Allie Winters is the CEO of one of the most profitable fashion lines in the world. But with that comes its own Gucci-level baggage. Between work, fashion shows, and sleep, she has little to no time for romance. Until she starts to get mysterious lov...
Waking up to dozens of articles rewarding you with a new nickname was bad enough. But being trapped inside your own apartment building, surrounded by cameras was far, far worse. Especially when you still didn't have a car and you couldn't call your driver because you were an idiot heartbreaker. My life is a dumpster fire of bad decisions...
My face and name were everywhere online. And not a single article was kind. Which wasn't a surprise considering I had beaten my ex-boyfriend down on the sidewalk and was rewarded with the views of... two million views as of twenty minutes ago. But to be fair, he started it and with my KO finishing move, I had painted myself as a villainous drama queen. Great...
Tate, who had also taken part in the fight was praised for his heroic efforts to protect me. But my fists weren't given the same treatment. He was heroic, I was heinous. He was dashing, I was a devil. He was brave, I was a far less kind b-word. The double standard left me tired as I stared down at my new online hashtag turned nickname, with a grimace.
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I contemplated leaning into the nickname. Throwing on a cape, and walking through town, starting trouble by setting unfashionable outfits on fire with a wave of my hands, like the vengeful fashion wizard police— if such a thing existed. But that would be a waste of time. Why do something outrageous and dramatic— why do the paparazzi's job for them? They were fantastic at creating fictitious and hurtful stories without my help. They hardly needed my glamours ammo.
The Unhinged Fashionista nickname hurt. And the only bright spot of checking the damage of what happened the day before was the article that addressed Ashton. His credibility as a professional boxer was destroyed. Titles like "Professional Boxer Beat Up By Ex-Girlfriend," sent him into hiding, and left me looking like a badass. Even if it was an unhinged one. I considered that a small win.
I paused my glaring at my phone screen to stare out through the glass doors of my apartment lobby, sighing for what must have been the fourth time in the last five minutes.
I suddenly understood Tate's hatred for the paparazzi. Understood Aiden's rage at having the Dalton name gaining more attention. It was like watching a bunch of piranhas waiting for a hint of blood. And they were out for mine. I stood in the lobby of my building, watching their fingers hover over their camera shutters, trying to peer through the glass to see if I was on my way out.
Okay, I get why Aiden was so mad now... I wish Tate was here—
I shook my head pushing the thought away. I couldn't rely on him anymore. I knew if I called him, he would come. He would push through the crowd, make a few jokes and pull me safely to the other side. But that wasn't fair to him. I couldn't take advantage of his kindness. I had hurt him, and until I figured things out, I couldn't yank him back if I wasn't sure what I wanted. He deserved better than that. My car was going to be ready that afternoon, and I couldn't bear to look at Tate in the meantime.
So I stood in the lobby, waiting for my Lyft, praying it wouldn't get attacked by the paparazzi and drive off, leaving me inside a mob of gossip-loving fanatics.
