

At that point, why would the pictures even matter? Our whole life would be on display. I curl my hands into fists.

Ward's barely holding it together. ”So you're just planning to blackmail us for the rest of our lives? Are you f.u.c.king serious?”

Asher shakes his head. ”As I said before, this is just business. It's how things are done in my line of work. And if I were you, I'd get used to it quickly. Stories like this don't just disappear.”

Not unless you have the money or influence to keep them down. Ward and I have neither, and Asher Julian knows it. He's got us trapped. Either we willingly give him information, or he slaughters us on the page. He won't just stop with the pictures he got today. He'll drag us through the mud again and again.

I thought I hated Carolson, once. But that's nothing compared to the sheer loathing I feel right now for the man standing in front of me. My nails are digging into my skin, and my vision has gone slightly blurry.

He can't do this to us. Not today.

And then suddenly I'm moving. Running forward.

My arm comes up. The reporter's eyes widen, but it's too late for him to dodge. My fist collides with his face.

He falls back against the fence, slamming against the chain-link barrier before sliding to the ground. His camera falls against the pavement, and I hear something shatter as his body lands on top of it.

I stand over him, my fist still raised, my chest heaving.

I can't believe I just did that.

I can't move. I can only stare down at the trickle of blood running from Asher's nose. I didn't knock him out, but he's dazed. His eyelids are fluttering.

Oh c.r.a.p oh c.r.a.p oh c.r.a.p.

There's a sharp pain in my hand, but I only have a second to acknowledge it before someone grabs me. Ward.

”Come on,” he says. ”Let's get out of here.”

Asher's blocking the fence, so we have to go the other way. Ward takes my hand and pulls me along, dragging me down the alley beside the church. There's no way to avoid the crowd of reporters at the entrance, but maybe we can slip past them without drawing too much attention.

There are still a ton of them. They're gathered at the base of the steps, waiting and watching the church doors. I imagine the service will be over soon, and everyone wants a shot of the mourners' tear-stained faces as they return to their limousines. A couple of police cruisers have joined the scene since the last time we pa.s.sed.

Ward's grip on mine is like steel. No one notices us as we slip out of the alley, and I let out a breath as we turn and head down the sidewalk. We can do this. We can escape the reporters' notice. We can walk away from the Carolsons and my brother and Asher Julian and everything we had to face today.

We're nearly at the corner when the shouts start behind us.

”They a.s.saulted me!”

I look over my shoulder, but that's a mistake-Asher is standing on the sidewalk, pointing at us and shouting, and half of the mob of reporters has already started to come after us.

I look up at Ward, and he gives me a little nod. Our only chance is to run, and we both know it. He gives my hand a squeeze, and we take off.

We make it about six steps.

Apparently the police closed off the entire block to through traffic, and that means they've stationed a car at either end of the street. Suddenly, a couple of officers are in front of us on the sidewalk.

”Stop,” one of them orders. ”I'm going to need you to tell me what's going on here.”

Asher is still making a scene, and when I look over my shoulder again, the reporters are closer. They're yelling questions even before they've reached us, and any hope I had that they haven't recognized us flies out the window.

”Louisa, why are you here?”

”Mr. Brannon, did you come to see your father?”

”Did they bar you from entering?”

”Did you attack a reporter?”

The questions come from all sides. And Asher's at the front of the crowd, still throwing accusations at us. He holds his sleeve against his nose, but I see the nearest officer's eyes widen when he spots the blood.

Everything happens quickly. One minute my hand is still safely in Ward's, but the next we're torn apart. One of the officers has me by the arm, and he leads me to the nearest cruiser. The other cop has Ward. Ward's eyes have gone wild, and he tries to twist out of the man's grip.

Don't fight, I beg him silently. Don't resist arrest. That's the last thing he needs on his record.

There are reporters between us now. Some have gone after him, and some are pointing their microphones and cameras at me. They're still shouting questions. I lift my chin, trying to find Ward even as the cop continues to pull me away.

There!

I spot his hair first, but then his head turns, and I can tell his looking for me. Our eyes meet through the crowd, and I see the intention there, even before he tries once more to jerk away from the officer holding him. He's trying to come to me.

I shake my head. Please don't fight. Please, Ward.

He wants to. But I continue to beg him with my eyes, and I see the briefest flicker of resignation in his expression before I'm forced to look at the cop in front of me.

”Did your boyfriend attack that man?” the officer asks. ”I need the truth, ma'am.”

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