Chapter 115
985 Words
Dallas opened his front door and stared in confusion at the woman with long blonde hair standing there. “Hi. Can I help you?”
She lowered the scarf covering her face and she smiled. “Hi, Dallas.”
He almost reeled backwards in shock. “Olivia,” he said. “What – what are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you,” she said. “Can I come in?”
“Uh, sure.” He stepped aside. “Let me take your coat.” He managed to get it off her body without actually touching her.
“Thank you.”
They stared at each other. Dallas’ eyes took in the bandage on her face and he winced.
Your fault, man. All yours.
Olivia saw his grimace, and she felt hurt pierce her chest.
He thinks you’re so ugly, he can’t even bring himself to look at you.
She took off the blonde wig and shook out her hair. “Courtesy of Kat,” she said. “She put on a red one and Jim drove off with her just now. Just in case the press followed us, you know.”
His face tightened at the mention of the press. He’d dealt with them in the past, of course, since he’d worked with numerous celebrities and athletes as clients, and he’d always managed to be courteous and professional. But he’d never seen anything like the scrum of scum at the hospital once word got out that Olivia Jameson had been cut up by a stalker, and he’d f*****g lost his mind about it.
Within twenty minutes of her telling him that he'd taken care of her and passing out, he’d seen people with cameras skulking around the hallways. Sully, Mark, Selena and Griff had shut that crap down damn fast, and Mark had set up guards outside Olivia’s private room, but it was a full-time job to keep her protected.
Dallas had immediately turned his attention to and considerable anger on the f*****g paparazzi. There was nothing he could do about what had happened to the woman he loved, but he sure as hell could make sure her sliced-up face and body didn’t end up splashed all over the internet, and across the cover of every tabloid and rag in North America.
In a weird way, though, what had disgusted him even more than the press vultures were the offers of help. Within an hour of the news about Olivia hitting the outside world, the hospital was fielding calls from therapists, psychologists, psychics, healers, and God-only-knows-who, all offering to treat her.
Dallas was sure that Olivia would need therapy – lots of it – but he wasn’t happy that these opportunistic quacks were looking for a celebrity patient to speculate about. He’d been outraged to read that some so-called therapists were talking to the press about Olivia’s ‘body image issues’, and how hard it was going to be for a woman who’d been lauded for her beauty to be so badly scarred. One dickhead even went so far as to tell a journalist that Olivia may never be able to let a man touch her again, if her body was as damaged as he thought it was.
Thank God for Emma, though. She’d immediately gotten in touch with one of her former colleagues at the psychiatric practice, a woman named Dr. Francine Cabot. Francine had met with Olivia every day since the attack, and he knew that it was helping her a lot. He had no idea what they talked about, but he knew that in the past three days, Olivia had looked better.
He tried to stay calm now, knowing that his personal feelings about the press were irrelevant. “So… would you like a drink? Wine? Tea?”
“No, nothing. Thank you.”
“You want to sit down?”
“Please.”
Oh, God. We’re as stiff and polite as two strangers. Nobody would know that this man held me and kissed me and made love to me in the bedroom just a few feet away from where I’m sitting right now.
Dallas sat and looked at her, wondering if she was there to finally scream at him. He’d been waiting for this moment, and he’d thought he was ready for it. But now he wasn’t so sure.
“How have you been doing, Olivia?” he said. “With all the fall-out from today?”
She bit her lip. “You’ve been following the news?”
“Yeah.”
“So you know that Hope Perfume dropped me this morning… the last of every single company that's ever worked with me.” She tried to smile. “Seems that scarred models aren’t all the rage after all, and even with the wonders of Photoshop, nobody’s interested.”
He looked down. “Jim says that you’ve got your house up for sale now, and that you’ll stay with Kat for a while longer, right?”
“Yeah.” She hesitated, then took the plunge. “But I’d rather be staying here. With you.”
“Oh, Olivia. I don’t think that’s such a good idea…”
“Dallas,” she said softly. “Dallas, look at me.”
He forced his eyes up.
“I’m going to ask you something now, and I want you to tell me the truth. After that, you’re going to ask me something, and I’m going to tell you the truth. OK?”
Dallas nodded, puzzled.
She took a deep breath. “Are you avoiding me and not touching me because you find me repulsive?”
He started. “What? No!”
“That’s the truth?”
“The whole, complete and total f*****g truth, baby.”
“OK.” She studied his tense, pale face. “Now you ask me your question.”
He hesitated.
“Go on, Dallas. Ask."
- Writer
