Waking up to dozens of articles rewarding you with a new nickname was bad enough. But being trapped inside your own apartment building, surrounded by cameras was far, far worse. Especially when you still didn't have a car and you couldn't call your driver because you were an idiot heartbreaker. My life is a dumpster fire of bad decisions...
My face and name were everywhere online. And not a single article was kind. Which wasn't a surprise considering I had beaten my ex-boyfriend down on the sidewalk and was rewarded with the views of... two million views as of twenty minutes ago. But to be fair, he started it and with my KO finishing move, I had painted myself as a villainous drama queen. Great...
Tate, who had also taken part in the fight was praised for his heroic efforts to protect me. But my fists weren't given the same treatment. He was heroic, I was heinous. He was dashing, I was a devil. He was brave, I was a far less kind b-word. The double standard left me tired as I stared down at my new online hashtag turned nickname, with a grimace.
I contemplated leaning into the nickname. Throwing on a cape, and walking through town, starting trouble by setting unfashionable outfits on fire with a wave of my hands, like the vengeful fashion wizard policeâ if such a thing existed. But that would be a waste of time. Why do something outrageous and dramaticâ why do the paparazzi's job for them? They were fantastic at creating fictitious and hurtful stories without my help. They hardly needed my glamours ammo.
The Unhinged Fashionista nickname hurt. And the only bright spot of checking the damage of what happened the day before was the article that addressed Ashton. His credibility as a professional boxer was destroyed. Titles like "Professional Boxer Beat Up By Ex-Girlfriend," sent him into hiding, and left me looking like a badass. Even if it was an unhinged one. I considered that a small win.
I paused my glaring at my phone screen to stare out through the glass doors of my apartment lobby, sighing for what must have been the fourth time in the last five minutes.
I suddenly understood Tate's hatred for the paparazzi. Understood Aiden's rage at having the Dalton name gaining more attention. It was like watching a bunch of piranhas waiting for a hint of blood. And they were out for mine. I stood in the lobby of my building, watching their fingers hover over their camera shutters, trying to peer through the glass to see if I was on my way out.
Okay, I get why Aiden was so mad now... I wish Tate was hereâ
I shook my head pushing the thought away. I couldn't rely on him anymore. I knew if I called him, he would come. He would push through the crowd, make a few jokes and pull me safely to the other side. But that wasn't fair to him. I couldn't take advantage of his kindness. I had hurt him, and until I figured things out, I couldn't yank him back if I wasn't sure what I wanted. He deserved better than that. My car was going to be ready that afternoon, and I couldn't bear to look at Tate in the meantime.
So I stood in the lobby, waiting for my Lyft, praying it wouldn't get attacked by the paparazzi and drive off, leaving me inside a mob of gossip-loving fanatics.
When my phone chimed, letting me know my ride was pulling up, I shoved my sunglasses into place, hiding the irritation in my eyes, took a deep breath, and dove into the depths of the paparazzi piranha outside the lobby doors.
Questions were shouted in my face like I was suddenly incapable of using my ears to process stupid questions.
"Allie! Are you dating Tate Dalton!"
Can I yell questions back? Or is that against the rules?  Instead of snapping at them, which would only make things worse, I began to answer their questions in my head...
"Did you steal him away from Laliana Summers?!?"
Stupid question. That would mean Laliana kidnapped him from his family. Highly doubt Tate would make for a good kidnapped victim. Talks too much.
"Why do you hate Laliana!?!"
Why do people assume girls instantly hate each other? She seems nice.
I reached the Lyft car but was blocked from the door as the paparazzi surrounded me. Cameras were shoved in my face and the voices grew louder. The driver shot me a panicked look and then just... took off, leaving me surrounded by piranhas with no escape. Crap...
"Do you always make out with men on the back of motorcycles?"
If all men kissed like Tate then I'd consider it.
"How often do you beat up your ex-boyfriends?"
As often as they try to beat up people I care about.
The flashes grew faster. After a deep breath, and reminding myself that punching the closest screaming person in the face would only make things worse, I forced myself to move. Pushing through the paparazzi, I began to walk, shoving headphones in my ears to help me ignore their ridiculous questions. I felt like Miranda Priestly from Devil Wears Prada if Miranda had to deal with being ditched by Lyft drivers and the paparazzi followed her around with zero fear for their lives.
A guitar blasted to life in my ears as Green Day - I think We're Alone Now began to play, drowning out the questions. But they still followed like a herd of irritating, bleating sheep. Shouting questions, huddling around me as I went. It was trying my patience and walking with a herd wasn't a long-term solution. I am gonna lose it if they don't stop soon!
I had watched Aiden and Tate try to run from the paparazzi and all that seemed to do was make the piranha's want answers more fervently. Sparking a hunger for the insides of your life. Wanting to pry into every corner of your soul like it was public property. I didn't belong to anyone and the idea that they thought I owed them a piece of myself was jaw clenchingly, mind-numbingly infuriating.
After a block of being screamed at and being blinded by flashes sporadically, I stopped and yanked out my headphones, turning back to look at my eager followers.
"Are you all going to follow me all day? Or is there a limit on how far you will go? Maybe a barrier I don't know about? An invisible shield of some kind? A magic word that gets you to stop screaming?"
They froze for a beat, almost startled that I was talking to them. Confused that I wasn't running away terrified. "Now really, that's no way to treat a person," a voice said from behind me.
I knew who it was before I even turned around. The cameras were back up and flashing wildly, almost in sync with my own racing heart. "You called for a getaway car?" the voice asked me.
Tate shot the paparazzi a playfully scolding look from where he stood next to a car that he pulled up onto the curb. Cars honked, angry that Tate had taken up half the turning lane with his horrible parking job.
"MOVE YOUR CAR YOU MANIAC!"
"NICE TO MEET YOU TOO!" Tate shouted back.
Then he turned to look at me. "Ready to go?"
The sight of him was hard to process. I found it a challenge to breathe. Why is he here? Why is he picking me up?
He glanced from me, back to the flashing cameras behind us as if to say, do you really want to be stuck with them?
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" another blocked driver on the street howled.
"AS SOON AS THIS GORGEOUS WOMAN GETS IN THE CAR!" Tate replied with a dramatic gesture in my direction. "YOU CAN'T RUSH PERFECTION!"
Flustered and suddenly beat red due to Tate shouting compliments in public, I relented, climbing into the passenger seat as Tate opened the door, hoping to stop his shouting.
The paparazzi surrounded the car, trying to get the best shot of me inside.
"Take the day off! Try bird watching. They don't care when you gawk at them," Tate shouted before climbing into the driver's seat and yanking the car off the curb, leaving them all in the dust.
"Where to?" Tate asked once we pulled into the throng of morning traffic like it was just any other day.
"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.
"That's a weird name for a street," he replied dryly.
"Tate." My voice sounded weird. Softer, more broken. A jumble of emotions rolled into a name that was hard to say.
"I'm driving you. It's a thing people do."
I pursed my lips, unprepared to be sitting in the car next to him. "I mean, why are you doing this? Why are you driving me?"
"Your car isn't done until later today, right? I don't leave a job unfinished." He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like I hadn't rejected his affections the day before. His voice was light, warmth and distracting.
"You can drop me off at Royal's Fashion office."
I watched his whole body tense as he processed the location in silence. The quiet stretched, pulling tight like a rubber band, threatening to snap.
"Huh... interesting destination." He tapped the wheel rhythmically, thoughtful. "Are you going to burn it down?"
I sighed, trying to process what I was potentially walking into by going to the enemy's office. "Not sure... leaning towards no at the moment," I said quietly.
"No sense in telling you to be careful, or to change your mind this time?"
I shook my head. "He has been pestering me for a while. I think it's about time I figure out why."
Sun washed over the car as we broke through the line of skyscrapers, settling the car into warm silence. I watched the rays bounce off the glistening windows, setting the city on fire with light. It was beautiful and blinding.
"I'm sorry..." Tate said as he pulled up to the curb of the ominous building I had talked myself into going to. I froze, hand on the car door, heart squeezing tight. What was he sorry about? Did he regret his feelings? Regret telling me? Realize that I may have been a bad choice?
"For the paparazzi thing," he clarified. "Not anything else."
I swallowed down several responses. None of my words felt right. They were just a jumble of consonants and vowels all in a pile that couldn't be untangled. He shouldn't be the one apologizing.
I opened the door, finally finding my voice, and instantly became disappointed in my inability to say anything that would make things better. "Thanks for the ride."
He nodded. "I'll be here when you're ready."
I closed the door, ignoring how his words sounded like more than just a hint towards waiting to pick me up. It felt like a layered promise. I closed my eyes for a beat to get my head on straight. I couldn't afford to walk inside without a clear mind. Laurence Royal started a fashion war with me. It was time I showed him who he was messing with.
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Thank you for reading chapter thirty-two! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes! Add this story to your reading list to know when the next chapter drops!
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What do you think Laurence Royal is like?
What is Tate thinking during this scene?
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