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“Did your mother talk about Bowie?”
“Did Bowie know?”
“Is that why he didn’t leave you anything in his will?”
“Where’s the proof?”
“Did you get a DNA test?”
“Do you really believe your mother was Bowie’s love child?”
“Why spread her ashes along the tour?”
“Did your mother really die of cancer?”
My heart stills, my next breath frozen in my lungs. They know. About Mom. About Bowie. About everything.
Dread seeps into my bones as I whip around to face Dash. “How did they know we’d be here?”
Dash scrubs a hand over his face. “I—”
“Dash Hammond?” A stocky man in an orange-and-pink Hawaiian shirt shoves his cell phone camera in Dash’s face. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on the Hill with your dad?”
“Over here, Dash.” Cameras click and flashes go off as the mob moves in on Dash.
“Does Daniel know you’re slumming it with a gold digger?”
I tear my gaze from the stranger and gape at Dash again. “What did he just call me?”
“Where’s your mother, Dash?” Hawaiian Shirt Guy pushes his way to the front of the pack. “Did Lauren send you?”
“Your mother?” My head spins from the constant barrage of questions, the contents of my stomach churning. “Why would she—”
“She doesn’t know?” Hawaiian Shirt Guy barks out a laugh.
My mouth goes dry as I gaze up at Dash, probing his eyes for answers. “You said your mother was a writer.”
“Oh, she’s a writer, all right.” One of the circling sharks, a petite woman with a spiky pink pixie cut, smirks at Dash. “His mother is only the Lauren Michaels. Editor of Tattle Tale magazine.”
Dash points a trembling finger at Pink Hair. “This has nothing to do with my mother.”
“Did you scoop her, Dash? I’ll bet Lauren’s beaming with pride!” Hawaiian Shirt Guy raises his hand for a high five, but Dash glares at him.
My chest tightens, and I gape at Dash as if seeing him for the first time. A light gust ruffles my hair, my last shred of hope desiccating and blowing away with it. “Is that who you called last night?”
Dash rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes wild. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.”
For the first time since we met, I don’t believe him.
“If I’m wrong, explain how all these people knew where to find us.” The remains of my breakfast threaten to make a reappearance as his words from last night rush back to me. You could probably make a fortune selling your story. “Is this how you’re getting the money?”
“No!” Dash’s eyes widen behind his dark frames. “I wouldn’t! You know me better than that!” His anguished gaze locks on mine, and he reaches for me.
Yesterday, I would have latched on to his hand and never let go. Yesterday, I didn’t know any better.
Heart thundering in my ears, I step back out of his reach. “Do I? Really?”
I’d trusted him. More than that, I’d shared intimate details with him that I’d never shared with anyone. I willingly gave myself to him, body and soul. And he—
