Page 26 of The Star in Room 7

We jump in the car, Zach choosing the music as I concentrate on driving. I get to the coast road and turn south, windows down, so the wind whips through our hair.

After an hour or so, we arrive at a secluded walled villa, with a security guard on duty outside the gate.

“Umm… Nate…”

I flash Zach a grin. “Trust me.”

The security guard wanders over to the car and leans down to get a better look at us. “Morning, Nate. Come on in.” He uses a remote control to open the tall, heavy-duty gate.

I drive through slowly, parking as close to the path that leads down to a private beach as possible. We get out, and I go to the trunk to pull out the breakfast picnic I packed, along with a blanket and sunscreen.

“Is this where you live?” Zach asks, awestruck.

I laugh. “I wish! No, it belongs to one of my clients. Someone I was a close protection officer for. When I started my own business, they came with me. They’re filming on location at the moment, so they said it was fine for us to borrow their beach.”

“They own a beach?” Zach squeaks.

“This stretch of it, yes. And because the paparazzi know they’re on location, none of them will be hanging around here.” I cup his cheek. “It’s safe here, Zach. You can relax.”

He presses into my touch. “Thank you.”

We find a spot in slight shade beneath palm trees and spread out the blanket. I put breakfast out, to the backing track of waves crashing against the sand, the breeze rustling the long fronds of the palm trees, and gulls squawking.

Zach sits, hugging his arms loosely around his raised knees. “It’s beautiful here. Am I allowed to know who your client is?”

“No, sorry. I signed an NDA. Everyone who works for me does, too. We value our clients’ privacy.”

“I’m glad you take it seriously.”

“Very. I’ve built a reputation for myself and my company, built on trust and discretion. I won’t put that at risk. Breakfast?”

He looks at the food, eyes widening. “This is amazing.”

“I wanted to spoil you.”

I’m pretty sure I’ve brought too much food: layered yoghurts in mason jars, fruit skewers, mini bagels lathered in cream cheese, muffin-tin frittatas, fluffy croissants and pastries, and a flask of iced coffee.

“You’ve definitely done that,” he says, blushing. “Thank you.” He picks up a croissant, breaks it in two, and nibbles on one half as he stares at the ocean. “It’s beautiful here. So peaceful.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Still raw. Still trying to convince myself I shouldn’t be reacting the way I am.”

My heart aches for him.

“Still can’t face the thought of going back to my apartment.”

“Have you heard from the cops?”

He presses his lips into a wobbly line. “They’ve pressed charges and set bail, which she was able to pay. So, she’s out on the streets, at least until the trial. Maybe forever, if she’s found not guilty. I can’t go back, Nate. Not while there’s a chance she might show up.”

“I can help you file a restraining order against her.”

“My agent’s already done that.”

I’m glad he’s confided in his agent. It’s important they know what’s going on and why Zach needs to take some time out from auditions.

“But what if she ignores it?” he asks.