When we pulled up outside my flat, I turned in my seat and smiled at him. “Thanks for the lift. I had a really nice time tonight. Thanks for coming to meet me,” I said, my eyes flicking down to his luscious lips. I silently debated as to whether I could just ask him to screw me in the car. It had already been four weeks, and I needed him more than ever in case he never came to the club again. I needed one last time with him before his management forced him to stay away from me for his own good.

He smiled. “I’ll walk you up.” He pushed open his door and headed around to my side before I even had the chance to protest.

As he opened the door for me, I climbed out of his car and looked down at it for the first time. It was silver and small, and extremely expensive-looking: smart, sleek and beautiful. This car was Carson all over. I gasped and shook my head. “You cannot leave this thing out here! Wow, the bike was bad, but this…” I trailed off, laughing nervously. I knew nothing about cars but, damn, if I had to choose one, it would definitely look something like this. “What is it?” I asked, nodding at it.

He smiled and lovingly ran his hand over the bonnet. “An Aston Martin Vanquish,” he replied, shrugging casually as if I should know what that meant.

“Oh, yeah, of course it is,” I replied, pretending to know what he was talking about.

He laughed and took my hand, weaving his fingers through mine. “Come on, let’s get you out of the cold before you sober up too much and don’t ask me in for coffee,” he suggested, giving me a little tug toward the entrance of my flats.

I led him upstairs and glanced at my watch as we walked in quietly. It was after one in the morning. Thankfully, Rory was in bed; he had school tomorrow. Carson leant on the counter next to me while I made coffee and like before, we took them into the lounge. He pulled my legs onto his lap again, turning in his seat to look at me as he traced his fingertips over my shins lightly, making my breathing shallow.

“I really am sorry about the photographers. I don’t know how they knew so much about you,” he said, looking a little confused.

I blew the top of my coffee before taking a sip. “That guy was at the club last night. He saw you give me the necklace. He was asking all kinds of questions about you, but I didn’t know who he was so I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t realise he was a reporter,” I admitted, wincing as I pushed my mug onto the side table. Now that I thought about it, though, I had no idea how I missed it; he was asking so many questions about Carson. But I guess I wasn’t expecting a reporter, so I wouldn’t naturally jump to that conclusion.

“He was at the club? Wow, okay. You don’t know who that was?” he asked, sipping his coffee, too. I shook my head in answer. Carson smiled sadly. “That’s Rodger Harris. He’s the most successful reporter for The Peoples’ Post.”

I frowned. The Peoples’ Post was one of the most popular newspapers in England. They thrived on celebrities, dishing dirt, hounding them, and outing them of their wrongdoings. “Oh,” I mumbled.

Carson smiled and gripped his hand around the back of my knee, his thumb rubbing the inside of my leg. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. That guy has a hard-on for me. He’s always got a photographer following me, trying to catch me doing something I shouldn’t be doing.” He shrugged dismissively.

“You don’t think they’ll print that I’m a stripper, do you? I don’t want Rory thinking that’s what I do. I don’t want his friends giving him a hard time about it at school or anything.” I cringed at the thought.

Carson shrugged, looking at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Emma. I guess I’ve kind of landed you in the shit now, huh?”

I smiled and scooted closer to him on the seat, pressing my lips to his softly for a second before pulling away. “It’s fine. It’s my job, not yours. It’s not like whatever they print will be a lie,” I said honestly.

He stroked the side of my face lightly. “They may not even print anything. They might not have gotten any good pictures; we didn’t give them anything to print. We’ll see, okay? If it gets too bad then I’ll speak to my press agent and see if we can calm it down, all right?” he offered, smiling reassuringly. “So, did you get anything nice for your birthday?” he asked, obviously wanting to change the subject.

I smiled. “I got a beautiful necklace from this eccentric millionaire I know,” I joked. “And Rory and Lucie bought me this dress,” I continued, gesturing to it.

His eyes dropped to my dress. “It’s really pretty; it suits you,” he mused, rubbing the material of the skirt between his finger and thumb. “What about from your parents?”

I frowned. “Er… I don’t speak to my parents. We had a big falling out.”

“Really? Right, yeah, I guess that makes sense what with you living on your own, looking after your little brother.” He frowned and nodded. “You think you’ll make up with them one day?”

I laughed incredulously and shook my head. “No. They don’t approve of me and my lifestyle. I left when I was sixteen, and they burnt the bridge straight after I walked across it,” I replied, trying to make light of the situation.

A sad smile graced his lips. “I feel sorry for them.”

For them? Why would he feel sorry for them? Shouldn’t he be on my side and feel sorry for me? “Why?” I asked, confused as to where he was going with this.