The man nods. “And is Austin Pope the man you're currently living with?”
My smile freezes in place as every muscle in my body goes taut.
“Excuse me?”
“You moved out of Caleb Larkin's house.” He pulls a phone from his jacket pocket and flashes me a recent photo of Cal helping Hollywood out of his truck. It must be a recent photo, considering how very pregnant she looks.
My throat closes. I wish Austin was here instead of out on a job site.
“Whoever you are, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself?”
“I doubt it.”
He offers his hand for me to shake. I don't take it.
“Name's Greg Wallace,” he says with a smirk. “I'm with the Channel 5 News out of Nashville.”
“I don't really care who you are. You need to leave. Now.”
“You know, if you'd just responded to one of my emails, I wouldn't have had to come all the way down here.”
“You shouldn't be here at all,” I say. “This is harassment.”
“From what information I've gathered, you've been carpooling to and from work with Mr. Pope for the past few weeks,” he says, ignoring my protests. “Is he your boyfriend? Actually, you don’t need to answer that. It’s already been established that you have a preference for older men.”
I scowl. "Mr. Wallace, I think it's time for you to fuck off."
“Now, that’s not very professional.” He sighs. "I just need a quote, McKenzie. I'm sure you can understand the tight spot I'm in, being a working girl yourself.”
My heart hammers in my ears. I don't like the way he says my name, casual and familiar, like he knows me.
“If you don't kindly fuck off back to Nashville, I will call someone who will be glad help you fuck off.”
“Let me guess, one of your pals who broke into Russell King's mansion to conduct an illegal interrogation?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
“The hell's going on out here?” Mike strides into the foyer, tattooed forearms on full display. His razor-sharp gaze cuts straight to Greg Wallace, and though the other man's smirk never wavers, he nearly stumbles while taking a step back. "Unless you're looking for someone to build you a roof to jump off of, I suggest you get the fuck out of this office."
Greg Wallace smooths his tie. “Very well. I suppose my story will have to make do without your perspective, Miss Sommers.”
Mike moves toward him, and he doesn't stop moving until the loathsome reporter is fully out the door. He turns back to me, his gaze softening.
“You okay, Kenzie?”
"Uh-huh," I say reflexively. A sigh escapes my chest, leaving me deflated. I rest my head in my hands. I haven't dealt with harassment like that since before I started working here. While I'd hoped these upsetting encounters were behind me, as I predicted, Jim Davis’ early release from prison has the press swarming. The thought of coming to work and having to deal with this shit every day makes my skin crawl.
Mike pulls out his phone, types something, then slips the device back into his pocket.
"Come on," he says. "Let's grab you some lunch."
A quick shake of the head is all the objection I can muster.
“I’ll be fine,” I mumble, even as I let Austin’s brother help me to my feet.