English Rose - liam gallagher fic

37. walking on eggshells

I stepped out of the taxi outside of the concert hall, entouraged by a security guard named Thomas, dressed in black head to toe, as well as a networking executive from the agency, who was named Marcus. He was tall, and not quite as old as the usual chaperone of these events - I would be pushed to place him at 30 - and dressed in jeans, a shirt and blazer, he seemed underdressed in comparison to the older execs 3 piece suits. He easily guided me through the crowds of paparazzi that swarmed the entrance with soft hands on my elbows.

"Just let me know if any of these pricks touch you," He said quietly to me. His voice was hard and stony while his appearance was warm. The sternness in his voice combined with the image of his chestnut brown hair that sat in a neat mop atop his head and white, but slightly crooked, smile, had something feral growling in me. It never even occurred to me, that this should have been Thomas' job, as security.

I nodded and allowed him to navigate me. As we pushed through the photographers, just as he had warned, there were a few overly-excited hands that were trying to reach out and get lucky. Marcus' hands however, maintained themselves on my elbows, guiding me through the crowd like the perfect gentleman, and for a minute, my conversation with Rob blanked from my memory.

We found our way into the main room, where the function was taking place. A server with a tray of champagne flutes walked into our vicinity and Marcus removed his hands to grab two, one for me and one for him, before placing his free hand on my back and directed me towards a table that was set for a large group in the centre of the room.

"This isn't like the usual press functions," I said pointedly, as we placed ourselves in seats marked with our names printed on little cards.

"Yeah," he chuckled, almost smugly, "Rob said you'd been kicking up a bit of a fuss about them, so I offered my company."

"Wow," I said, bemused whether I had just misunderstood him, or whether he really was that arrogant. "I must be honoured."

I took a sip of my champagne and looked at him through narrowed eyes.

He chuckled, holding his hands apologetically. "I just mean, I can understand for a young girl, it can be intimidating being sent to these events on the arm of some old crone. I thought I would offer myself as a kind of, compromise."

I sucked on my cheeks at his statement. He saw me as little more than a child. Which wasn't fair, I'd just turned 20. It hadn't stopped any of his older colleagues from trying their luck. It was so embarrassing how much I had been enjoying the way he paraded me around the room in his protective grasp, and then my mind guiltily snapped to Graham. I felt all the worse about my lustful thoughts knowing that he was going to be here in the same room as me. Then I set my eyes on Marcus once again and started to scan.

"Compromise how?" I asked him, curious what he meant, as he began to trail off in search for the right word. I felt like compromise wasn't the right one.

"Well, there's no getting out of these events for you so I thought someone a little closer to your demographic would help you feel a little more comfortable."

He didn't have wedding ring, which made me consider for a second if he could be gay. He could be - but it would be much less arrogant of me to admit that he's probably just not interested. I was more and more frequently catching Narcissus in my reflection, becoming so caught up in my own ego that I was forgetting that, despite what my career has led me to believe, people are under no obligation to find me attractive. I wasn't like this before.

I felt a sudden pang in my chest that lingered with a vengeance. For what felt like the first time in months, I thought about Liam. I thought of our conversations of moving to London and becoming a wanker and wondered if he would still like me if he met me right now.