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ꜱɪᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ, ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ 「ᵃ ᴮᵉⁿⁿʸQ & ᴾⁱⁿᵏ. ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ」
- Thread starter Pink.
- Start date
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
It didn't take long for the vans to start filling the parking lot, camera crews and paparazzi getting as close to the building as they could. Something like this wouldn't normally stir such a focus of attention, a celebrity hiring a bodyguard? It all happened behind the scenes, arranged by agents and assistants and was expected to some degree, but it was circumstance that drove this slurry of attention.
Disturbed fan mail came with the job description. It was easy for people to become attached to certain celebrities, and it was even easier for the unhinged to become obsessed. The lack of empathy from the public caused most celebrities to detach themselves from the public entirely, but the degree to which Kennedy Monroe was experiencing this attention was starting to cause a stir. Initially, she'd received letters, the messages increasingly disturbed, and then flowers, chocolates, and Polaroids of parts of her admirers face, up-close, washed out, and difficult to discern any actual features. It was creepy, but it wasn't anything bad enough to warrant a response. But then the pictures started to arrive. Pictures of her during her daily life, getting groceries, shopping for a new couch, meeting her cousin for lunch, taken close and taken without her knowledge. Her agent filed a police report and they turned over all her fan mail to them for the investigation, but there was little the police could do other than recommend she update her home security system and report anything new that shows up. A week later she found the USB drive.
She had been in New York at the time, doing a talk show circuit to promote her new role as the face of a highly anticipated franchise. She had returned to her hotel room and found the drive sitting center of her pillow. When she plugged it into her laptop she found a video file titled "Hello" and clicked on it, and watched as a masked man clicked on a video camera in front of the mirror of her bathroom. In her home. In LA. He waved at the camera through the reflection. All black clothes, ski mask, sunglasses, gloves, every inch of skin and thread of hair covered. They could only really estimate his height and build, but within a window that still had a lot of room for error. Kennedy fell into a spiral of anxiety and paranoia. She stayed with her boyfriend at the time, seeking some sense of safety while simultaneously fulfilling that role of up and coming actress in-love with her costar interest that fueled the online chatter of their onscreen and off screen chemistry, but in truth he'd done little to ease her worries. She never quite felt like she wasn't under some sort of threat, so after having an entirely new state-of-the-art system installed and an officer posted outside her house for two days she finally moved back in to her own place.
Things remained quiet for a little while, and slowly she started to feel confident in her own home again ...
... until two nights ago.
Disturbed fan mail came with the job description. It was easy for people to become attached to certain celebrities, and it was even easier for the unhinged to become obsessed. The lack of empathy from the public caused most celebrities to detach themselves from the public entirely, but the degree to which Kennedy Monroe was experiencing this attention was starting to cause a stir. Initially, she'd received letters, the messages increasingly disturbed, and then flowers, chocolates, and Polaroids of parts of her admirers face, up-close, washed out, and difficult to discern any actual features. It was creepy, but it wasn't anything bad enough to warrant a response. But then the pictures started to arrive. Pictures of her during her daily life, getting groceries, shopping for a new couch, meeting her cousin for lunch, taken close and taken without her knowledge. Her agent filed a police report and they turned over all her fan mail to them for the investigation, but there was little the police could do other than recommend she update her home security system and report anything new that shows up. A week later she found the USB drive.
She had been in New York at the time, doing a talk show circuit to promote her new role as the face of a highly anticipated franchise. She had returned to her hotel room and found the drive sitting center of her pillow. When she plugged it into her laptop she found a video file titled "Hello" and clicked on it, and watched as a masked man clicked on a video camera in front of the mirror of her bathroom. In her home. In LA. He waved at the camera through the reflection. All black clothes, ski mask, sunglasses, gloves, every inch of skin and thread of hair covered. They could only really estimate his height and build, but within a window that still had a lot of room for error. Kennedy fell into a spiral of anxiety and paranoia. She stayed with her boyfriend at the time, seeking some sense of safety while simultaneously fulfilling that role of up and coming actress in-love with her costar interest that fueled the online chatter of their onscreen and off screen chemistry, but in truth he'd done little to ease her worries. She never quite felt like she wasn't under some sort of threat, so after having an entirely new state-of-the-art system installed and an officer posted outside her house for two days she finally moved back in to her own place.
Things remained quiet for a little while, and slowly she started to feel confident in her own home again ...
... until two nights ago.
"How long is this going to take?"
Kennedy paced near the corner of the room, tucked away from windows and dressed in what the rich and famous would consider inconspicuous: an oversized hat, large sunglasses, and multiple layers of scarves and cardigans that helped hide her petite shape. She wore ballet flats, a stark difference to the six inch heels she was normally captured in, knowing most expected to find the actress on the average or tall side of the height spectrum, but in actuality she was hardly 5'2". A little over a decade of carefully cultivating the persona of Kennedy Monroe in the public eye was allowing Holle Monroe Katzen, the young drama geek from Kohler, Wisconsin (a small nearly unknown village outside of Milwaukee not otherwise worth mentioning), to return to existence, but she felt clunky and out of sorts like her own skin didn't fit anymore. She'd started to become Kennedy Monroe, Hollywood Starlet and beloved American Sweetheart and lose those parts of herself that were distinctly Holle.
It was easy to do when there wasn't any family left and any friends she had made had long since abandoned her.
No one left to tell stories of the boisterous and fearless girl in school who challenged small town mindsets and fought ferociously against the box they tried to push her into.
"We're going to meet your new bodyguard, go over everything we know with them, and figure it out from there. Your interview with Drew Barrymore isn't until this evening, so we have plenty of time."
She exhaled a shallow breath from her nose as she looked out the window to the parking lot from the corner, keeping herself as out-of-sight as possible.
Kennedy paced near the corner of the room, tucked away from windows and dressed in what the rich and famous would consider inconspicuous: an oversized hat, large sunglasses, and multiple layers of scarves and cardigans that helped hide her petite shape. She wore ballet flats, a stark difference to the six inch heels she was normally captured in, knowing most expected to find the actress on the average or tall side of the height spectrum, but in actuality she was hardly 5'2". A little over a decade of carefully cultivating the persona of Kennedy Monroe in the public eye was allowing Holle Monroe Katzen, the young drama geek from Kohler, Wisconsin (a small nearly unknown village outside of Milwaukee not otherwise worth mentioning), to return to existence, but she felt clunky and out of sorts like her own skin didn't fit anymore. She'd started to become Kennedy Monroe, Hollywood Starlet and beloved American Sweetheart and lose those parts of herself that were distinctly Holle.
It was easy to do when there wasn't any family left and any friends she had made had long since abandoned her.
No one left to tell stories of the boisterous and fearless girl in school who challenged small town mindsets and fought ferociously against the box they tried to push her into.
"We're going to meet your new bodyguard, go over everything we know with them, and figure it out from there. Your interview with Drew Barrymore isn't until this evening, so we have plenty of time."
She exhaled a shallow breath from her nose as she looked out the window to the parking lot from the corner, keeping herself as out-of-sight as possible.
That's not what I'm worried about.
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Where the fuck did all these people come from?
The driver laid into the horn to get the singularly focused paparazzi out of the way, as the tinted-windows black 2022 Lincoln Navigator tried to maneuver through the crowded compound. This was to be a routine meet with the new client but it might seem as if their job had started prematurely. What a crowd, what a chaotic mess of people. Could easily be a troublemaker or two disguised in the throng of people. He could see it everywhere, suspecting every face, both interested and non-attentive expressions, that there could be a danger lurking therein. That was what he had come to do and be good at. But coincidences it seemed always tried to pull him away. There was no hiding from the past. And this circumstance was arising from a very shallow grave.
Within the vehicle were four men in tailored suits. Palantir Security was scrawled across the sides of their vehicle in bold lettering and soon the attention of the camera crews and industry reporters were upon them. Palantir Security! Looks like the Monroe camp was really shilling out a pretty penny for such exquisite protection. It was an international security firm, with a presence in over a dozen major nations, boasting enough armed personnel and contractors to invade a smaller country. Its roster was drawn from the very best, from law enforcement, to the military, and even mercenaries on occasion. The media ridiculed themselves as the average conscience-lacking corporate goon. But the firm was genuinely an organization selling what they knew how to do best. Protect.
It was a polite way of putting their business, much like how many civilized nations changed the name of the governmental department that ran the military, from being related to War to Defense. It was no different with security firms. They were hired to protect. In truth, they contracted bigger and more ruthless individuals to prosecute the elimination of whatever threat was needling the minds of their employers. And it didn’t matter if it was for a pop star. Her money was green, and however ridiculous the case seemed, they intended to do their best.
Their vehicle finally made it to the front and what seemed like Monroe staff was able to beat back the paparazzi a little. At least let the meeting happen before they tried to report on it. The two men in the front got out, to open the doors in the rear. First stepped out Arellano Cortez, Vice President of Palantir Security. On the other side, one of his top security supervisors. She would be able to see him from the windows if she was still looking. Thomas Moreland. Sunglasses, a sharp suit, and pursed lips, he turned away from the rush of reporters trying to get a statement and joined his elderly boss as they made their way into the building.
Going to go meet Kennedy Monroe. Pop star sensation. She could sing. She could act. She looked amazing in front of the cameras, both still and moving. Small town phenomena. Miss U.S. of A. And a host of other accolades that Thomas pretended like he was above noticing. Never mind those many nights years ago where he lay insomniac in bed, browsing through her entire career, from every article to clips and videos on the internet. Thomas knew who they were going to meet and none of the flash and style moved him. Kennedy Monroe? A fake name, albeit rather ingenious. Of course, only he could appreciate it, as he knew where those names came from. He knew who she was really was though. I remember you…Holle.
And other names besides. He told Mr. Cortez about this connection the other day. Thomas said it would be a conflict of interest. His boss had just given him a wry smile and hit him with the ole you’re supposed to have an interest in conflict line. And so here Thomas was, about to protect and follow, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, a woman he had once known very well. Very, very well. And yet hadn't spoken to in a long, long time.
They were here. Despite looking as collected as a cup of water, Thomas felt his insides a raging inferno of bouncing emotions. It was nothing. She probably wouldn’t even recognize him or care that it was him. She was rich and famous, almost right out of high school, years and years ago. He had been off in the military and hardly had a presence in their old circles for just as long. They were virtual strangers to one another.
”Hey, how you doin’?” Mr. Cortez greeted one of Kennedy’s agents outside the meeting room, shaking hands.
”Mr. Cortez, Mr. Moreland, welcome. Nico Jovic, I’m one of Kennedy Monroe’s reps.” The agent introduced himself, shaking hands with Thomas next and then giving Thomas a curious once over. So this is the guy, huh? I suppose he’d look good in front of the cameras, shadowing Kennedy like a…well, a shadow. An unhappy shadow, a dark cloud, on a sunny day. But very serious people that Nico took very seriously said to believe that these men were good at what they did, so he accepted it. ”Please, come on in. Ms. Monroe is waiting for you.”
”Thank you.” Mr. Cortez said and moved to enter into the meeting room. Nico smiled and gestured for Thomas to follow, while Nico brought up the rear and shut the door. He said Ms. Monroe, not Mrs… But it was too late to ponder that. Now they were in the same room…as her. But he was trained security. An exterior of outward apathy was his go-to expression.
Even with the bummed out clothing, Thomas knew at once it was her. Mr. Cortez was smooth though. ”Ah, Ms. Monroe, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said, coming over to shake her hand, Thomas a little slower to do so. ”My daughters are huge, huge fans. My phone is blowing up with threats from them, if anything should happen to you. I might need to hire my own security, eh? We're going to take care of you.” He said with a teasing smile to Kennedy. Any chance for anonymity for Thomas was gone in the next second.
”This is the one I told your staff about, Supervisor Thomas Moreland.” Mr. Cortez introduced his companion. Thomas forgot how to breathe but he remained rigid and solid, taking off his sunglasses to put them in a breast pocket. He offered his hand to Kennedy – Holle – to shake.
He decided he would take the first shot. ”Long time.” He just said in greeting, extending his hand. Did she remember him, now a famous starlet? Or was he just another peon. Well fuck that, I’m nobody’s pawn anymore. And now no answer she could give would be perfect enough.
The driver laid into the horn to get the singularly focused paparazzi out of the way, as the tinted-windows black 2022 Lincoln Navigator tried to maneuver through the crowded compound. This was to be a routine meet with the new client but it might seem as if their job had started prematurely. What a crowd, what a chaotic mess of people. Could easily be a troublemaker or two disguised in the throng of people. He could see it everywhere, suspecting every face, both interested and non-attentive expressions, that there could be a danger lurking therein. That was what he had come to do and be good at. But coincidences it seemed always tried to pull him away. There was no hiding from the past. And this circumstance was arising from a very shallow grave.
Within the vehicle were four men in tailored suits. Palantir Security was scrawled across the sides of their vehicle in bold lettering and soon the attention of the camera crews and industry reporters were upon them. Palantir Security! Looks like the Monroe camp was really shilling out a pretty penny for such exquisite protection. It was an international security firm, with a presence in over a dozen major nations, boasting enough armed personnel and contractors to invade a smaller country. Its roster was drawn from the very best, from law enforcement, to the military, and even mercenaries on occasion. The media ridiculed themselves as the average conscience-lacking corporate goon. But the firm was genuinely an organization selling what they knew how to do best. Protect.
It was a polite way of putting their business, much like how many civilized nations changed the name of the governmental department that ran the military, from being related to War to Defense. It was no different with security firms. They were hired to protect. In truth, they contracted bigger and more ruthless individuals to prosecute the elimination of whatever threat was needling the minds of their employers. And it didn’t matter if it was for a pop star. Her money was green, and however ridiculous the case seemed, they intended to do their best.
Their vehicle finally made it to the front and what seemed like Monroe staff was able to beat back the paparazzi a little. At least let the meeting happen before they tried to report on it. The two men in the front got out, to open the doors in the rear. First stepped out Arellano Cortez, Vice President of Palantir Security. On the other side, one of his top security supervisors. She would be able to see him from the windows if she was still looking. Thomas Moreland. Sunglasses, a sharp suit, and pursed lips, he turned away from the rush of reporters trying to get a statement and joined his elderly boss as they made their way into the building.
Going to go meet Kennedy Monroe. Pop star sensation. She could sing. She could act. She looked amazing in front of the cameras, both still and moving. Small town phenomena. Miss U.S. of A. And a host of other accolades that Thomas pretended like he was above noticing. Never mind those many nights years ago where he lay insomniac in bed, browsing through her entire career, from every article to clips and videos on the internet. Thomas knew who they were going to meet and none of the flash and style moved him. Kennedy Monroe? A fake name, albeit rather ingenious. Of course, only he could appreciate it, as he knew where those names came from. He knew who she was really was though. I remember you…Holle.
And other names besides. He told Mr. Cortez about this connection the other day. Thomas said it would be a conflict of interest. His boss had just given him a wry smile and hit him with the ole you’re supposed to have an interest in conflict line. And so here Thomas was, about to protect and follow, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, a woman he had once known very well. Very, very well. And yet hadn't spoken to in a long, long time.
They were here. Despite looking as collected as a cup of water, Thomas felt his insides a raging inferno of bouncing emotions. It was nothing. She probably wouldn’t even recognize him or care that it was him. She was rich and famous, almost right out of high school, years and years ago. He had been off in the military and hardly had a presence in their old circles for just as long. They were virtual strangers to one another.
”Hey, how you doin’?” Mr. Cortez greeted one of Kennedy’s agents outside the meeting room, shaking hands.
”Mr. Cortez, Mr. Moreland, welcome. Nico Jovic, I’m one of Kennedy Monroe’s reps.” The agent introduced himself, shaking hands with Thomas next and then giving Thomas a curious once over. So this is the guy, huh? I suppose he’d look good in front of the cameras, shadowing Kennedy like a…well, a shadow. An unhappy shadow, a dark cloud, on a sunny day. But very serious people that Nico took very seriously said to believe that these men were good at what they did, so he accepted it. ”Please, come on in. Ms. Monroe is waiting for you.”
”Thank you.” Mr. Cortez said and moved to enter into the meeting room. Nico smiled and gestured for Thomas to follow, while Nico brought up the rear and shut the door. He said Ms. Monroe, not Mrs… But it was too late to ponder that. Now they were in the same room…as her. But he was trained security. An exterior of outward apathy was his go-to expression.
Even with the bummed out clothing, Thomas knew at once it was her. Mr. Cortez was smooth though. ”Ah, Ms. Monroe, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said, coming over to shake her hand, Thomas a little slower to do so. ”My daughters are huge, huge fans. My phone is blowing up with threats from them, if anything should happen to you. I might need to hire my own security, eh? We're going to take care of you.” He said with a teasing smile to Kennedy. Any chance for anonymity for Thomas was gone in the next second.
”This is the one I told your staff about, Supervisor Thomas Moreland.” Mr. Cortez introduced his companion. Thomas forgot how to breathe but he remained rigid and solid, taking off his sunglasses to put them in a breast pocket. He offered his hand to Kennedy – Holle – to shake.
He decided he would take the first shot. ”Long time.” He just said in greeting, extending his hand. Did she remember him, now a famous starlet? Or was he just another peon. Well fuck that, I’m nobody’s pawn anymore. And now no answer she could give would be perfect enough.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
"They're here."
She turned from the window as soon as the black vehicles came into view, announced by the blaring horn and cacophony of shouts and shutters. She felt the nausea rising from the bottom of her belly like a slow leak, persistent and ominous as she moved past the conference table and black mesh chairs that adorned the center of the room and reached for a bottle of water on the buffet table pressed against the back. Vika had seen that it was supplied with Kennedy's refreshments for the meeting. Chilled glass bottles of water, a carafe of coffee with accompanying sweeteners and creams, electric kettle and array of tea bags, as well as an array of pastries and fruit.
Kennedy could feel her heart beating in her throat and her hand trembled as she twisted the cap off the top of the bottle and took a sip. Nico left the room to greet the newcomers, leaving Vika and Jakob– pronounced Yakob– to assure the young starlet of her safety. Her team continued to assure her it would all work out, the company would launch their own investigation into the stalker and she would be under constant protection by their top available agent, someone with a long list of military accolades and a personal recommendation from the president of Palantir himself.
Perfectly safe.
She told them as long as it didn't interfere with her career. She didn't have anything else.
The sound of the door opening was quickly followed by a tenor greeting her with well-practiced charm. She turned to face the approaching man with a smile, and froze.
Behind him stood Tommy.
abcdef My daughters are huge, huge fans–
abcdefgHe looked good.
abcdefghijklmMy phone is blowing up with threats from them–
abcdefghijklmnHarder around the edges than she remembered.
abcdefghijklmnopqrstif anything should happen to you–
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuHad he always been so tall?
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzI might need to hire my own security, eh–
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzThis couldn't be happening…
Her gaze had returned to Arellano Cortez when he had spoken of his daughters, but she couldn't help but feel her focus drift to the blurred silhouette of the familiar person behind him. The last time she had seen Tommy she had left in tears, heartbroken and angry. She had thought about reaching out to him so many times to explain herself, explain what had happened, but her anger and her hurt lasted for a very long time, and by the time she had her first inkling of reaching out she was upset that he hadn't reached out to her. Eventually, over time, the thoughts of him faded from her mind, until now.
Long time.
He towered over her, large hand extended to greet her like an old acquaintance. She bristled.
"Is it?"
Three quick steps took her around Thomas and his outstretched hand to the table where she settled in a chair beside Vika, looking at her phone briefly before she lifted her smile and her gaze to Mr. Cortez.
"I appreciate your daughters' enthusiasm, what are their names?" She grasped the sharpie Vika handed her and uncapped it before two portraits of her as her titular character were placed on the table in front of her, signing brief messages and her name for both of them before capping the sharpie and sliding the autographs toward the older gentleman.
"Please pass along my gratitude to them."
Vika shared a look with Nico before turning her attention back to the security agents in the room, gesturing for the men to take their seats with a practiced smile.
"Please, gentlemen, take a seat and let's begin. I assume you have all read the file delivered to your office Tuesday?"
She turned from the window as soon as the black vehicles came into view, announced by the blaring horn and cacophony of shouts and shutters. She felt the nausea rising from the bottom of her belly like a slow leak, persistent and ominous as she moved past the conference table and black mesh chairs that adorned the center of the room and reached for a bottle of water on the buffet table pressed against the back. Vika had seen that it was supplied with Kennedy's refreshments for the meeting. Chilled glass bottles of water, a carafe of coffee with accompanying sweeteners and creams, electric kettle and array of tea bags, as well as an array of pastries and fruit.
Kennedy could feel her heart beating in her throat and her hand trembled as she twisted the cap off the top of the bottle and took a sip. Nico left the room to greet the newcomers, leaving Vika and Jakob– pronounced Yakob– to assure the young starlet of her safety. Her team continued to assure her it would all work out, the company would launch their own investigation into the stalker and she would be under constant protection by their top available agent, someone with a long list of military accolades and a personal recommendation from the president of Palantir himself.
Perfectly safe.
She told them as long as it didn't interfere with her career. She didn't have anything else.
The sound of the door opening was quickly followed by a tenor greeting her with well-practiced charm. She turned to face the approaching man with a smile, and froze.
Behind him stood Tommy.
abcdef My daughters are huge, huge fans–
abcdefgHe looked good.
abcdefghijklmMy phone is blowing up with threats from them–
abcdefghijklmnHarder around the edges than she remembered.
abcdefghijklmnopqrstif anything should happen to you–
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuHad he always been so tall?
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzI might need to hire my own security, eh–
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzThis couldn't be happening…
Her gaze had returned to Arellano Cortez when he had spoken of his daughters, but she couldn't help but feel her focus drift to the blurred silhouette of the familiar person behind him. The last time she had seen Tommy she had left in tears, heartbroken and angry. She had thought about reaching out to him so many times to explain herself, explain what had happened, but her anger and her hurt lasted for a very long time, and by the time she had her first inkling of reaching out she was upset that he hadn't reached out to her. Eventually, over time, the thoughts of him faded from her mind, until now.
This is the one I told your staff about, Supervisor Thomas Moreland.
Long time.
He towered over her, large hand extended to greet her like an old acquaintance. She bristled.
"Is it?"
Three quick steps took her around Thomas and his outstretched hand to the table where she settled in a chair beside Vika, looking at her phone briefly before she lifted her smile and her gaze to Mr. Cortez.
"I appreciate your daughters' enthusiasm, what are their names?" She grasped the sharpie Vika handed her and uncapped it before two portraits of her as her titular character were placed on the table in front of her, signing brief messages and her name for both of them before capping the sharpie and sliding the autographs toward the older gentleman.
"Please pass along my gratitude to them."
Vika shared a look with Nico before turning her attention back to the security agents in the room, gesturing for the men to take their seats with a practiced smile.
"Please, gentlemen, take a seat and let's begin. I assume you have all read the file delivered to your office Tuesday?"
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Long time…
Is it?
The question struck him harder than a hammer blow to the chest. Cold, icy realization washed all over his heart and mind in that moment. Is it? Not to her, clearly, as she left his hand hanging there with hardly a touch or a look, moving past him to speak to his boss. She…didn’t remember him. She didn’t even think about him. Not the way he had, all those long, empty years between their last parting and this fateful moment. Nothing. It had only been him. Him alone. Like a fool. Like an idiot. A lovestruck, heart-aching idiot. Of course, you moron, she wouldn’t think of you, when she had all the opulence and options available in her life…
And never mind she had a current flame as well.
Thomas was left hanging and shut his hand into a fist with pursed lips as he turned and watched Schatzi leave him in the dust to choke on his own emotion as she engaged so easily with his boss. Thomas kept things in stride, silently moving to take his place beside Mr. Cortez, who smiled kindly at the young popstar. ”Marta and Marcela. Nineteen and fourteen.” He explained lightly, as the autographs were signed and passed over. Thomas marveled at how easily Mr. Cortez could act, his greying eyebrows piquing in curiosity and amusement at the autographed pictures. They had indeed been looking at this very picture of Kennedy Monroe for weeks in preparation for this brief, but always with the perspective of a bulleyes target placed upon it, not an elegant signature.
”They’ll love this.” Mr. Cortez said, placing the autographs aside with hardly a second thought. Because now, it was on to business. Everyone sat and the world seemed a far, removed thing in that moment. For Thomas at least, seated across Schatzi. Staring intensely, as if he might read her mind through her bright, keen eyes. What did you mean…is it?
”We have received the file and reviewed it. Supervisor Moreland here will deliver our security brief.” Mr. Cortez answered Vika, gesturing to Thomas, who never took his eyes off of her.
For a second, there was silence, as if Thomas missed his cue. Look at her…just so…aloof. She really didn’t know him? When he thought of her all the time? No, he had to let it go. People changed. They grew. They moved beyond. ”So, we’ve been informed of these pictures and messaging regarding your safety,” Thomas began slowly, his cadence slow, deliberate, strong, ”we like at this moment to brief you on the standard precautions, routines and safety hazards to look out for, followed up by an action plan going forward on how I’m going to keep you safe.” Thomas said, emphasizing his personal role in what would be taking place. Him, at her side, almost twenty-four/seven, guarding her person, being in her space, being all up in her business.
His eyes bore into her. They didn’t seem to blink or waver. ”Whoever is behind this clearly has access to your living spaces, your work schedules, a general awareness of your means of living, so we should take this with the utmost seriousness that your very life is in danger. Endangerment of that kind generally falls into four categories; bullets, bombs, poisoning, and…accidents.” Thomas began to explain tirelessly. And they had protections against all of that. Well, most of that.
”There’s also throttling, garroting, disemboweling, ritual dismemberment and our personal favourite, needle in the umbrella jabbed into your thigh,” Mr. Cortez cut in with a morbid smile, ”but those have become increasingly rare in these modern days.” And they were covered for those as well.
”Accidents is probably what we're going to have to look out for most. We can start with various changes in how you carry yourself, how you go through life.” Thomas picked up without missing a beat. ”Small changes to start with. For example, avoiding crowds unless absolutely necessary, avoiding windows with clear line of sight from large structures,” Thomas turned to indicate the windows around the room.
”We have ballistic fibre curtains which will be installed in all your residences.” Mr. Cortez added with a lazy wave of his hand. He wouldn’t be doing any of that, it would all be Thomas doing that.
”-Never answering the door yourself, being wary of any gifts of food or other edible items, not keeping your car windows open and especially important, when driving, never pull up to an intersection on the pavement side. We don’t want your would-be kidnapper jumping in the car and taking you off at gunpoint, yes?” Thomas asked, but it was rhetorical and tireless, he kept on talking. Because when he stopped talking, she would get to talk. ”And if you are driving and another vehicle seeks to block your progress, try to ram near the front or back end, never in the middle.” Of course, when did Kennedy Monroe drive her own vehicle?
”And if for whatever reason you are walking, never walk on the outside edge of any sidewalk next to a road and stay away from the edges at any train or subway platforms. And electrical appliances. Try and use them as least as possible. A little tinkering and-“ Thomas snapped his fingers, loudly, ”that’s game over for you. Which leads to our action plan, we’ll be conducting a do-over of all your residences. New locks, alarms, twenty-four hour patrol schedules by local staff and our own personnel, phone taps…” Thomas surmised, all of which would be overseen by him. They would have to bug her phone, since her stalker had access to it already. An old ex-boyfriend, being able to see her messages and hear her calls in real time…
”You have any questions so far, Ms. Monroe?” Thomas then inquired, fixing his unblinking, dark eyes on the smaller woman.
Is it?
The question struck him harder than a hammer blow to the chest. Cold, icy realization washed all over his heart and mind in that moment. Is it? Not to her, clearly, as she left his hand hanging there with hardly a touch or a look, moving past him to speak to his boss. She…didn’t remember him. She didn’t even think about him. Not the way he had, all those long, empty years between their last parting and this fateful moment. Nothing. It had only been him. Him alone. Like a fool. Like an idiot. A lovestruck, heart-aching idiot. Of course, you moron, she wouldn’t think of you, when she had all the opulence and options available in her life…
And never mind she had a current flame as well.
Thomas was left hanging and shut his hand into a fist with pursed lips as he turned and watched Schatzi leave him in the dust to choke on his own emotion as she engaged so easily with his boss. Thomas kept things in stride, silently moving to take his place beside Mr. Cortez, who smiled kindly at the young popstar. ”Marta and Marcela. Nineteen and fourteen.” He explained lightly, as the autographs were signed and passed over. Thomas marveled at how easily Mr. Cortez could act, his greying eyebrows piquing in curiosity and amusement at the autographed pictures. They had indeed been looking at this very picture of Kennedy Monroe for weeks in preparation for this brief, but always with the perspective of a bulleyes target placed upon it, not an elegant signature.
”They’ll love this.” Mr. Cortez said, placing the autographs aside with hardly a second thought. Because now, it was on to business. Everyone sat and the world seemed a far, removed thing in that moment. For Thomas at least, seated across Schatzi. Staring intensely, as if he might read her mind through her bright, keen eyes. What did you mean…is it?
”We have received the file and reviewed it. Supervisor Moreland here will deliver our security brief.” Mr. Cortez answered Vika, gesturing to Thomas, who never took his eyes off of her.
For a second, there was silence, as if Thomas missed his cue. Look at her…just so…aloof. She really didn’t know him? When he thought of her all the time? No, he had to let it go. People changed. They grew. They moved beyond. ”So, we’ve been informed of these pictures and messaging regarding your safety,” Thomas began slowly, his cadence slow, deliberate, strong, ”we like at this moment to brief you on the standard precautions, routines and safety hazards to look out for, followed up by an action plan going forward on how I’m going to keep you safe.” Thomas said, emphasizing his personal role in what would be taking place. Him, at her side, almost twenty-four/seven, guarding her person, being in her space, being all up in her business.
His eyes bore into her. They didn’t seem to blink or waver. ”Whoever is behind this clearly has access to your living spaces, your work schedules, a general awareness of your means of living, so we should take this with the utmost seriousness that your very life is in danger. Endangerment of that kind generally falls into four categories; bullets, bombs, poisoning, and…accidents.” Thomas began to explain tirelessly. And they had protections against all of that. Well, most of that.
”There’s also throttling, garroting, disemboweling, ritual dismemberment and our personal favourite, needle in the umbrella jabbed into your thigh,” Mr. Cortez cut in with a morbid smile, ”but those have become increasingly rare in these modern days.” And they were covered for those as well.
”Accidents is probably what we're going to have to look out for most. We can start with various changes in how you carry yourself, how you go through life.” Thomas picked up without missing a beat. ”Small changes to start with. For example, avoiding crowds unless absolutely necessary, avoiding windows with clear line of sight from large structures,” Thomas turned to indicate the windows around the room.
”We have ballistic fibre curtains which will be installed in all your residences.” Mr. Cortez added with a lazy wave of his hand. He wouldn’t be doing any of that, it would all be Thomas doing that.
”-Never answering the door yourself, being wary of any gifts of food or other edible items, not keeping your car windows open and especially important, when driving, never pull up to an intersection on the pavement side. We don’t want your would-be kidnapper jumping in the car and taking you off at gunpoint, yes?” Thomas asked, but it was rhetorical and tireless, he kept on talking. Because when he stopped talking, she would get to talk. ”And if you are driving and another vehicle seeks to block your progress, try to ram near the front or back end, never in the middle.” Of course, when did Kennedy Monroe drive her own vehicle?
”And if for whatever reason you are walking, never walk on the outside edge of any sidewalk next to a road and stay away from the edges at any train or subway platforms. And electrical appliances. Try and use them as least as possible. A little tinkering and-“ Thomas snapped his fingers, loudly, ”that’s game over for you. Which leads to our action plan, we’ll be conducting a do-over of all your residences. New locks, alarms, twenty-four hour patrol schedules by local staff and our own personnel, phone taps…” Thomas surmised, all of which would be overseen by him. They would have to bug her phone, since her stalker had access to it already. An old ex-boyfriend, being able to see her messages and hear her calls in real time…
”You have any questions so far, Ms. Monroe?” Thomas then inquired, fixing his unblinking, dark eyes on the smaller woman.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
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Her head was swimming. One wrong move would throw her over the edge toward her undoing. Her fingers twisted in her lap, writhing and knotting together out of sight. How many times had he reached over and laid his hand atop hers until she settled when she got like this? How many times had he read this exact look in her eyes, this purse of her lips, the clench of her jaw, and anchored her before she spiraled? Sitting across from him now, there was no way he didn't know about the crescent moons she was pressing into the underside of her fingers and palms, the white knuckles that twisted and strained under the crushing pressure of her own anxiety. Each scenario he crisply and cruelly presented was another storm cloud on her horizon. She could feel the lightning crackling in the air, the smell of ozone and clap of thunder getting stronger–
Somewhere in Wisconsin, off the beaten path and carved into the side of a hideaway long ago abandoned, the sunlight filtered just right through the broken and rotting shudders to illuminate the only physical mark Holle left in this world. A memory whispered where did you find the knife?, and she heard a shadow responding this is how we remember.
Kennedy's gaze cleared, her head canted ever-so-slightly to the left as she took in Thomas staring at her, studying her, taking note of every crack in her armor. She inhaled a slow breath through her nose, taking her time to consider the weight of his inquiry, and allowed her gaze to drift to meet each of her team in turn, sharing a conversation understood only by themselves; so attune to one another that they need to only share expressions to read one another's thoughts and intentions. She returned her eyes to his and felt a pang of sadness. They'd once been able to do the same.
Now she could only speculate.
She shifted her weight in her chair and leaned forward, bringing her hands up to lace perfectly manicured fingers together as she rested her weight on her elbows and let the moment breathe for one more second, wanting to use this opportunity to prove she was steady. In control.
"I'm certain my team has done their best to explain how important it is that this mess doesn't affect my ability to fulfill my contracts, but I want to personally reiterate that under no circumstances will I allow this stalker to ruin everything I have worked for."
He'd spoken to her militantly, so she spoke to him plainly. There wasn't a waiver or tremble to her voice, and all traces of midwestern accent had vanished. Kennedy Monroe, rising star of Hollywood, recording artist, actress, and American sweetheart was speaking to him. Holle wasn't available. Vika spoke up then, quickly jumping ahead of the oncoming train and diverting attention by gesturing to Jakob who continued to sit quietly just one seat separate from the platinum blonde, his attention having been on Thomas since the jump.
"Of course, Miss Monroe. Jakob has given Mr. Moreland and Palantir's cyber security unit access to your personal and professional calendars, and they assured us prior to this meeting of their ability to protect you and stay out of your way, isn't that right Mr. Cortez?"
There was clear tension between Kennedy and Thomas, and so for none of the star's team knew why. Vika hated being in the dark, and prided herself on being ahead of the curve when it came to anything and everything involving her clients. This Thomas Moreland was a relative unknown, but nothing in his file given to them ahead of time by Palantir had indicated any history with Kennedy Monroe. Of course, she had neglected to ask the woman herself... a mistake she would not be making again.
Somewhere in Wisconsin, off the beaten path and carved into the side of a hideaway long ago abandoned, the sunlight filtered just right through the broken and rotting shudders to illuminate the only physical mark Holle left in this world. A memory whispered where did you find the knife?, and she heard a shadow responding this is how we remember.
✲--SNAP！✲
Kennedy's gaze cleared, her head canted ever-so-slightly to the left as she took in Thomas staring at her, studying her, taking note of every crack in her armor. She inhaled a slow breath through her nose, taking her time to consider the weight of his inquiry, and allowed her gaze to drift to meet each of her team in turn, sharing a conversation understood only by themselves; so attune to one another that they need to only share expressions to read one another's thoughts and intentions. She returned her eyes to his and felt a pang of sadness. They'd once been able to do the same.
Now she could only speculate.
She shifted her weight in her chair and leaned forward, bringing her hands up to lace perfectly manicured fingers together as she rested her weight on her elbows and let the moment breathe for one more second, wanting to use this opportunity to prove she was steady. In control.
"I'm certain my team has done their best to explain how important it is that this mess doesn't affect my ability to fulfill my contracts, but I want to personally reiterate that under no circumstances will I allow this stalker to ruin everything I have worked for."
He'd spoken to her militantly, so she spoke to him plainly. There wasn't a waiver or tremble to her voice, and all traces of midwestern accent had vanished. Kennedy Monroe, rising star of Hollywood, recording artist, actress, and American sweetheart was speaking to him. Holle wasn't available. Vika spoke up then, quickly jumping ahead of the oncoming train and diverting attention by gesturing to Jakob who continued to sit quietly just one seat separate from the platinum blonde, his attention having been on Thomas since the jump.
"Of course, Miss Monroe. Jakob has given Mr. Moreland and Palantir's cyber security unit access to your personal and professional calendars, and they assured us prior to this meeting of their ability to protect you and stay out of your way, isn't that right Mr. Cortez?"
There was clear tension between Kennedy and Thomas, and so for none of the star's team knew why. Vika hated being in the dark, and prided herself on being ahead of the curve when it came to anything and everything involving her clients. This Thomas Moreland was a relative unknown, but nothing in his file given to them ahead of time by Palantir had indicated any history with Kennedy Monroe. Of course, she had neglected to ask the woman herself... a mistake she would not be making again.
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He couldn’t read the look in her eyes.
Seems to be a power he had lost over the long years, bereft of her presence. Thomas was torn between feeling like he knew everything about her and yet knowing nothing about her. She had changed too much. And his perception of her was outdated and obsolete. She was the worst kind of security aspect. She was unpredictable. She was an unknown variable. Before they had been shoulder to shoulder. Now they sat apart, opposed to one another, their postures a perfect reflection of challenge and stubbornness. Thomas refused to look away. He would not blink. He would miss nothing now.
Kennedy Monroe, America’s newest, little sweetheart, so selfless and brave, thinking only of her ability to fulfill her obligations to her audience and her fans. No concern about her well-being. All Palantir Security had to do was maintain her schedule. Isn’t that right, Mr. Cortez. ”Well, that work-life balance is entirely up to you, ma’am.” Mr. Cortez answered in a tired voice. Indeed, if Kennedy Monroe wanted to risk her life by putting herself out there, she may. If she wanted to hole up in a bunker until the perpetrator was caught and punished, she could do that too. And everything in between. Palantir Security was there to help.
And that was it. There was no more that could be discussed. Kennedy Monroe, the brand, would accept the help and offer of Palantir Security. Supervisor Thomas Moreland would spearhead the effort. The meeting was adjourned and the two parties separated for a brief time.
But barely a day would pass before Thomas was back in her life again. With his security team. Thomas would personally work twelve to fourteen hours, covering Kennedy Monroe’s waking hours from morning until sleep, with the others switching off in teams of two every eight hours. They spent those first day prepping Kennedy’s local residence with various measures. They installed security cameras, set up a guard house with video feeds, set up alarms and pass phrases, patrolled the perimeter, set up motion sensors, and basically inspected every corner and nook of her room. Yes, including her bedroom. At least Thomas had female security personnel go through Kennedy’s things, make sure there was no bugs or hidden cameras that they didn’t install themselves.
At night, Thomas painstakingly put his own trackers in all of her shoes. Sometimes the left, sometimes the right, using intricate tools to peel off the soles, stick the electronic bug in, then reseal the sole with a quality to match the actual shoemaker. The tradecraft and expertise of a good security guard was knowing a bunch of little trades like this.
Then came her first public appearance since the meeting. Television interview. The Drew Barrymore Show! Supervisor Thomas and another guard, Headley Kose, would be driving Kennedy Monroe and any other of her staff to the locale. Despite being in her presence much, they had not yet been alone. There was always someone else nearby… Preventing the reunion, preventing any reminiscing, or a walk down memory lane. But every now and again, Thomas would find himself peering at Kennedy Monroe. At Holle Katsen. Little Schatzi. She had grown so much and Thomas didn’t mean height or appearance wise. Emotionally and intelligently. She might even catch him looking at her, for long periods of time. And he unashamedly kept on looking.
The TV studio was bustling. The stage was pristine, along with the backdrop, and the little rug with a table set between two comfortable couches. Of course, if Kennedy Monroe’s team wanted a different seating arrangement, they had all sorts of chairs of different sizes and styles to accommodate her. Everywhere else though was a mess of wires, cables, and equipment, for recording video, sound, everything. The studio of course was uneasy with outside security personnel doing a sweep of their location but their own security personnel, whom Thomas considered the equivalent of mall cops, politely stood by while him and his team secured the perimeter and ran background checks on the crew. Without their consent or knowledge. He might look paranoid and overcautious, but Thomas did his job well. And he knew, just one slip up, one drop of his zealotry in this matter, could lead to very mortal consequences for his query.
When all was done, Thomas stood behind the lead camera and waited. The star of the hour and Barrymore must still be in wardrobe and make up, in the dressing rooms nearby. One of his men was outside Kennedy’s door right now, listening in to the usual fuss over cosmetics and lighting going on within. Thomas was joined by one of his female colleagues, a former Army Ranger named Carol Vanozza.
”We still good, chief?” She inquired of him.
”No deviation. Dressing room to the interview, then to the car, then we depart.” Thomas said, hoping the plan would stay as simple and easy as that. ”Maybe a slight meet-and-greet with the crowd of adoring fans outside.” He added with a little huff. That made him most uncomfortable, the target being exposed to so many unknown elements, all careening to get close to her. Dangerously close. And yes, that is how he separated himself from the personal. Just refer to her as the target. Not…little Schatzi, bouncing around in his truck as they went off-road mudding in the middle of the school week…
”You know, I was looking at her file…she’s from Wisconsin. Little town called Kohler.” Carol pointed out.
Thomas sighed ever so slightly through his nose. Oh god, here it comes. ”And?” He asked tiredly. There was some commotion as Drew Barrymore stepped out of her dressing room, with an assistant still chasing her with a brush. They were going to be late if they didn’t get this going in the next few minutes.
”Aren’t you from Kohler as well, Supervisor?” Carol asked him.
”Never mind that shit, here she comes.” Thomas cut her off, as Headley opened the door to the dressing room as Kennedy Monroe was ready to emerge for her TV spot…
Seems to be a power he had lost over the long years, bereft of her presence. Thomas was torn between feeling like he knew everything about her and yet knowing nothing about her. She had changed too much. And his perception of her was outdated and obsolete. She was the worst kind of security aspect. She was unpredictable. She was an unknown variable. Before they had been shoulder to shoulder. Now they sat apart, opposed to one another, their postures a perfect reflection of challenge and stubbornness. Thomas refused to look away. He would not blink. He would miss nothing now.
Kennedy Monroe, America’s newest, little sweetheart, so selfless and brave, thinking only of her ability to fulfill her obligations to her audience and her fans. No concern about her well-being. All Palantir Security had to do was maintain her schedule. Isn’t that right, Mr. Cortez. ”Well, that work-life balance is entirely up to you, ma’am.” Mr. Cortez answered in a tired voice. Indeed, if Kennedy Monroe wanted to risk her life by putting herself out there, she may. If she wanted to hole up in a bunker until the perpetrator was caught and punished, she could do that too. And everything in between. Palantir Security was there to help.
And that was it. There was no more that could be discussed. Kennedy Monroe, the brand, would accept the help and offer of Palantir Security. Supervisor Thomas Moreland would spearhead the effort. The meeting was adjourned and the two parties separated for a brief time.
But barely a day would pass before Thomas was back in her life again. With his security team. Thomas would personally work twelve to fourteen hours, covering Kennedy Monroe’s waking hours from morning until sleep, with the others switching off in teams of two every eight hours. They spent those first day prepping Kennedy’s local residence with various measures. They installed security cameras, set up a guard house with video feeds, set up alarms and pass phrases, patrolled the perimeter, set up motion sensors, and basically inspected every corner and nook of her room. Yes, including her bedroom. At least Thomas had female security personnel go through Kennedy’s things, make sure there was no bugs or hidden cameras that they didn’t install themselves.
At night, Thomas painstakingly put his own trackers in all of her shoes. Sometimes the left, sometimes the right, using intricate tools to peel off the soles, stick the electronic bug in, then reseal the sole with a quality to match the actual shoemaker. The tradecraft and expertise of a good security guard was knowing a bunch of little trades like this.
Then came her first public appearance since the meeting. Television interview. The Drew Barrymore Show! Supervisor Thomas and another guard, Headley Kose, would be driving Kennedy Monroe and any other of her staff to the locale. Despite being in her presence much, they had not yet been alone. There was always someone else nearby… Preventing the reunion, preventing any reminiscing, or a walk down memory lane. But every now and again, Thomas would find himself peering at Kennedy Monroe. At Holle Katsen. Little Schatzi. She had grown so much and Thomas didn’t mean height or appearance wise. Emotionally and intelligently. She might even catch him looking at her, for long periods of time. And he unashamedly kept on looking.
The TV studio was bustling. The stage was pristine, along with the backdrop, and the little rug with a table set between two comfortable couches. Of course, if Kennedy Monroe’s team wanted a different seating arrangement, they had all sorts of chairs of different sizes and styles to accommodate her. Everywhere else though was a mess of wires, cables, and equipment, for recording video, sound, everything. The studio of course was uneasy with outside security personnel doing a sweep of their location but their own security personnel, whom Thomas considered the equivalent of mall cops, politely stood by while him and his team secured the perimeter and ran background checks on the crew. Without their consent or knowledge. He might look paranoid and overcautious, but Thomas did his job well. And he knew, just one slip up, one drop of his zealotry in this matter, could lead to very mortal consequences for his query.
When all was done, Thomas stood behind the lead camera and waited. The star of the hour and Barrymore must still be in wardrobe and make up, in the dressing rooms nearby. One of his men was outside Kennedy’s door right now, listening in to the usual fuss over cosmetics and lighting going on within. Thomas was joined by one of his female colleagues, a former Army Ranger named Carol Vanozza.
”We still good, chief?” She inquired of him.
”No deviation. Dressing room to the interview, then to the car, then we depart.” Thomas said, hoping the plan would stay as simple and easy as that. ”Maybe a slight meet-and-greet with the crowd of adoring fans outside.” He added with a little huff. That made him most uncomfortable, the target being exposed to so many unknown elements, all careening to get close to her. Dangerously close. And yes, that is how he separated himself from the personal. Just refer to her as the target. Not…little Schatzi, bouncing around in his truck as they went off-road mudding in the middle of the school week…
”You know, I was looking at her file…she’s from Wisconsin. Little town called Kohler.” Carol pointed out.
Thomas sighed ever so slightly through his nose. Oh god, here it comes. ”And?” He asked tiredly. There was some commotion as Drew Barrymore stepped out of her dressing room, with an assistant still chasing her with a brush. They were going to be late if they didn’t get this going in the next few minutes.
”Aren’t you from Kohler as well, Supervisor?” Carol asked him.
”Never mind that shit, here she comes.” Thomas cut her off, as Headley opened the door to the dressing room as Kennedy Monroe was ready to emerge for her TV spot…
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
Satisfied with their answer, Kennedy allowed the meeting to continue until their time had concluded. She spent the rest of her day swallowed up by her work, running through the topics outlined for her upcoming exclusive with Drew, reading the script for the movie, and determining outfits for photoshoots and appearances. Appearances as mundane as it would be to be seen exiting a recording studio, or entering a Starbucks for an afternoon iced coffee. Every aspect of Kennedy's life was scheduled, and not a moment of it allowed for her to figure out what she was going to say to Thomas the next time they were alone.
She had seen him every day since he'd first walked back into her life in that crisp suit. Every day after nearly ten years of nothingness, but not another pair of words exchanged. A full night's sleep evaded her at first, then second, and again the third night… The fourth night she took a pill to knock herself out, a little something Vika had given her once to help her sleep on a weekend trip to Europe. She felt drunk the next day, anxiously sick to her stomach as she rode in the backseat of the black car with Vika, absently nodding to whatever the sharply dressed woman was saying while her eyes kept drifting to the rectangular reflection of Tommy in the rearview mirror.
Her nails picked at her skirt. She stared at herself framed in lights, the make-up artist blending the lipsticks on the back of his hand before he started to apply the paint to her lips while the hairstylist put the finishing touches on her ponytail. A decade ago she would have been appalled at how much time a simple pony tail and fresh-faced look consumed, but these days it was second nature to simply use the time to retreat into her own, but it was thoughts and memories she would rather avoid that consumed her in these times.
It didn't help her to know that Thomas was just outside her door. Tommy. Her Tommy. Memories swirled at the edges of her mind, whispers and screams blending in with moans and laughter, flashes of happiness, of tears, a gut-wrenching boulder of guilt and shame weighing her down into her chair like an anchor as her team buzzed around her methodically.
The door opening startled her out of her reverie. The audience cheered in the background as Drew Barrymore's voice boomed out over the stage with enthusiasm.
She slipped off the chair. She walked through the door. She caught Tommy behind the camera, staring at him staring back at her as she stepped toward the entrance stage left–
In a blink, she was on. Her eyes were bright, reflecting the studio spotlights baking the couch on stage where Drew currently stood clapping, the women approaching each other like old friends with a hug and squeal of delight before they settled onto the cushions. She smoothed her skirt and crossed her ankles, tucking her heels against the base of the sofa as she leaned against the back with her elbow so that she faced Drew without shunning the audience, mirroring the natural ease and comforting energy that her host radiated.
Their greeting was scripted, but only just so, and the pair of them fed off each other's energies and blended their natural conversation with the pre-planned direction of their segment flawlessly. They talked about her music career and the success she's experienced the last several years, joked about the theories that were circulating regarding which rumored paramore inspired her songs, but it was when questions were opened to the audience that the interview took a turn.
The woman who asked the question was on the tall side, somewhere around nineteen in age, with a graphic tee of Kennedy's first album worn proudly and a bright red hairstyle clearly inspired by one of her more notorious music videos. She clutched the microphone with both hands, her voice quivering nervously as she introduced herself as Kennedy's biggest fan, and then brought up her new movie role where she'd be playing a heroin facing life or death on a regular basis, and asked if some part of Kennedy was grateful to experience the break in so she could play the role more authentically.
Kennedy's smile faltered.
The studio went silent, the only sound she could hear was the rushing of water in her ears even as people moved and reacted to what had just happened. All of it was peripheral, falling off the edge of the wayside as her heart leapt into her throat and without realizing it she searched for Thomas. Drew's hand reached for her arm to try and offer a comforting touch but Kennedy flinched and jerked back before she could stop herself, but it was the shock she needed to sink back into the now.
"Oh, so sorry Drew, I–" her words caught in her throat, choking her for a brief moment as she settled back into the reality of the moment. She was on stage, taking questions at the end of an interview, and everyone was waiting for her answer. The girl who asked the question looked pale, nervous and guilty but unsure of what to do so she continued to stand there, clutching the microphone in her hand and oblivious to the skinny, bespeckled young man who was trying to get it back from her.
"Truth be told, I'm still coming to terms with… the break-in," she swallowed the lumps in her throat and offered a reassuring smile to the host and the audience, shifting her weight on the couch and turning herself to face the crowd fully. "I don't think– I'm sorry, what's your name?-- Megan, I don't think Megan was trying to ask something to hurt me, it's okay. Curiosity can get the best of us sometimes, it's okay."
It wasn't okay, but this was the job. Placate. Entertain. So she did the only thing she could think of at that moment, she acted.
She couldn't remember what she had said once the moment had passed, but it worked. The audience was satisfied with her answer, and Drew thanked her for her candor and her vulnerability. Kennedy smiled, she waved, she laughed, and she shed a tear when it was time. It wasn't until she was back in her dressing room, away from the cameras and the lights and the prying eyes that Kennedy's thinning veneer finally shattered.
Anxiety swelled from her belly into her chest, choking her from the inside out. She paced the small room, her hands shaking and her lips trembling as she sucked in air to try and fill her lungs but nothing shook that sensation of drowning.
The door opened and she spun to hide her face, trying to block whomever had entered from the visual of her panic attack but the mirror revealed everything. Thomas' frame filled the doorway, and she could feel the people behind him trying to get a look inside more than she could see them. She covered her face with one hand and reached the other out, waving it at him as she shrank back toward the far wall.
"Close the door!"
She had seen him every day since he'd first walked back into her life in that crisp suit. Every day after nearly ten years of nothingness, but not another pair of words exchanged. A full night's sleep evaded her at first, then second, and again the third night… The fourth night she took a pill to knock herself out, a little something Vika had given her once to help her sleep on a weekend trip to Europe. She felt drunk the next day, anxiously sick to her stomach as she rode in the backseat of the black car with Vika, absently nodding to whatever the sharply dressed woman was saying while her eyes kept drifting to the rectangular reflection of Tommy in the rearview mirror.
Her nails picked at her skirt. She stared at herself framed in lights, the make-up artist blending the lipsticks on the back of his hand before he started to apply the paint to her lips while the hairstylist put the finishing touches on her ponytail. A decade ago she would have been appalled at how much time a simple pony tail and fresh-faced look consumed, but these days it was second nature to simply use the time to retreat into her own, but it was thoughts and memories she would rather avoid that consumed her in these times.
It didn't help her to know that Thomas was just outside her door. Tommy. Her Tommy. Memories swirled at the edges of her mind, whispers and screams blending in with moans and laughter, flashes of happiness, of tears, a gut-wrenching boulder of guilt and shame weighing her down into her chair like an anchor as her team buzzed around her methodically.
The door opening startled her out of her reverie. The audience cheered in the background as Drew Barrymore's voice boomed out over the stage with enthusiasm.
" –know her from her Platinum-selling album Kiss Me–"
She slipped off the chair. She walked through the door. She caught Tommy behind the camera, staring at him staring back at her as she stepped toward the entrance stage left–
" –welcome Kennedy Monroe!"
In a blink, she was on. Her eyes were bright, reflecting the studio spotlights baking the couch on stage where Drew currently stood clapping, the women approaching each other like old friends with a hug and squeal of delight before they settled onto the cushions. She smoothed her skirt and crossed her ankles, tucking her heels against the base of the sofa as she leaned against the back with her elbow so that she faced Drew without shunning the audience, mirroring the natural ease and comforting energy that her host radiated.
Their greeting was scripted, but only just so, and the pair of them fed off each other's energies and blended their natural conversation with the pre-planned direction of their segment flawlessly. They talked about her music career and the success she's experienced the last several years, joked about the theories that were circulating regarding which rumored paramore inspired her songs, but it was when questions were opened to the audience that the interview took a turn.
The woman who asked the question was on the tall side, somewhere around nineteen in age, with a graphic tee of Kennedy's first album worn proudly and a bright red hairstyle clearly inspired by one of her more notorious music videos. She clutched the microphone with both hands, her voice quivering nervously as she introduced herself as Kennedy's biggest fan, and then brought up her new movie role where she'd be playing a heroin facing life or death on a regular basis, and asked if some part of Kennedy was grateful to experience the break in so she could play the role more authentically.
Kennedy's smile faltered.
The studio went silent, the only sound she could hear was the rushing of water in her ears even as people moved and reacted to what had just happened. All of it was peripheral, falling off the edge of the wayside as her heart leapt into her throat and without realizing it she searched for Thomas. Drew's hand reached for her arm to try and offer a comforting touch but Kennedy flinched and jerked back before she could stop herself, but it was the shock she needed to sink back into the now.
"Oh, so sorry Drew, I–" her words caught in her throat, choking her for a brief moment as she settled back into the reality of the moment. She was on stage, taking questions at the end of an interview, and everyone was waiting for her answer. The girl who asked the question looked pale, nervous and guilty but unsure of what to do so she continued to stand there, clutching the microphone in her hand and oblivious to the skinny, bespeckled young man who was trying to get it back from her.
"Truth be told, I'm still coming to terms with… the break-in," she swallowed the lumps in her throat and offered a reassuring smile to the host and the audience, shifting her weight on the couch and turning herself to face the crowd fully. "I don't think– I'm sorry, what's your name?-- Megan, I don't think Megan was trying to ask something to hurt me, it's okay. Curiosity can get the best of us sometimes, it's okay."
It wasn't okay, but this was the job. Placate. Entertain. So she did the only thing she could think of at that moment, she acted.
She couldn't remember what she had said once the moment had passed, but it worked. The audience was satisfied with her answer, and Drew thanked her for her candor and her vulnerability. Kennedy smiled, she waved, she laughed, and she shed a tear when it was time. It wasn't until she was back in her dressing room, away from the cameras and the lights and the prying eyes that Kennedy's thinning veneer finally shattered.
Anxiety swelled from her belly into her chest, choking her from the inside out. She paced the small room, her hands shaking and her lips trembling as she sucked in air to try and fill her lungs but nothing shook that sensation of drowning.
The door opened and she spun to hide her face, trying to block whomever had entered from the visual of her panic attack but the mirror revealed everything. Thomas' frame filled the doorway, and she could feel the people behind him trying to get a look inside more than she could see them. She covered her face with one hand and reached the other out, waving it at him as she shrank back toward the far wall.
"Close the door!"
Lights, Camera…Action!
Cue applause.
…welcome…Kennedy Monroe!
And the crowd went ballistic. For Thomas, it was like facing away from the surge of an oncoming thunderstorm, the way the audience exploded with cheers, clapping hands, and all manner of praise. It was honestly astonishing for Thomas, seeing the crowd worked up this way, for little ole Holle from Wisconsin. The girl down the block to him. He knew her, since she was little, since before the era of social media and throughout grade schools. Back of the bus, off-roading in his dad’s pick up, skipping class in high school, that was the Holle he knew. The woman who walked onto stage and shook the hand of Drew-fuckin’-Barrymore was not the woman he knew.
But she wore his old friend’s face.
He could not help but let it amuse her. All these people, Holle was a star to them. Kennedy Monroe. Did they even know the origin of that name? Thomas knew. A half-smile soon graced his lips as he watched the interview, from behind the main camera, hands folded behind his back, his shoulders squared, his tailored suit well fitted to his physique. His eyes never blinked, not missing a moment of this performance by his former interest. Sure, he had to keep his eyes and attentions open to any sign of danger but here, it seemed like they might suffocate Kennedy Monroe out of love, rather than any genuine desire to harm her. But as the interview went on, and questions were opened to the audience, it seemed the greatest danger in that moment…came from the query herself.
Truth be told, I’m still coming to terms with… the break-in…
And? AND? Thomas almost baulked. What followed was some half-assed dodge that didn’t fool him. Or her stalker. Why did she stop? By pausing, by looking hesitant, by looking afraid, if that stalker or predator was watching, Holle had just given him carte blanche to continue. To show that his actions got a result, an expression, an emotion, and now why should he stop hounding Holle? The next attempt might get him more. She had shown the hooks were in. Who the hell was her PR rep? This was not how it should have been done. Thomas pursed his lips and lost any sign of amusement. Kennedy Monroe had just helped shovel her own grave with her remarks. God damnit, woman.
The interview ended and Holle – Kennedy Monroe – was let off the stage. She went right to her locker room and Thomas was fast behind her, followed by his subordinates Carol and Headley, who turned to hold back the crowd, who desired their promised meet-and-greet. Thomas opened the door to the dressing room and did not hesitate when the order came shouted at him. Close the door!
Thomas closed the door. And all the ruckus and din of shouts and cheers seemed transferred a mile away. But they were together. Alone this time. And there was no way she could ignore or sidestep what he had to say this time.
”That was terribly done.” Thomas’ voice cut in low, after a few heartbeats of silence after shutting the door. He could see Holle with her back to him, covering her face, her eyes. Was she crying? The sight of it should have softened his heart. It did not. Not after what she did before. Not after what she did at the meeting. His heart was stone to her. Well, at least he wanted it to be, and it certainly felt like it.
”You…should not have spoken about the case, in any way, positively, negatively, or neutrally. All that does is feed the ego of whoever is out there to get you. Puts you at risk.” Thomas said, moving his hands to his hips in a posture of annoyance, inadvertently spreading out his suit jacket, revealing the holstered gun under his left shoulder. But what did she know about how investigations were supposed to run? She was too busy playing…rockstar or whatever it is she was. Or at least trying to. Still…poor soul. Thomas sighed and reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing a black handkerchief, stitched with the Palantir Security initials at the corner.
He ought to give it to her. That’s what a gentleman would do, right? But he remembered the earlier meeting, of his outstretched hand…and nothing. So he walked over to the vanity where stars could get their cosmetics done and simply placed the handkerchief there instead, now able to look at her side profile instead of her back. ”I suppose it isn’t your fault. You probably have someone in public relations handle your…façade to the outside world. They should have screened those questions better. I’m going to get into that now, for your safety. And-” Thomas was about to continue, before there was a ruckus at the door.
Which opened, causing Thomas to shift and move to the center of the room, coming between Holle and whatever was intruding. A man. But Thomas knew him from the profile, even if his subordinates didn’t, as the man was so rudely and smugly telling them. Move out of his way! Didn’t they know who he was?
Holle’s boyfriend… For a moment, Thomas looked like he wasn’t going to move out of the way. This man was considered safe and was to have access and clearance to Kennedy Monroe’s personage. It wasn’t Thomas’ place, anymore, to have an opinion on what sort of male company she kept. So he…moved, stepped aside, allowing the man to have direct approach to his Holle.
Cue applause.
…welcome…Kennedy Monroe!
And the crowd went ballistic. For Thomas, it was like facing away from the surge of an oncoming thunderstorm, the way the audience exploded with cheers, clapping hands, and all manner of praise. It was honestly astonishing for Thomas, seeing the crowd worked up this way, for little ole Holle from Wisconsin. The girl down the block to him. He knew her, since she was little, since before the era of social media and throughout grade schools. Back of the bus, off-roading in his dad’s pick up, skipping class in high school, that was the Holle he knew. The woman who walked onto stage and shook the hand of Drew-fuckin’-Barrymore was not the woman he knew.
But she wore his old friend’s face.
He could not help but let it amuse her. All these people, Holle was a star to them. Kennedy Monroe. Did they even know the origin of that name? Thomas knew. A half-smile soon graced his lips as he watched the interview, from behind the main camera, hands folded behind his back, his shoulders squared, his tailored suit well fitted to his physique. His eyes never blinked, not missing a moment of this performance by his former interest. Sure, he had to keep his eyes and attentions open to any sign of danger but here, it seemed like they might suffocate Kennedy Monroe out of love, rather than any genuine desire to harm her. But as the interview went on, and questions were opened to the audience, it seemed the greatest danger in that moment…came from the query herself.
Truth be told, I’m still coming to terms with… the break-in…
And? AND? Thomas almost baulked. What followed was some half-assed dodge that didn’t fool him. Or her stalker. Why did she stop? By pausing, by looking hesitant, by looking afraid, if that stalker or predator was watching, Holle had just given him carte blanche to continue. To show that his actions got a result, an expression, an emotion, and now why should he stop hounding Holle? The next attempt might get him more. She had shown the hooks were in. Who the hell was her PR rep? This was not how it should have been done. Thomas pursed his lips and lost any sign of amusement. Kennedy Monroe had just helped shovel her own grave with her remarks. God damnit, woman.
The interview ended and Holle – Kennedy Monroe – was let off the stage. She went right to her locker room and Thomas was fast behind her, followed by his subordinates Carol and Headley, who turned to hold back the crowd, who desired their promised meet-and-greet. Thomas opened the door to the dressing room and did not hesitate when the order came shouted at him. Close the door!
Thomas closed the door. And all the ruckus and din of shouts and cheers seemed transferred a mile away. But they were together. Alone this time. And there was no way she could ignore or sidestep what he had to say this time.
”That was terribly done.” Thomas’ voice cut in low, after a few heartbeats of silence after shutting the door. He could see Holle with her back to him, covering her face, her eyes. Was she crying? The sight of it should have softened his heart. It did not. Not after what she did before. Not after what she did at the meeting. His heart was stone to her. Well, at least he wanted it to be, and it certainly felt like it.
”You…should not have spoken about the case, in any way, positively, negatively, or neutrally. All that does is feed the ego of whoever is out there to get you. Puts you at risk.” Thomas said, moving his hands to his hips in a posture of annoyance, inadvertently spreading out his suit jacket, revealing the holstered gun under his left shoulder. But what did she know about how investigations were supposed to run? She was too busy playing…rockstar or whatever it is she was. Or at least trying to. Still…poor soul. Thomas sighed and reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing a black handkerchief, stitched with the Palantir Security initials at the corner.
He ought to give it to her. That’s what a gentleman would do, right? But he remembered the earlier meeting, of his outstretched hand…and nothing. So he walked over to the vanity where stars could get their cosmetics done and simply placed the handkerchief there instead, now able to look at her side profile instead of her back. ”I suppose it isn’t your fault. You probably have someone in public relations handle your…façade to the outside world. They should have screened those questions better. I’m going to get into that now, for your safety. And-” Thomas was about to continue, before there was a ruckus at the door.
Which opened, causing Thomas to shift and move to the center of the room, coming between Holle and whatever was intruding. A man. But Thomas knew him from the profile, even if his subordinates didn’t, as the man was so rudely and smugly telling them. Move out of his way! Didn’t they know who he was?
Holle’s boyfriend… For a moment, Thomas looked like he wasn’t going to move out of the way. This man was considered safe and was to have access and clearance to Kennedy Monroe’s personage. It wasn’t Thomas’ place, anymore, to have an opinion on what sort of male company she kept. So he…moved, stepped aside, allowing the man to have direct approach to his Holle.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
That was terribly done.
His words burned, raking down her back like hot coals and it crushed her even more. Her lips twisted, swept behind the cover of her palm as she fought the urge to shatter. She braced herself against the urge to just let go by invoking those memories of the last time she had bared herself to him. She could never be vulnerable with Thomas ever again. It would be easier if they just hated each other, and he just made it so easy to hate him.
She turned around glaring, her hands dropping from her face to cross sharply over her chest to meet his pose of annoyance with one of anger. He was close enough that she briefly considered indulging in the impulse to kick him, but for some godforsaken reason she remained restrained. Until the door opened.
Holle jumped back with a start, instinctively moving behind Thomas as he reacted to the sounds at her door. She was so engrossed in herself and her past with this infuriating ghost that she didn't recognize the voice on the other side. He moved to put himself between her and the intruder and she slipped behind him like it was a dance. Her fingers pressed into his back, gripping his jacket as the outside world came rushing into their brief moment of solitude, and for a thin sliver of a moment she wished she had more time for just the two of them before that thought was swept up in the riptide.
"Kennedy, there you are!"
Dash King was familiar. Not only physically – his face and body was everywhere, plastered on billboards, posters, trailers, magazine covers – but in the way a snake is familiar with a scorpion. Thomas would know this type. It had always been Holle's type. The Golden Boy, but not just any guy with that Midas touch, the kind who used that touch to manipulate and control. Just like before.
"Dash," her voice cracked with surprise, and suddenly those hands that had been clinging to Thomas were reaching for him instead. Or were they up to fend him off? There wasn't enough time to tell and the following seconds where she sank against his chest in tears didn't offer support to the latter theory. His arms slithered around her and tightened but his eyes never left Thomas'.
"Kennie, baby, I am so sorry," he murmured in her ear, staring at the bodyguard as if offended by the man's continued presence, one hand lifting up to cradle the back of her head while the other stroked her back. Kennedy was too caught up in the comfort she so desperately sought that she was unaware of Dash's posturing. To her, he was giving her everything she needed. Everything Thomas had not.
"I thought you were-"
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here now. You're safe."
His words burned, raking down her back like hot coals and it crushed her even more. Her lips twisted, swept behind the cover of her palm as she fought the urge to shatter. She braced herself against the urge to just let go by invoking those memories of the last time she had bared herself to him. She could never be vulnerable with Thomas ever again. It would be easier if they just hated each other, and he just made it so easy to hate him.
She turned around glaring, her hands dropping from her face to cross sharply over her chest to meet his pose of annoyance with one of anger. He was close enough that she briefly considered indulging in the impulse to kick him, but for some godforsaken reason she remained restrained. Until the door opened.
Holle jumped back with a start, instinctively moving behind Thomas as he reacted to the sounds at her door. She was so engrossed in herself and her past with this infuriating ghost that she didn't recognize the voice on the other side. He moved to put himself between her and the intruder and she slipped behind him like it was a dance. Her fingers pressed into his back, gripping his jacket as the outside world came rushing into their brief moment of solitude, and for a thin sliver of a moment she wished she had more time for just the two of them before that thought was swept up in the riptide.
"Kennedy, there you are!"
Dash King was familiar. Not only physically – his face and body was everywhere, plastered on billboards, posters, trailers, magazine covers – but in the way a snake is familiar with a scorpion. Thomas would know this type. It had always been Holle's type. The Golden Boy, but not just any guy with that Midas touch, the kind who used that touch to manipulate and control. Just like before.
"Dash," her voice cracked with surprise, and suddenly those hands that had been clinging to Thomas were reaching for him instead. Or were they up to fend him off? There wasn't enough time to tell and the following seconds where she sank against his chest in tears didn't offer support to the latter theory. His arms slithered around her and tightened but his eyes never left Thomas'.
"Kennie, baby, I am so sorry," he murmured in her ear, staring at the bodyguard as if offended by the man's continued presence, one hand lifting up to cradle the back of her head while the other stroked her back. Kennedy was too caught up in the comfort she so desperately sought that she was unaware of Dash's posturing. To her, he was giving her everything she needed. Everything Thomas had not.
"I thought you were-"
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here now. You're safe."
Anyone who knew the security briefings should have known better than to barge into a secure room like this one, but who else but…Dash King. Dash fuckin’ King. Yes, Thomas knew who he was. To Holle. The celebrity boyfriend of the equally famous Kennedy Monroe. Thomas knew he would have to be face to face with this man. Possibly even serve as his escort, chaperoning him from vehicle to building, building to vehicle. It was not his mandate, but if he was with Kennedy Monroe, and important to Kennedy Monroe, he was to be included in the umbrella of protection.
But she always had priority.
And he liked having her priority. He craved it. The relapse was mercilessly as he felt Holle cower behind him, her little hands gripping at the tail of his suit jacket, seeking protection. He would have welcomed her with a warm embrace. It was not uncommon, though it had been a while. Those dumb little small town faires that once came through their hometown, with the haunted house, Thomas standing so defensively while Holle hid behind, as some cheap or rudimentary jump-scare leapt out at them. The high lasted only a moment, far too short, yet so very impacting. Dash King entered, the Golden Boy, and his golden girl dumped Thomas to flee into the other man’s arms.
Something cold pierced up through his heart, it’s destroyed remains clogging up his throat with a heavy lump. Thomas had been and seen so much, but this…this was the worst. The scar was on his soul, not on his body, like so many he had endured since their time apart. He tried not to deflate. He kept his eyes up and unwavering, meeting Dash’s expectant look. Get lost. The pair embraced and Thomas…just moved around them, heading to the door that Dash King so carelessly left open, where a crowd of admiring fans were gathering to get a peep at the two famous stars. Thomas shut the door on them, and turned to face inwards, pulling on his jacket hems to straighten out his outfit. There he stood, imposingly, and observed another man hug and caress his former girlfriend.
Get lost the other man’s eyes seemed to say.
I don’t take orders from you his own expression shot back. Only if…only if Holle told him to leave, to wait outside. But the two were now busy, whispering those sweet-nothings to one another. Thomas was never really good at that. And now to see this douchebag perfecting it so nicely, as if to outline Thomas’ flaws, further twisted his already aching heart. Look how easy it was to lie and you couldn’t even do that. He burrowed it well, though. And luckily, there were things to do to distract him.
His earpiece crackled with the voice of his subordinate, Thomas reaching up to press the earbud more closely to hear better. It took a brief moment, before he spoke up to relay the information. ”Your motorcade is ready, Ms. Monroe.” Thomas informed, knowing the convoy of armoured Palantir Security cars would be pulling up front. With the usual red carpet treatment for the stars, with paparazzi and journalists hounding both flanks, from the doors of the studio to the doors of the vehicle.
He didn’t wait around for their response. Maybe it was immature of him to do it. It certainly wasn’t protocol, nor against protocol but…customer knows best, right? And she had wanted a moment to herself, to recover from her mistake. He wanted to give it to her, but this man was doing it instead. Dash should have told her the truth but what did he know? Thomas knew. Thomas reopened the door, allowing reality to meet the embracing couple. A throng of fans were outside the door, hollering for Kennedy Monroe, and some for Dash King, screaming for autographs, a word, selfies. They were kept back by Carol and Headley, who kept a lane open for Kennedy Monroe to move through. Thomas stood by the door, where he would accompany Kennedy, and if necessary, Dash King, to the vehicle.
…Kennedy! Kennedy! Ms. Monroe! Ms. Monroe! A comment! A word! A moment of your time! Oh my gawd, Kennedy! I love you! I love your music! Can I get a selfie! Can I get a photo! And so on and so on, endlessly, barraged from all sides as Headley and Carol moved ahead, making sure the path was clear for Kennedy and Dash, while Thomas walked right behind them, continually sweeping the crowd for…that face. The unhappy face. The hostile face. The stalker, if he dared to make his appearance here. But he saw nothing but cheering, zealous, foaming at the mouth basically, crazed fans.
The security detail hadn’t planned for Dash King to join them. In the first vehicle would have been the driver and Carol up front, with Thomas and Kennedy in the back, and Headley and the other driver coming up in the second vehicle. But Dash was here, delaying the procession, stopping for a brief picture or pose every few seconds for any camera. Especially the groupies. They wanted a picture with Kennedy. Dash certainly was willing. Reach around, cheek to cheek basically with these women, his arm around their shoulder…or lower, around their waistlines…
But finally, they were outside, what should have been a twenty second strut stretched into several minutes. Headley and Carol turned to form a cordon by the vehicle, allowing Thomas to direct Kennedy – and Dash – to the back of the armoured SUV. Thomas opened the door for Kennedy, while Dash went around to the other side, possibly exposing Kennedy to any danger or threat from the far side as he got in as well. Carol turned to get in the front seat, but Thomas halted her. ”You’re in the follow up.” He told her.
”Nah, let her sit beside me too. I would love to have two gorgeous women guarding me.” Dash King wiggled his eyebrows and chuckled. Oh yeah, he probably been sandwiched between two women before. Carol was not amused however but at a head jerk from Thomas, she moved off to the second vehicle, with Thomas getting in the passenger seat. He buckled up his seat belt and turned to look at both Dash and Kennedy, as if to assure they were actually there.
For a moment, his eyes lingered on Holle’s face a little bit longer, as if asking her…really, this guy?
But of course, Dash King was that guy. ”Yo, put on some rap. You got any…J. Cole, Drake? Come on man, Money In The Grave.” He chuckled, rubbing his hands together.
Thomas sighed and looked forward. ”No music. We need to be acoustically aware of our surroundings.” He dictated back to Dash, which made his driver give him a side glance. Yeah, that was protocol but in certain circumstances only, usually when danger was involved. But this was a routine drive back to Kennedy’s home. In any case, they were soon driving and cruising through the city, Thomas upfront, with his ex-girlfriend and her…complicated situationship next to her. He just wanted to, and needed, to talk to her alone. If only he could have a proper moment along with her…
But she always had priority.
And he liked having her priority. He craved it. The relapse was mercilessly as he felt Holle cower behind him, her little hands gripping at the tail of his suit jacket, seeking protection. He would have welcomed her with a warm embrace. It was not uncommon, though it had been a while. Those dumb little small town faires that once came through their hometown, with the haunted house, Thomas standing so defensively while Holle hid behind, as some cheap or rudimentary jump-scare leapt out at them. The high lasted only a moment, far too short, yet so very impacting. Dash King entered, the Golden Boy, and his golden girl dumped Thomas to flee into the other man’s arms.
Something cold pierced up through his heart, it’s destroyed remains clogging up his throat with a heavy lump. Thomas had been and seen so much, but this…this was the worst. The scar was on his soul, not on his body, like so many he had endured since their time apart. He tried not to deflate. He kept his eyes up and unwavering, meeting Dash’s expectant look. Get lost. The pair embraced and Thomas…just moved around them, heading to the door that Dash King so carelessly left open, where a crowd of admiring fans were gathering to get a peep at the two famous stars. Thomas shut the door on them, and turned to face inwards, pulling on his jacket hems to straighten out his outfit. There he stood, imposingly, and observed another man hug and caress his former girlfriend.
Get lost the other man’s eyes seemed to say.
I don’t take orders from you his own expression shot back. Only if…only if Holle told him to leave, to wait outside. But the two were now busy, whispering those sweet-nothings to one another. Thomas was never really good at that. And now to see this douchebag perfecting it so nicely, as if to outline Thomas’ flaws, further twisted his already aching heart. Look how easy it was to lie and you couldn’t even do that. He burrowed it well, though. And luckily, there were things to do to distract him.
His earpiece crackled with the voice of his subordinate, Thomas reaching up to press the earbud more closely to hear better. It took a brief moment, before he spoke up to relay the information. ”Your motorcade is ready, Ms. Monroe.” Thomas informed, knowing the convoy of armoured Palantir Security cars would be pulling up front. With the usual red carpet treatment for the stars, with paparazzi and journalists hounding both flanks, from the doors of the studio to the doors of the vehicle.
He didn’t wait around for their response. Maybe it was immature of him to do it. It certainly wasn’t protocol, nor against protocol but…customer knows best, right? And she had wanted a moment to herself, to recover from her mistake. He wanted to give it to her, but this man was doing it instead. Dash should have told her the truth but what did he know? Thomas knew. Thomas reopened the door, allowing reality to meet the embracing couple. A throng of fans were outside the door, hollering for Kennedy Monroe, and some for Dash King, screaming for autographs, a word, selfies. They were kept back by Carol and Headley, who kept a lane open for Kennedy Monroe to move through. Thomas stood by the door, where he would accompany Kennedy, and if necessary, Dash King, to the vehicle.
…Kennedy! Kennedy! Ms. Monroe! Ms. Monroe! A comment! A word! A moment of your time! Oh my gawd, Kennedy! I love you! I love your music! Can I get a selfie! Can I get a photo! And so on and so on, endlessly, barraged from all sides as Headley and Carol moved ahead, making sure the path was clear for Kennedy and Dash, while Thomas walked right behind them, continually sweeping the crowd for…that face. The unhappy face. The hostile face. The stalker, if he dared to make his appearance here. But he saw nothing but cheering, zealous, foaming at the mouth basically, crazed fans.
The security detail hadn’t planned for Dash King to join them. In the first vehicle would have been the driver and Carol up front, with Thomas and Kennedy in the back, and Headley and the other driver coming up in the second vehicle. But Dash was here, delaying the procession, stopping for a brief picture or pose every few seconds for any camera. Especially the groupies. They wanted a picture with Kennedy. Dash certainly was willing. Reach around, cheek to cheek basically with these women, his arm around their shoulder…or lower, around their waistlines…
But finally, they were outside, what should have been a twenty second strut stretched into several minutes. Headley and Carol turned to form a cordon by the vehicle, allowing Thomas to direct Kennedy – and Dash – to the back of the armoured SUV. Thomas opened the door for Kennedy, while Dash went around to the other side, possibly exposing Kennedy to any danger or threat from the far side as he got in as well. Carol turned to get in the front seat, but Thomas halted her. ”You’re in the follow up.” He told her.
”Nah, let her sit beside me too. I would love to have two gorgeous women guarding me.” Dash King wiggled his eyebrows and chuckled. Oh yeah, he probably been sandwiched between two women before. Carol was not amused however but at a head jerk from Thomas, she moved off to the second vehicle, with Thomas getting in the passenger seat. He buckled up his seat belt and turned to look at both Dash and Kennedy, as if to assure they were actually there.
For a moment, his eyes lingered on Holle’s face a little bit longer, as if asking her…really, this guy?
But of course, Dash King was that guy. ”Yo, put on some rap. You got any…J. Cole, Drake? Come on man, Money In The Grave.” He chuckled, rubbing his hands together.
Thomas sighed and looked forward. ”No music. We need to be acoustically aware of our surroundings.” He dictated back to Dash, which made his driver give him a side glance. Yeah, that was protocol but in certain circumstances only, usually when danger was involved. But this was a routine drive back to Kennedy’s home. In any case, they were soon driving and cruising through the city, Thomas upfront, with his ex-girlfriend and her…complicated situationship next to her. He just wanted to, and needed, to talk to her alone. If only he could have a proper moment along with her…
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
Kennedy played her part.
She pressed on her smile, she tucked the pain and fear out of her eyes, and she gave the feral throngs the cheerful and gracious star they had gathered to see. All the while she felt the weight pressing down harder and harder on her shoulders, that water level rising until she was up to her eyeballs and couldn't get a breath in to steady her nerves. She was suffocating, feeling that panic swelling until it was choking her and all the while Dash reached for more of what was drowning her. Whenever she tried to pull away, his hand was on her arm guiding her right back into the throws. Kennedy's only help was the last person from her past she ever thought she'd see again– her dead parents returning to her life would have been less of a shock than him, and now he was re-establishing himself as the only person who truly knew her.
All over again.
In the car she finally had her chance to exhale. The comment by Dash was not missed or ignored, but Kennedy simply didn't have the bandwidth to say or do anything about it. She was trying to keep herself from breaking down while there were still so many witnesses, but when she looked up and caught Thomas' eyes she felt a stone lodge in her throat. So much so that when Dash grabbed her hand and started to talk to her about a trip to Miami she couldn't speak. Her eyes were pinched as they turned his way, her smile hollow as she nodded, doing her best to appear interested but as she well knew and everyone else in that vehicle found out, Dash didn't need an enthusiastic audience.
Captive did the job.
The next few days were uneventful, but busy. Thomas and Holle saw each other plenty, but had very little true interaction. Dash was back in Kennedy's life, but being a hot name in Hollywood meant most of their interaction was over a distance. All for the better, it left one less person for both of them to have to accommodate.
Then Miami came up again.
It hadn't been in the agenda so it took some maneuvering of appointments on the schedule and some rearranging of responsibilities but Kennedy's team got it done. And Thomas' team set in motion the preparation of the starlette's travel the following Thursday. She'd be flying privately, of course. Two members of the hired security would travel ahead of them on Tuesday, landing in Miami early Wednesday morning and would secure the luxury beach house Kennedy rented for the weekend.
On the morning of, Vika had been taken down by a bout of food poisoning, leaving Thomas and Kennedy to travel alone– not including the flight crew. It was the closest thing to alone time they'd had since that hard night all those years ago. She spent almost all of it on her phone, using the WiFi to keep herself busy with work.
Until the turbulence started.
Their landing wasn't smooth, but they made it in one piece.
All the way to the only hotel with vacancy within a ten mile radius of the middle-of-nowhere airport in whatever flyover state they'd taken refuge in. Truth be told, Holle was torn. She hadn't been looking forward to Miami regardless of how much of a front she'd put on pushing to get the trip to happen. Things still didn't feel right with Dash, even worse with Thomas around. So many things that he did she could overlook, ignore, or just make excuses for but that was before the one person who knew better returned to her life.
One of the few perks about landing in this nowhere zone was that no one was expecting her, which made her baseball cap and black-framed glasses enough of a disguise to go along with her less known legal name. It allowed for anonymity as they scrambled to find a place to stay that wasn't on the tarmac, but it also made it impossible for her to get special treatment when it came to booking a hotel room. The only place with vacancy was a small little boutique motel backed up against a strip mall with a Goodwill as its anchor store.
There was one bed in the center of the room, heart-shaped, with red and pink covering to match the sweetheart theme of the decor. Two single chairs, a small coffee table, and an in-room hot tub completed the furnishings. Holle dropped her bag on one of the chairs and let out a shallow exhale as the thunder overhead rattled the windows.
"Vika's really going to regret those oysters after I show her pictures of this."
She pressed on her smile, she tucked the pain and fear out of her eyes, and she gave the feral throngs the cheerful and gracious star they had gathered to see. All the while she felt the weight pressing down harder and harder on her shoulders, that water level rising until she was up to her eyeballs and couldn't get a breath in to steady her nerves. She was suffocating, feeling that panic swelling until it was choking her and all the while Dash reached for more of what was drowning her. Whenever she tried to pull away, his hand was on her arm guiding her right back into the throws. Kennedy's only help was the last person from her past she ever thought she'd see again– her dead parents returning to her life would have been less of a shock than him, and now he was re-establishing himself as the only person who truly knew her.
All over again.
In the car she finally had her chance to exhale. The comment by Dash was not missed or ignored, but Kennedy simply didn't have the bandwidth to say or do anything about it. She was trying to keep herself from breaking down while there were still so many witnesses, but when she looked up and caught Thomas' eyes she felt a stone lodge in her throat. So much so that when Dash grabbed her hand and started to talk to her about a trip to Miami she couldn't speak. Her eyes were pinched as they turned his way, her smile hollow as she nodded, doing her best to appear interested but as she well knew and everyone else in that vehicle found out, Dash didn't need an enthusiastic audience.
Captive did the job.
The next few days were uneventful, but busy. Thomas and Holle saw each other plenty, but had very little true interaction. Dash was back in Kennedy's life, but being a hot name in Hollywood meant most of their interaction was over a distance. All for the better, it left one less person for both of them to have to accommodate.
Then Miami came up again.
It hadn't been in the agenda so it took some maneuvering of appointments on the schedule and some rearranging of responsibilities but Kennedy's team got it done. And Thomas' team set in motion the preparation of the starlette's travel the following Thursday. She'd be flying privately, of course. Two members of the hired security would travel ahead of them on Tuesday, landing in Miami early Wednesday morning and would secure the luxury beach house Kennedy rented for the weekend.
On the morning of, Vika had been taken down by a bout of food poisoning, leaving Thomas and Kennedy to travel alone– not including the flight crew. It was the closest thing to alone time they'd had since that hard night all those years ago. She spent almost all of it on her phone, using the WiFi to keep herself busy with work.
Until the turbulence started.
Their landing wasn't smooth, but they made it in one piece.
All the way to the only hotel with vacancy within a ten mile radius of the middle-of-nowhere airport in whatever flyover state they'd taken refuge in. Truth be told, Holle was torn. She hadn't been looking forward to Miami regardless of how much of a front she'd put on pushing to get the trip to happen. Things still didn't feel right with Dash, even worse with Thomas around. So many things that he did she could overlook, ignore, or just make excuses for but that was before the one person who knew better returned to her life.
He doesn't give a fuck about you Shatzi! Stop making excuses.
One of the few perks about landing in this nowhere zone was that no one was expecting her, which made her baseball cap and black-framed glasses enough of a disguise to go along with her less known legal name. It allowed for anonymity as they scrambled to find a place to stay that wasn't on the tarmac, but it also made it impossible for her to get special treatment when it came to booking a hotel room. The only place with vacancy was a small little boutique motel backed up against a strip mall with a Goodwill as its anchor store.
There was one bed in the center of the room, heart-shaped, with red and pink covering to match the sweetheart theme of the decor. Two single chairs, a small coffee table, and an in-room hot tub completed the furnishings. Holle dropped her bag on one of the chairs and let out a shallow exhale as the thunder overhead rattled the windows.
"Vika's really going to regret those oysters after I show her pictures of this."
He tried not to let it bother him, but long hours of idleness and observance offered plenty of opportunities for the intrusive thoughts to win.
Dash King. Handsome asshole. And Kennedy’s – Holle’s – hot celebrity boyfriend. He was having what Thomas had lost…and only dreamed about. How could he not imagine the worst? Surprisingly, the two didn’t see each other much, with Dash having his own busy schedule apart from Kennedy’s. But that didn’t help Thomas. Separation from one another seemed to only provoke the doubts and anxieties, simply because he never had any example of what the two were actually like with one another. Nothing else to disabuse him of this opinion since that day of the interview. It was all in his head.
And not good for his line of work. Yet despite the whirlwind of raging emotions, Thomas portrayed nothing but a cool, calmed, collected guard and protector. When it was expressed that Kennedy would indeed be joining Dash in Miami for…something or other, Thomas did not protest or offer up warnings about possible security risks. No, him and his team immediately got to work on ensuring safety and contingencies. They would make it work. Palantir Security operated across the nation and had assets in most states. Everything seemed prepared on the other end.
But then, as with every plan, the human element was always unpredictable. It started with one of her staff getting sick and unable to attend, leaving Thomas alone with Kennedy Monroe. Then, their plane hit a flash storm, which grounded them in a rural part of the state they were over. A hiccup, but Thomas was prepared for this too, with a few short phone cars garnering them a vehicle and a nearby hotel room within a half hour of their emergency landing. The agent on the other line however warned Thomas that options were scarce and not the best, but Thomas assured his colleagues he would make it work. He had all sorts of training for this. But even he was put off when they arrived to the damned place.
Scarce options indeed. Thomas drove them to the provided address, with Holle up front beside him, almost like the old days. The motel though did not provoke much confidence and the receptionist had a very strange look when they provided a key to the last remaining suite that had been booked for them. A large man in a suit and a little woman in inconspicuous clothing. And the room they got? Something was up.
Thomas escorted Holle to the suite, but when he opened the door to go in and do his security check, he was utterly shocked by what he saw. Heart shaped bed, open bathtub, crimson carpet, crimson walls, everything was fuckin’ crimson. The colour of love, evidently. ”What the fuck,” Thomas couldn’t help but murmur when he opened the door, forgetting his discipline for a moment, but he was only with Holle, someone he used to be glued and tethered too for all of his youth. Holle seemed more optimistic about it, as Thomas checked every corner of the room and yes, even under the bed, getting on his knees and then up again. Even behind the curtains.
”Clear.” He stated, just as thunder crackled overhead, seconds behind the flash. The storm was moving this way. And it was a violent one, giving how the winds howled. For a moment, Thomas stood in front of the large mirror next to a bathtub – probably for lovers to watch themselves love-making – and made some miniscule adjustments to his informal suit. His top button was undone, giving hints of a strong chest and the slender gold cross on a gold chain that he always wore, given by his grandma back home.
He turned towards Holle, pulling on the flaps of his suit jacket first before folding his hands before his abdomen, in the bodyguard posture. He looked at her pointedly for a moment. They were alone. Finally alone. He wanted to talk to her. But maybe…it wouldn’t be appropriate. She didn’t give a shit, right? ”Are you hungry or anything? Thirsty? I can scavenge up some food or drink for you, ma’am.” He offered Holle, but that would mean leaving her alone for five, ten minutes. But there was no one else to do it and they couldn’t just starve or suffer. No one could have predicted their forced landing so unlikely there was nearby threats to her from her stalker.
Dash King. Handsome asshole. And Kennedy’s – Holle’s – hot celebrity boyfriend. He was having what Thomas had lost…and only dreamed about. How could he not imagine the worst? Surprisingly, the two didn’t see each other much, with Dash having his own busy schedule apart from Kennedy’s. But that didn’t help Thomas. Separation from one another seemed to only provoke the doubts and anxieties, simply because he never had any example of what the two were actually like with one another. Nothing else to disabuse him of this opinion since that day of the interview. It was all in his head.
And not good for his line of work. Yet despite the whirlwind of raging emotions, Thomas portrayed nothing but a cool, calmed, collected guard and protector. When it was expressed that Kennedy would indeed be joining Dash in Miami for…something or other, Thomas did not protest or offer up warnings about possible security risks. No, him and his team immediately got to work on ensuring safety and contingencies. They would make it work. Palantir Security operated across the nation and had assets in most states. Everything seemed prepared on the other end.
But then, as with every plan, the human element was always unpredictable. It started with one of her staff getting sick and unable to attend, leaving Thomas alone with Kennedy Monroe. Then, their plane hit a flash storm, which grounded them in a rural part of the state they were over. A hiccup, but Thomas was prepared for this too, with a few short phone cars garnering them a vehicle and a nearby hotel room within a half hour of their emergency landing. The agent on the other line however warned Thomas that options were scarce and not the best, but Thomas assured his colleagues he would make it work. He had all sorts of training for this. But even he was put off when they arrived to the damned place.
Scarce options indeed. Thomas drove them to the provided address, with Holle up front beside him, almost like the old days. The motel though did not provoke much confidence and the receptionist had a very strange look when they provided a key to the last remaining suite that had been booked for them. A large man in a suit and a little woman in inconspicuous clothing. And the room they got? Something was up.
Thomas escorted Holle to the suite, but when he opened the door to go in and do his security check, he was utterly shocked by what he saw. Heart shaped bed, open bathtub, crimson carpet, crimson walls, everything was fuckin’ crimson. The colour of love, evidently. ”What the fuck,” Thomas couldn’t help but murmur when he opened the door, forgetting his discipline for a moment, but he was only with Holle, someone he used to be glued and tethered too for all of his youth. Holle seemed more optimistic about it, as Thomas checked every corner of the room and yes, even under the bed, getting on his knees and then up again. Even behind the curtains.
”Clear.” He stated, just as thunder crackled overhead, seconds behind the flash. The storm was moving this way. And it was a violent one, giving how the winds howled. For a moment, Thomas stood in front of the large mirror next to a bathtub – probably for lovers to watch themselves love-making – and made some miniscule adjustments to his informal suit. His top button was undone, giving hints of a strong chest and the slender gold cross on a gold chain that he always wore, given by his grandma back home.
He turned towards Holle, pulling on the flaps of his suit jacket first before folding his hands before his abdomen, in the bodyguard posture. He looked at her pointedly for a moment. They were alone. Finally alone. He wanted to talk to her. But maybe…it wouldn’t be appropriate. She didn’t give a shit, right? ”Are you hungry or anything? Thirsty? I can scavenge up some food or drink for you, ma’am.” He offered Holle, but that would mean leaving her alone for five, ten minutes. But there was no one else to do it and they couldn’t just starve or suffer. No one could have predicted their forced landing so unlikely there was nearby threats to her from her stalker.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
That was the first slip she heard from him, and it could just be that he said exactly what they were both thinking or it could be the relief she was feeling from not being in Miami, but it actually made her smile. "Kiss your mama with that mouth?" she muttered under her breath, unable to keep herself from quoting their old P.E. teacher's favorite line whenever a student cursed in class. She stayed ready to turn and go out the door until he gave the clear, and as he adjusted his appearance in the mirror she was pulling out her phone and sending Vika a couple of quick snaps of the room. She was amused, highly, until Tommy called her "ma'am".
She looked up at him from over her phone, took in his stance and appearance, the look in his eye as he waited for her response. Holle felt her chest tighten.
"Sure." What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just talk to him? It had been years. And when she'd first laid eyes on him in that conference room he'd looked like he'd been happy to see her. They might have had a chance for friendship again. Or at least, minimum, a chance to be cordial. This crisp, cold professionalism– she couldn't take it anymore. But she didn't know how to end it. "That would be nice, thank you."
Her finger tapped against the side of her phone, nodding at his instructions on locking the door after him and not letting anyone but him inside, and then did exactly that when he left.
It was the first time she'd been truly alone since the break-in. The thunder, wind and rain seemed amplified by the empty room. The lights flickered briefly, and without another second of hesitation she was plugging her phone into the wall to charge and turning the TV on for some noise. She found a Criminal Minds marathon on one of the local channels and settled onto one of the chairs to pull up the photos she took on her phone, deciding which best showcased how ridiculous the suite was to send to Vika when she saw she had captured his reflection in one of the shots. She paused, taking a moment to study how much he had changed. And still, somehow, he was exactly how she remembered him. She exhaled a shallow sigh, deleted the message and closed her phone.
Time to see if the place had a minibar.
When the knock came at the door, Holle checked the peephole before letting him inside. The tub was running, jets on high and the TV was spouting off side effects for the latest erectile dysfunction magic pill. He'd find she was wearing a simple white bikini as she closed and locked the door behind him.
"I found a minibar after you'd gone," she said as she stepped by him to where she'd set the remote to turn the television down, "Just booze, but they do keep it fully stocked."
She looked up at him from over her phone, took in his stance and appearance, the look in his eye as he waited for her response. Holle felt her chest tighten.
"Sure." What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just talk to him? It had been years. And when she'd first laid eyes on him in that conference room he'd looked like he'd been happy to see her. They might have had a chance for friendship again. Or at least, minimum, a chance to be cordial. This crisp, cold professionalism– she couldn't take it anymore. But she didn't know how to end it. "That would be nice, thank you."
Her finger tapped against the side of her phone, nodding at his instructions on locking the door after him and not letting anyone but him inside, and then did exactly that when he left.
It was the first time she'd been truly alone since the break-in. The thunder, wind and rain seemed amplified by the empty room. The lights flickered briefly, and without another second of hesitation she was plugging her phone into the wall to charge and turning the TV on for some noise. She found a Criminal Minds marathon on one of the local channels and settled onto one of the chairs to pull up the photos she took on her phone, deciding which best showcased how ridiculous the suite was to send to Vika when she saw she had captured his reflection in one of the shots. She paused, taking a moment to study how much he had changed. And still, somehow, he was exactly how she remembered him. She exhaled a shallow sigh, deleted the message and closed her phone.
Time to see if the place had a minibar.
When the knock came at the door, Holle checked the peephole before letting him inside. The tub was running, jets on high and the TV was spouting off side effects for the latest erectile dysfunction magic pill. He'd find she was wearing a simple white bikini as she closed and locked the door behind him.
"I found a minibar after you'd gone," she said as she stepped by him to where she'd set the remote to turn the television down, "Just booze, but they do keep it fully stocked."
Even though the journey to the food and drink was only the distance and duration from their suite to the main lobby, it still felt like a dangerous interlude to leave Kennedy Monroe, Holle, Schatzi, alone in the room when there was an active stalker on her case. The whole trip hardly took ten or fifteen minutes, but on his way back to the room, Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if this window of opportunity was where it all went to shit. He would come back, the door would be busted open, and she would be taken and gone.
Either way, he returned laden with two heavy bags. The motel lobby had a simple salad bar and vending machines, so he got a plethora of smaller items to combine into a proper meal. Salad-in-plastic, forks, bags of potato chips, candy bars, assorted nuts, and four tall cans of Arizona Iced Tea. That should keep them sated for a time. He returned, hearing the television inside, and knocked, and was relieved to hear the door open to reveal Holle in a bikini and less…
Looking like a snack herself.
She shut the door and he put the food on the table. She offered up booze, though the motel would probably severely upcharge them for taking the booze. Two hundred percent mark-up, that was the scam. But Holle – Kennedy Monroe – was a star and a celebrity. She had millions. It would hardly be a dent to her. Unfortunately for him…he was working tonight.
And why was the hot tub running? Was she going to bathe and soak with him in the room? Make him wait outside?
”I’m on duty. But you enjoy yourself.” Thomas just answered to the offer of booze, though not too convincingly, as he took a seat at the table. He had his notebook and some writing utensils. He had some research and pondering to be done. About her. ”What are you going to do with that?” He asked about the hot tub, looking to it, then towards Holle. In her bikini. Usually his eyes were always on her face, never below the neck. But this time, he had to look. Not because she had an amazing, perky rack to begin with – she always had. But because of the new…addition to her flesh, that she never had before.
What the fuck was that, a coyote? As in…the Point, back home? Where they used to go up to and spend a day and an evening? His brow furrowed and she might be able to see him looking, at her chest area, at the tattoo. It took him an extra second to realize he was staring, then he jerked back with the realization and sat properly at the table, facing away from her. For now. He pulled the notebook he brought towards him and opened up to a blank page, while opening up his phone in the other to take notes from.
”You should eat before you drink, ma’am. You’ll last longer.” Thomas advised her, speaking without looking at her, his tone loud and crisp enough to drown out the loud ass television for the duration.
Either way, he returned laden with two heavy bags. The motel lobby had a simple salad bar and vending machines, so he got a plethora of smaller items to combine into a proper meal. Salad-in-plastic, forks, bags of potato chips, candy bars, assorted nuts, and four tall cans of Arizona Iced Tea. That should keep them sated for a time. He returned, hearing the television inside, and knocked, and was relieved to hear the door open to reveal Holle in a bikini and less…
Looking like a snack herself.
She shut the door and he put the food on the table. She offered up booze, though the motel would probably severely upcharge them for taking the booze. Two hundred percent mark-up, that was the scam. But Holle – Kennedy Monroe – was a star and a celebrity. She had millions. It would hardly be a dent to her. Unfortunately for him…he was working tonight.
And why was the hot tub running? Was she going to bathe and soak with him in the room? Make him wait outside?
”I’m on duty. But you enjoy yourself.” Thomas just answered to the offer of booze, though not too convincingly, as he took a seat at the table. He had his notebook and some writing utensils. He had some research and pondering to be done. About her. ”What are you going to do with that?” He asked about the hot tub, looking to it, then towards Holle. In her bikini. Usually his eyes were always on her face, never below the neck. But this time, he had to look. Not because she had an amazing, perky rack to begin with – she always had. But because of the new…addition to her flesh, that she never had before.
What the fuck was that, a coyote? As in…the Point, back home? Where they used to go up to and spend a day and an evening? His brow furrowed and she might be able to see him looking, at her chest area, at the tattoo. It took him an extra second to realize he was staring, then he jerked back with the realization and sat properly at the table, facing away from her. For now. He pulled the notebook he brought towards him and opened up to a blank page, while opening up his phone in the other to take notes from.
”You should eat before you drink, ma’am. You’ll last longer.” Thomas advised her, speaking without looking at her, his tone loud and crisp enough to drown out the loud ass television for the duration.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2019
What are you going to do with that?
Holle tapped the mini fridge closed with her heel as she straightened with two miniature bottles of champagne, looking between him and the hot tub before she returned her attention with a capricious smirk. "Bake cookies, obviously." She anticipated a crack of a smile, some sense of ease, projecting her own relief onto her perception of this moment for the pair of them. It was that sense of normality of seeing him that had returned to her mixed in with a healthy dose of ego. Of course he'd be just as relieved to not be in Miami, to be secluded, separated from the real world but not alone– how so much of their partnership had formed in their formative years. His cold shoulder surprised her.
"Ma'am?" she repeated incredulously, raising an eyebrow at the back of his head.
Okay. Fine. If it was going to be that way, she'd be that way. Holle's immature desire to be apologized to, even when facing consequences of her own actions, reigned supreme. She held too strong and fast to his betrayal all those years ago, and the steep degree of similarities between the scenarios both concluded with the very simple and obvious solution of talking, but that was something she simply couldn't bring herself to do. He hurt her. She refused to be the one to reach for a truce first, but if he didn't even want to be cordial about it, fine.
Fine.
She crossed the distance to the table, setting the bottles down close enough to irritate but not so close that she was obstructing whatever work he was trying to do. She pretended not to notice any reaction he may or may not have, and took her sweet time examining the food he'd brought back from outside. "Hm," she pursed her lips and stretched herself across the table to reach for one of the shallow plastic salad bowls, reading the print on the top film with a slight wrinkle to her nose. She hovered like this, elongated across his workspace as she picked through the spread of bounty he'd gathered for their meal.
Outside, the sky opened as the storm crawled closer, sheets of rain beating against the walls and windows. She lifted her head and looked over shoulder, torso twisting and bringing her cleavage front and center to his line of sight. He could just see the dusky darkness of her nipples above the crisp white line of her top. "Suppose you couldn't be too discerning," she commented with absolute awareness of just how pompous and spoiled she sounded, "not with this storm."
Her head turned and her eyes dropped to his face, poignantly waiting for a response.
Holle tapped the mini fridge closed with her heel as she straightened with two miniature bottles of champagne, looking between him and the hot tub before she returned her attention with a capricious smirk. "Bake cookies, obviously." She anticipated a crack of a smile, some sense of ease, projecting her own relief onto her perception of this moment for the pair of them. It was that sense of normality of seeing him that had returned to her mixed in with a healthy dose of ego. Of course he'd be just as relieved to not be in Miami, to be secluded, separated from the real world but not alone– how so much of their partnership had formed in their formative years. His cold shoulder surprised her.
"Ma'am?" she repeated incredulously, raising an eyebrow at the back of his head.
Okay. Fine. If it was going to be that way, she'd be that way. Holle's immature desire to be apologized to, even when facing consequences of her own actions, reigned supreme. She held too strong and fast to his betrayal all those years ago, and the steep degree of similarities between the scenarios both concluded with the very simple and obvious solution of talking, but that was something she simply couldn't bring herself to do. He hurt her. She refused to be the one to reach for a truce first, but if he didn't even want to be cordial about it, fine.
Fine.
She crossed the distance to the table, setting the bottles down close enough to irritate but not so close that she was obstructing whatever work he was trying to do. She pretended not to notice any reaction he may or may not have, and took her sweet time examining the food he'd brought back from outside. "Hm," she pursed her lips and stretched herself across the table to reach for one of the shallow plastic salad bowls, reading the print on the top film with a slight wrinkle to her nose. She hovered like this, elongated across his workspace as she picked through the spread of bounty he'd gathered for their meal.
Outside, the sky opened as the storm crawled closer, sheets of rain beating against the walls and windows. She lifted her head and looked over shoulder, torso twisting and bringing her cleavage front and center to his line of sight. He could just see the dusky darkness of her nipples above the crisp white line of her top. "Suppose you couldn't be too discerning," she commented with absolute awareness of just how pompous and spoiled she sounded, "not with this storm."
Her head turned and her eyes dropped to his face, poignantly waiting for a response.
Ma’am?
Holle asked him questioningly and even without looking, Thomas could feel her scrutinizing gaze on the back of his head. He almost lost his nerve, especially after her dodgy bake cookies remarks. She wasn’t a serious person, huh. Even with all the dangers. Don’t like being called ma’am? Well what are you then, if not that? He almost retorted in the driest tone he could muster, but it wouldn’t be professional, and Thomas was everything professional nowadays. Between his tenure in the military, and now this career, he had to be. There was nothing else.
Nothing else that Holle especially deserved. Not after how she stood him up, ran away to be with him, and now was doing it all over again, with…ugh, Dash King of all people. Non-serious boyfriends for a very unserious girl. That’s what she was to him. Even now, as Thomas tried to work, and save this ex-friend’s life of hers despite owing her nothing and deserving everything in return, Holle was getting on his last nerve. Thunder crackled outside. Flashes came through the curtained windows. The hot tub bubbled and steamed. The television played weak-ass advertisements. And here she was, deciding to lean over the table, over his workplace, and for what? To read the calorie content on some year-old bag of chips or fresher albeit plastic packaged salads?
Right over his notes, too. In her thinly covered body. Her breasts – were they always this big and profound? – hovered right over his notepad, casting a shadow and blocking his light. She hovered there, like some statuesque model posing for a bunch of art students with paint canvases. Thomas sighed, as if that might hurry her up. Couldn’t she lean back and read the nutritional content? Typical Hollywood elite, always concerned about what went in their body. Or she could sit, like a normal god damn human being.
And then she twisted, turning to give him a view of her face, her cleavage, the hint of the edge of her areola, daring now to mock the choices of snacks and drinks he brought back.
Seventeen year old Thomas would have hooted at the sight she gave him now. Modern day Thomas…willfully forced his eyes from his notepad to her face. And nowhere else. He was a good boy. He would stay a good boy. She didn’t deserve his goodness though. Remember how fun he used to be? They ought to both be in the hot tub, joking about what hot champagne tastes like since the bottles would be in there too with them. But no, he was a professional.
”If you like, ma’am,” Thomas began slowly, emphasizing the title, ”I can go scrounging for fresh vegetables outside.” He said pointedly back. They were in the middle of nowhere, a vast rural area, surrounded by corn farms and god knew what else. He would rather pick vegetables out of the dirty ground, in a thunderstorm, then sit here and deal with…whatever this was.
”But that is all they had. We have to make do with the circumstances we are put in.” For a moment his eyes faltered and fell to her chest again, though not to look at her peeking nipples, but once more at the…tattoo she had. She might be able to see his eyes and guess where they were looking. And the recognition in his eyes would be visible for a moment, before his eyes were forcefully turned downwards. ”Now please, have a seat. I don’t like how you loom.” Thomas asked of her, a tinge of annoyance getting into his voice, the first time emotion ever characterized something he said to her. Well, besides when he told her that her responses during the Drew Barrymore interview was stupid.
Holle asked him questioningly and even without looking, Thomas could feel her scrutinizing gaze on the back of his head. He almost lost his nerve, especially after her dodgy bake cookies remarks. She wasn’t a serious person, huh. Even with all the dangers. Don’t like being called ma’am? Well what are you then, if not that? He almost retorted in the driest tone he could muster, but it wouldn’t be professional, and Thomas was everything professional nowadays. Between his tenure in the military, and now this career, he had to be. There was nothing else.
Nothing else that Holle especially deserved. Not after how she stood him up, ran away to be with him, and now was doing it all over again, with…ugh, Dash King of all people. Non-serious boyfriends for a very unserious girl. That’s what she was to him. Even now, as Thomas tried to work, and save this ex-friend’s life of hers despite owing her nothing and deserving everything in return, Holle was getting on his last nerve. Thunder crackled outside. Flashes came through the curtained windows. The hot tub bubbled and steamed. The television played weak-ass advertisements. And here she was, deciding to lean over the table, over his workplace, and for what? To read the calorie content on some year-old bag of chips or fresher albeit plastic packaged salads?
Right over his notes, too. In her thinly covered body. Her breasts – were they always this big and profound? – hovered right over his notepad, casting a shadow and blocking his light. She hovered there, like some statuesque model posing for a bunch of art students with paint canvases. Thomas sighed, as if that might hurry her up. Couldn’t she lean back and read the nutritional content? Typical Hollywood elite, always concerned about what went in their body. Or she could sit, like a normal god damn human being.
And then she twisted, turning to give him a view of her face, her cleavage, the hint of the edge of her areola, daring now to mock the choices of snacks and drinks he brought back.
Seventeen year old Thomas would have hooted at the sight she gave him now. Modern day Thomas…willfully forced his eyes from his notepad to her face. And nowhere else. He was a good boy. He would stay a good boy. She didn’t deserve his goodness though. Remember how fun he used to be? They ought to both be in the hot tub, joking about what hot champagne tastes like since the bottles would be in there too with them. But no, he was a professional.
”If you like, ma’am,” Thomas began slowly, emphasizing the title, ”I can go scrounging for fresh vegetables outside.” He said pointedly back. They were in the middle of nowhere, a vast rural area, surrounded by corn farms and god knew what else. He would rather pick vegetables out of the dirty ground, in a thunderstorm, then sit here and deal with…whatever this was.
”But that is all they had. We have to make do with the circumstances we are put in.” For a moment his eyes faltered and fell to her chest again, though not to look at her peeking nipples, but once more at the…tattoo she had. She might be able to see his eyes and guess where they were looking. And the recognition in his eyes would be visible for a moment, before his eyes were forcefully turned downwards. ”Now please, have a seat. I don’t like how you loom.” Thomas asked of her, a tinge of annoyance getting into his voice, the first time emotion ever characterized something he said to her. Well, besides when he told her that her responses during the Drew Barrymore interview was stupid.