I hustle over to the Jeep and put it in drive, Rinaldo’s car already a speck on the horizon. While I close the gap, my mind replays everything he just said. With his salary plus endorsements, Rinaldo’s net worth must be in the tens of millions, if not more. Which makes his purchase of a Mercedes-Maybach S650 equivalent to my buying a cup of coffee at Starbucks. Life has taught me the measure of a man isn’t by his bank account. But it still grates.

My teeth maul my inner cheek for the rest of the drive.

When I reach the house where the party is being held, Rinaldo has already given his keys to the valet. “House” is an understatement. It’s one of those places that looks like a resort. An oversized fountain sits at the top of the long, circular drive. Geez. Probably only two people live here, maybe one weekend a quarter.

Two other cars managed to get ahead of me, so I can do nothing but wait my turn and watch the couple making their way to the front door. Ems stands next to Rinaldo, her hand enveloped in his. Even after all the self-talk I did on the way over here, my blood rises to a low simmer.

They wave at the large assembly of paparazzi lining the entrance. Emilie’s head turns to the side and the couple stands next to each other. Rinaldo’s arm snakes around her shoulders. My blood heats another notch.

Although my windows are closed and the air is blasting, I can see their lips moving as they answer whatever inane questions I can only imagine. Finally, the valet moves another car so only one more is ahead of me.

From this distance, Ems and Rinaldo seem animated. They touch each other like they’ve been doing it for years. Well, haven’t they? Her hand lands on his chest, like it knows just where to fall. He plays with a lock of her silky hair. My inner temperature raises to a boil.

The couple ahead of me manages to get out of their car. Good. Maybe they’ll divert attention away from my girlfriend. I recognize them as crew members. While they’re important to the functioning of the movie, they won’t exactly garner too much press attention. My fingers bang on the steering wheel, desperate to get out of the vehicle.

Ems and Rinaldo take a few more steps. He nods at something being said, then he turns and captures Ems in a full-on embrace. Without warning, his lips descend on hers. A raging boil overtakes my body.

A horn honks.

My eyes leave the happy couple to land on my palm, which is smack in the center of the steering wheel. Removing my hand from the horn, I open my door, not even waiting for the valet to motion me forward. I toss him my keys and go to where I last saw Rinaldo and Ems. But they’ve already disappeared inside.

My legs eat up the ground from my Jeep to the front door, nary a papp glancing at me. Once inside, I give my eyes a second to adjust to the lighting and do a sweep of my surroundings. The marble two-story foyer entrance is lined with servers holding trays of different glasses. Flutes, pilsners, martinis. Pick your poison.

I choose a vodka martini and knock it back. Even though I’m supposed to be “on duty,” I need to take the edge off or I’m likely to do something stupid.

Walking into a huge room filled with people, I catch snippets of conversations as I circulate, trying to locate Ems.

“Great job.”

“She was so surprising.”

“Positive press.”

Whatever. I’m not here for the social atmosphere. I assess each person as non-threatening and move on. Finally. My eyes land on Emilie, who is surrounded by a group of people, mainly men. The director’s there too. So is Rinaldo.

I deposit my glass on a table and make my way toward her. No threats. Except for Rinaldo’s arm thrown over her shoulder.

When I get as close to her as I can—I’m her bodyguard after all—I circle around the group. All clear. Not that I expected any danger. I pull up to a wall behind Rinaldo. His hand is in constant motion. Playing with her hair. Caressing her shoulder. Dropping downward to her waist.

She steps away from him slightly. A covert move, but I noticed. Ignoring her reaction, his legs shift like he’s dribbling a soccer ball and rests when they’re hip to hip.

I can’t break his leg. It’s probably insured for ten million.

Emilie steps forward to attract the attention of a passing server and hands him her empty champagne flute. Rinaldo gives the server his glass, then takes both of her hands in his. With a flick of his wrists, he pulls her to him.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m next to them. Pitching my voice low, I warn him, “You can stop now, Rinaldo. There are no cameras in here.”

Emilie’s light touch to my shoulder calms my temper like an all-clear. “It is okay, Wills.” She leans toward me, whispering, “Some reporters were allowed in for a few minutes to write positive press about the movie. The director asked that we play up the fake romance angle to garner more interest in the film. It is all part of the business—a part I plan on leaving behind after tonight.”

My eyes close as I accept defeat. Opening them, I look directly at Rinaldo. “I’m right behind you,” I say, and then melt behind them. Where I belong.

I spend the next half-hour “holding up walls,” as FPU so derisively put it. When I can’t control images of dismembering the Spanish douche any longer, I choose to step away and clear my head.

On the patio, people mill around—talking, drinking, smoking. Probably doing other shit, too. Whatever. I run down the marble steps into a manicured lawn and inhale the fresh, clean LA air. At least the city’s equivalent.

I need to talk with Ems about her public appearances. I’m not a part of this lifestyle, and if we want to stay together, we have to find a way to make this work. Because it’s not working for me right now. At all.

I check my watch, surprised ten minutes have passed. Time for me to go back to my post.

Retracing my steps, I return to the main room. Rinaldo has a busty blonde draped all over him. Definitely not Ems. Although the change bodes well for his physical well-being.

Frowning, I search the room but don’t see Ems. The place has started to clear out, but Sally from the set stands by a table, chatting with a guy.

“Excuse me, Sally. I was wondering if you have seen Emilie recently?”

Sally’s face lights up when I address her. “Oh, Emilie is a miracle worker! She was just here a few minutes ago. She went in search of the ladies’ room. That way.” She points to yet another hallway off this room. What a maze.

“Thanks.”

Leaving them, I make my way in the direction she indicated. It’s dark. My brows pull together to a knot. It seems to be empty, too. The hallway curves to the right. As I head down to investigate, noises of a scuffle reach my ears.

I pick up my pace and turn the corner, only to find it dead ends behind another door. My heartrate increases. Whoever is behind the door is making a lot of noise. A man’s voice sifts through the air, but I cannot make out his words. My hand goes for the doorknob, but I hesitate. What if it’s some couple enjoying a bit of a role play?

“Allez-vous! Go away!”

My stomach tightens so fast I nearly double over. I’d know that French accent anywhere.

My hand flies to the doorknob, which opens without a struggle. Thank God. I burst through the doorway. Inside, Emilie shifts all her weight and propels her cupped hand forward, hitting the guy in front of her directly on his ear.

I blink in recognition. Wade Block.

He emits a howl of pain. Good. She takes a step but he springs at her, grabbing her ankle. She falls to the floor and he jumps on top of her. “I’ll make you pay,” he hisses, smacking her across the face.

I see red. Jumping into action, I pull the fucker off Ems. “Run, Ems. Go!” Without hesitation, she takes off toward the door.

Grabbing Wade Block around the back of his neck, I pull his head downward as I raise my knee to meet it. He grunts upon impact. Blood spurts as the cracking tells me I hit my target and broke his nose.

He stumbles backward. Not so fast, fucker. My fist meets his jaw, causing his head to snap backwards.

My fists connect with his torso, over and over, going for his kidneys. He tries to get off a punch, but I sidestep the feeble attempt. I left my post and this is what happens. I never should have let Rinaldo’s words—or FPU’s—get to me.

I failed. Again.

I keep wailing on this pitiful excuse for a human being. Pummeling it into a deflated punching bag. Before my eyes, the body on the floor becomes Starr. She stalked Cole and Rose, and killed Jared and Roberto. My fists continue to hit their mark.

“Wills. Wills. Stop it, Wills. He is out cold!”

Something pulls at my pulsing bicep, trying to divert me from my target. Panting, I flip my arm up and around, freeing myself. Another pull. I form a fist and twist toward whatever is trying to stop me.

“Wills!”

My arm freezes mid-air. My breathing stops.

Emilie.

Oh, God, what have I done?

Blinking rapidly, I drop both of my arms. Emilie shakes and calls out my name. A bloodied Wade Block lies on the floor, unmoving. My ears start to buzz. From the doorway, several new voices enter the room. I’m a savage animal, bent over the prone body of my prey, splattered with blood and blinded by rage.

“What’s going on?”

Rinaldo rushes in. The buzzing in my ears grows louder and louder. Emilie takes both of my hands in hers.

I’m not good enough for her to touch. I’m worse than my father ever could have imagined. I’m the lowest form of scum. My demons have won. “No,” I say, staggering away.

Rinaldo pulls Emilie away from me and asks, “Emilie. Are you okay? What did this guy do to you?”

Her eyes are huge and her whole body trembles. “I am fine. Wade,” she points to the asshole on the floor. She continues to talk but the buzzing in my head overtakes all other sounds in the room. I flex my fist, my knuckles already aching.

Wade Block could’ve raped her. Or killed her. On my watch. Just like Three. And Roberto. And Jared. Worse—my own fist could’ve landed on her.

Emilie appears at my side again, trying to get my attention. “Wills. Are you hurt? Talk to me.”

A bruise from where Wade Block smacked her already forms on her cheek. I shake my head. Will I ever be okay again? “I was wrong. He was right. They were right.”

“You are not making sense. I think you are in shock.” She turns her head and addresses someone else in the room. “He should go to the hospital.”

How can she care about me now? Not only did I allow that fucker to corner her, I almost hit her. I stumble backward. Rinaldo opens his arms and says, “Come here, Emmie.”

I continue backing away from the scene in front of me. On the floor, Wade Block groans, turns over and retches.

“This way.” Two cops enter the room and head toward Emilie. Shortly, paramedics wheel in a stretcher and circle the perp. Victim. Of my unstoppable rage.

Another paramedic approaches me. “Sir, let me check you out.”

I remain immobile except for my head shaking negative. I don’t deserve attention.

“Please, Wills, let them take a look at you.”

Emilie’s hands are on my dry cheeks, tears are on hers. I remove them from my face. “Don’t cry. I don’t deserve it.” I almost hit you. I know, once and for all, that my father pegged me right from the beginning.

Wade Block is loaded onto the gurney and wheeled out. One of the paramedics approaches me. “Sir, you need to get checked out.” A police officer stands directly behind him.

Maybe if I agree to the ambulance, Emilie will let me go. She can get back together with Rinaldo or something. Live a happy life in the limelight. My stomach twists at the thought, but I have absolutely no right to be with her anymore. I cause everything I love to die. No exceptions. No hope for change.

Addressing the paramedic, I say, “Fine.”

Without sparing Emilie another look, I follow him to a corner of the room. When the paramedic finishes checking me out—cleaning the blood off my fists, which really start aching—he declares I don’t need to go to the hospital. Most of the blood wasn’t mine.

One of the cops joins us. I give him my statement, explaining that I’m Emilie’s boyfr—bodyguard. That I let her out of my sight, which allowed Wade Block to attack her. His eyebrow raises. Even though he doesn’t say anything, I know exactly what he’s thinking. And I agree. I’m a failure.

I end my statement with, “This is my final assignment.”

Emilie joins our unholy trio, placing her tiny hand on my forearm. “Let me take you home.”

I shake my head. “Go home, Emilie.”

The other cop joins us. “I got the statement from Miss Dubois and we may need to follow-up with you tomorrow. You’re free to go. However, we need to take you down to the station, Mr. Sumner.”

My hand throbs in response. I deserve this punishment. And worse. So much worse.