Say You're Mine (The Gallaghers Book 1) by Layla Hagen (digital ebook reader .txt) 📗

least it was over. Once I stepped down from the bus and was away from the group, I took out my bottle of water, taking a much-needed swig. I only drank a little on the tour, to keep my mouth and throat from drying up. I didn’t want to stop for any bathroom breaks in a two-hour tour.

Taking out my phone, I intended to call Brayden, but I had no battery left.

Wow. This is not my lucky day.

Sighing, I bought some curly fries from a stand selling hot dogs and burgers before heading to the subway station. Oh, they were absolutely delicious. I loved all the to-go options in New York. Some of the food trucks were horrible, but some were true gems. I was so hungry that I ate the fries before I even reached the subway station. On the ride to my office, I kept wondering what would happen next.

***

To my astonishment, I noticed a group in front of the building as I approached. What is going on? A second later, I noticed that most of them were holding cameras.

Swallowing hard, I stopped walking. My heart was pounding fast. Were they reporters? Was I becoming paranoid? The photos of me had popped up that afternoon; could they really have dug up my address so quickly?

My stomach bottomed out. Of course they could have. If you googled my name, the website of my business came up. The address was written on the home page. I chewed the inside of my cheek while trying to come up with an idea.

That was when a familiar black BMW pulled up on my street, stopping next to me. Paul was behind the wheel, and Brayden was in the back seat. My heart somersaulted. Once the car slowed down in front of me and the back door opened, I immediately hopped inside, closing the door after me.

“Babe, are you okay?” Brayden asked. He was turned toward me, hand on my thigh, eyes trained on me. Paul had already sped forward, leaving my office and everything else behind.

I nodded, biting my lower lip. “How are you even here?”

“You told me you were going to the office after the tour, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. My phone died. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

“I figured it was something like that. We’ve been circling your block for half an hour. I’m surprised none of the reporters noticed.”

I couldn’t believe it. He’d been looking for me for half an hour?

“So what’s the plan?” I asked. “Where are we going?”

“We have two options. A hotel or your place. There are a few reporters outside mine and at the cottage.”

“Then let’s go to my apartment.”

Biting my lip, I looked over my shoulder, even though the building was no longer in view.

“Do you think I’ll be able to see clients there on Monday?” I asked after a while.

“I’m not sure,” Brayden said. His tone was dangerously calm.

Frowning, I took stock of his body language. His hair was ravished, as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it. His shoulders looked stiff. I‘d been so out of sorts from seeing the press in front of the building that I hadn’t focused on him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head, lacing his fingers with mine. He probably didn’t want to talk in front of Paul.

We were both silent until we entered my apartment.

I looked at him intently. “Brayden?”

“I’m sorry about this. I never wanted this to happen.”

I shrugged, biting my lip. “Well, there was always a risk, right?”

He clasped my head with both hands, kissing my forehead. “I’ll take care of you, okay? I don’t want you to worry about anything.”

“I’m not worried,” I said honestly. “I’m thinking about the logistics. I’ll order the things I need to make diaries online. With express delivery, I’ll probably get them by Monday. What’s next?”

“You should probably avoid the office for a few days.”

I pulled back, looking him straight in the eyes, determined to make him smile. “Does that mean you’re staying with me? I wouldn’t mind a few days of the Brayden Clarke treatment.”

His frown melted finally, and the corners of his mouth tugged upward.

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Good.” I kissed his neck, then his cheek, but only gave him a quick peck on his lips.

“Isabelle, how do you manage to make me so crazy for you all the time?”

“I don’t know. It comes naturally,” I said.

Gripping my hips, he led me farther inside the apartment, raining kisses on the side of my neck, and shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”  He bit my shoulder lightly.

I giggled. “Pace yourself, Mr. Rock Star. You have days to fill.”

“I have enough ideas, Isabelle. Don’t you worry about that.”

***

On Sunday, my parents came over for breakfast before they left, and I could see them succumbing to Brayden’s charm with every passing minute. I couldn’t blame them, really. The man was 200 percent charming.

After my parents left, we decided to remain at my apartment, because the pictures had been taken in front of his penthouse, so clearly that was still being watched. Sasha was keeping us abreast of the situation, sending us updates a few times a day.

The press ended up being a pain in the ass for the whole week, because the band released a new hit the next Tuesday, which of course only brought them to the forefront of everyone’s attention. I emailed my touring agency, telling them I was stepping back from my side job as a guide; I didn’t want a repeat of last time, though I didn’t tell them that.

The transition from bustling about the city to spending all day inside the apartment was a bit weird, but it had so many perks.

Brayden sure knew how to make me feel like a princess. It wasn’t just that he seemed to have all my favorite restaurants on speed dial, but he kept relentlessly spoiling me during my breaks. I moved most of my sessions online and asked the three new clients I was meeting