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Was that directed at me?
Diane’s gaze narrows on me. “Do you live here?”
Griff squeezes me tighter with one arm and reaches for the camera, pushing it out of my face with his free hand. “Leave her out of this. She’s not part of the show.”
The show. This is the woman responsible for recruiting my boyfriend onto a reality show and taking him away from me all summer. My fingers curl, desperate to wrap around her throat and squeeze really hard.
Diane tilts her head but doesn’t repeat her question. She focuses her energy on Griff.
“We decided to accelerate the schedule.” Her chipper tone grates against my nerves like pebbles in my shoes. “The surprise pick-up adds excitement.” She grins, wide and amused. “One of our other producers already got punched in the face. It’ll make a great episode.”
Her gaze lands on me again, and a sick feeling slithers through my stomach. “Although, barely legal teen girlfriend might be an even better hook. Please tell me you’re at least eighteen, sweetheart? Do your parents know you’re here?”
Griff says, “Don’t,” at the same time that I say, “Yes, I’m eighteen.”
“Oh, thank God.” She presses her palms together like she’s in a church and raises them toward the ceiling. “We want a bad boy, but not a statutory rapist.”
“The age of consent is seventeen in New York,” I mutter, remembering Hayden’s advice about dating Griff.
“Molly,” Griff warns in a low voice.
“I love it!” Diane claps her hands. “Good lord, aren’t you an adorable thing, too.” She reaches for my hair, pulling one of my long braids like she wants to film a shampoo ad next. “Smile, sweetie. Aren’t you excited? Griff’s going to be on television.” Her voice takes on the babyish tone you might use to train a golden retriever puppy.
Gritting my teeth, I force my cheeks up, but I doubt what my face is actually doing resembles a smile.
“Look at those perfect, straight, white teeth.” She pats the side of my face. “Such a pretty girl.” Her gaze swings to Griff then back to me again. “You make a stunning couple.”
Officially creeped out, I glance at Griff again.
“Diane, I have a job. I need to give notice,” Griff says, instead of protesting the way she’s studying me like I’m a racehorse she wants to load into a trailer and haul to Saratoga.
“We took care of that. Jerry was very excited for you,” Diane gushes. “What a nice man.”
“He’s a good boss,” Griff mutters. I can only imagine how stressed Griff is, thinking he’s leaving Jerry in the lurch. He continues glaring at Diane. “I’m not packed, yet.”
“It was in your contract. You should be ready to go at a moment’s notice,” Diane says.
“Yeah, and this is weeks ahead of the time frame I was given,” he counters.
This is all so unfair. Ridiculous.
My eyes prickle and my nose stings. Pain wraps around my throat, and I force myself to wheeze in an agonizing breath.
Oh no.
I’m not crying in front of these people.
“I’ll help you pack,” I mutter, ducking out from underneath Griff’s arm. I hurry toward the bedroom without waiting for a response.
“Thanks,” Griff says. In a lower voice, he says, “No.”
That “no” wasn’t meant for me.
Afraid the creepy camera dude might chase after me, I run to Griff’s bedroom and quietly close the door.
Is this really happening?
My heart pounds wildly. I count to five and then ten, desperate to get my breathing under control and not cry.
