Page 12 of No Headlines Please

And if I wasn't?

Well, it would be just another Saturday, wouldn't it?

In a loud stage-whisper, one of them said, "Oh, my God. Do you know who that is?"

The second voice replied, "Oh, please. Like I wouldn't?"

The first one asked, "What's he doing here?" She said "here," like I'd been caught fondling tomatoes in the produce aisle.

The funny thing was, maybe ninety percent of people didn't recognize me at all, whether because they didn't live on the internet or just had better things to do. But the other ten percent? Yeah, they more than made up for it.

The script called for me to stop whatever I was doing and look their way – maybe pissed off, maybe curious, but definitely engaged.

I didn't bother.

I didn't do my own shopping. I didn't fondle produce. And I sure as hell didn't need commentary from two women who were probably moments away from pulling out their phones for selfies.

Sooner or later, they'd go one of two routes. They'd either want to slap me or fuck me. Possibly both.

After months of high drama, I'd seen it all.

When the clicking started back up, I kept my eyes trained on my phone and waited for the inevitable.

Sure enough, two sets of heels appeared directly in my line of sight as one of the women announced, "You're Maddox McGuiness."

No shit.

Slowly, I looked up. "And…?"

It was the blonde. "And…well…I can't decide if I should be annoyed or impressed."

Next to her, the brunette gave me a lingering once-over before murmuring, "I know which one I am."

When the blonde shot her a dirty look, the brunette said with a shrug, "Hey, I've got eyes, don't I?"

The blonde frowned. "Well, you should have a brain."

"Hey, we can't all hate him," the brunette said. "And besides, everyone knows that Sloane Hayworth's a total nightmare. Do you know, she's on her third assistant this year?"

But the blonde wasn't having it. "Yeah, well maybe you'd be a nightmare, too, if you were left standing at the altar." Her gaze shifted to me, and her voice rose. "After your so-called groom ditched you in front of five hundred guests."

Fuck.

Still, like a good villain, I summoned up a smirk. "Six hundred."

She blinked. "What?"

I leaned back on the sofa. "Hey, numbers matter."

She was glaring now. "You act like you're proud of it."

I wasn't proud. But I didn't regret it. Some might say it was the smartest decision of my life.

And others?

Well, the blonde was a good example of that.

When I made no reply, she clicked closer to say, "She cried for weeks, you know."