Now I’ve got two problems instead of one.
Or have I.
I could just turn around, forget the whole thing and deal with whatever publicity comes from it if any.
But something in my gut tells me this has the potential to make my prison break publicity look tame.
And I still can’t help but wonder. What if I just walked away for good?
What if I just took Penelope and we both went away until the whole world forgot who the hell Jett Masters ever was?
It’s not an unusual thing for famous people to suddenly be nobody these days, and the idea actually makes me smile.
But the studio husband and wife aren’t smiling, they’re trying to goad me with words. The husband getting a little bit too close for my liking.
As in getting all up in my shit.
As far as his body will reach.
Trying to make me lash out or do something stupid.
“It’s that Briggs girl, I swear,” The woman shrieks to her man, whose sneer turns to a twisted look as he looks past me.
“Chad’s gonna love this,” she adds, a crazed smile spreading across her face as she keeps recording me.
I only catch a blur of the white and pink that’s Penelope.
But in less time than it takes me to register her, she’s snatched both phones from the couple and slipped them down the nearest sewer grate.
Not moving until she hears a splash, then she’s on the move again.
I’m still trying to figure out exactly what just happened when her hand is in mine again, tugging at me to get going.
The couple who just lost not only their fifteen minutes of fame but their phones too are stunned before becoming visibly upset.
Enraged.
I can hear them both calling after us as well as my own laughter as I keep up with Penelope’s steps, but she tires quickly.
Our limo honks nearby, with my driver waving his hand from his open window having seen the whole thing, he swung around and came to help us.
I scoop Penelope up and in moments, we’re cruising in the opposite direction.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, smiling at her, shifting her hair back from her face.
She’s trying to smile, laugh and pant for breath at the same time.
Her face is red with exertion and her hand clamped to her side from a stitch.
“I must’ve… run… a good… forty yards,” she pants, making me laugh.
But I’m not laughing at her. I’m laughing at what just happened, and how she moved.
“You’re incredible,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
What a girl.
My girl.
The expression on her face is priceless, but I still have no idea who those people were and how they knew Penelope.
Our driver is quick to make sure we’re okay.
“Just take us back to the hotel.”
I’ll deal with the existing fallout and whatever else is added from this little outing once we get there.
Once Penelope gets her breath back, she explains herself a little better. But I’m not laughing once she recounts who those people were, or who their son is either.
The effect he’s had on her college and working life.
The classic asshole college jock who ‘matures’ into the workplace bully.
Picking on anyone half his size and always when there’s no one around to see or help out.
Never anyone that could push back.
“Chad Beckett,” she explains. “They’re his parents. I didn’t recognize the mom, but seeing his dad and then when she shouted out about Chad loving what they were recording… I guess I just lost it.” She shakes her head, a little pale now as I pull her close.
Stewing on what I know is only scratching the surface once she recounts how their son made her college life a living hell with pranks and vivid threats, and somehow managed to get a job at the same newspaper where he’s continued his sick vendetta of terror on Penelope.
My Penelope.
She reads the change in my mood instantly as well as picks up on my anger, the tension in my body giving me away.
“It’s not your fault, Jett,” she murmurs, even sounding embarrassed after she’s just dished out a tiny dose of what people like that really deserve.
“It just makes me mad,” I tell her, forcing myself to relax and unclench my jaw, squeezing her closer to me and kissing her.
“I’m glad you told me now though. If I knew this ten minutes ago, we’d be having a different conversation and probably with bars between us,” I tell her.
Reminding myself of my ‘do as you’re told’ pact I made with the judge, lawyers, and shithead corporation that own the jail I’m trying to steer clear from right now.
I’m not worried about myself usually though. But now I have a bigger, more important reason to be concerned.
Penelope.
How can I be with her if I’m locked up? And picking fights with well-connected parents probably isn’t the best way forward either.