The number on my fridge! “I have a number!” I cried excitedly. Grabbing my phone, I called Rory, ignoring the little woman who was telling me I was running low on calling credit and how I needed to top up. Rory answered almost immediately. “Rory, I need the phone number from the fridge,” I said quickly.

“Huh? What’s up, Emma?”

“Just go to the kitchen and get me the number quickly! It’s important. Go now, please,” I begged desperately. I heard him walking through the flat and then he reeled off the number. I scribbled it onto a napkin and looked back to Jason, praying this would work. I could call this press agent guy and ask him to pass Carson a message telling him not to come to the club.

THE MAN ON THE PHONE was very polite and understanding. He told me not to worry about a thing, that he would contact Rodger Harris directly and get him to leave the club before my shift finished tonight. He requested I stay inside until he called me back to tell me the coast was clear, so they wouldn’t harass me again. I thanked him, grateful, and Jason set a coffee on the bar in front of me.

“How about you work the bar with me tonight, instead of waiting tables?” he offered, smiling sympathetically.

“Thanks, Jason. I’d like that,” I admitted. I couldn’t face putting on a big, fake smile and having men leer at me all night. All I wanted to do was curl in bed and have Carson wrap his arms around me. This was going to scare him away from me now, for sure. He would see this as just another negative thing, another reason not to come here anymore, and I wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. My heart sank with each passing second.

Within half an hour, the club phone rang. Jason was busy serving so I answered it. “Angels Gentlemen’s Club,” I stated, trying not to let my building depression leak into my voice.

“Hi, can I speak to Emma Bancroft please?”

My breath caught. Is that… it can’t be, can it? “Carson?”

“Emma? Is that you?” He sounded a little relieved.

My hand tightened around the phone as I pressed it harder to my ear. My eyes filled with tears. “Yeah,” I croaked.

“Are you okay? I just had a call from Mason telling me to stay away from the club. He said Rodger Harris was there hounding you again tonight.” He actually sounded angry about it.

My eyes widened. Was he angry with me? Was he blaming me for all this, for causing him all this trouble? “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t have your number to call you; I only had your press agent’s number. I hope you don’t mind me calling him,” I said, wincing and waiting for him to bitch me out about it.

Carson sighed. “Take my number now,” he instructed. I grabbed my phone from my pocket and tapped it in as he told me it. “Emma, are you okay? I could come and get you… take you home?” he suggested.

“You can’t come here, baby. Mason told me to stay in here until he called me to say it was clear outside. Do you think they’ll leave, or wait until closing?” I nervously glanced out the window. I couldn’t see anything because it was too dark, but I still couldn’t help but scan the pavement trying to see a figure lingering there.

“They’ll leave, don’t worry. Mason’s going to offer them an exclusive interview with me after my next race, including photos; in exchange, they’ll leave you alone. Everything will be fine, Em.”

My eyes fluttered closed. I was so much trouble for him. He was having to put himself out, just to get them to leave the club? I hated how this celebrity thing worked. This was my only brush with it, and it made me feel so stressed my stomach hurt. I had no idea how Carson put up with this all the time. It was painful.

“Thanks. I’m so sorry,” I mumbled guiltily.

He laughed. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just sorry I won’t get to see you tonight. You’re working tomorrow, though, right? I’ll be there tomorrow and see you then instead,” he replied, his voice soft and caring.

Smiling at the thought, I pressed my forehead against the wall, letting the cold try to alleviate some of the tension headache building up. “Okay. You think maybe I could get a really big hug tomorrow or something?”

“Emma, if you need me to come there now, I will,” he stated, his voice fierce. I knew he would, too. If I asked him to, he would get in his car and drive to the club, to Hell with the reporters. I loved him even more for that. He was so adorable and selfless sometimes, and sometimes it was hard to remember he was just a client of mine and nothing more.

I shook my head sadly, silently wishing I could just say, yeah, come on over and hold me while I cry onto your shoulder. “I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’d better go. I’m working the bar tonight, so I guess I should actually do some work before I get sacked,” I teased, trying to lighten my mood. Even the sound of Carson’s voice couldn’t pull me out of the worried slump I was in.

“Okay. I’ll call Mason now and see how he’s getting on.” He disconnected the call and I just stared at the phone for a minute, wondering just how my life became this complicated.

After another hour, Mason called me back. He’d sorted everything; the reporters had agreed to leave so I was free to go home. He asked to speak to Jason after, so I passed the phone over, watching and trying to work out what was going on. There was just a lot of agreeing and nodding in understanding from Jason’s end, so I couldn’t gauge anything from him.

When he hung up the phone, he smiled. “Okay, so you can go home now. One of the bouncers will be driving you and walking you to your flat, as per Mr Matthews’ orders,” he said, shrugging casually.