Free The Ex Factor by Laura Greaves

receptionist at my doctor’s office will fax my medical records to
TMZ.
’
    ‘You are kidding me!’
    He shrugs, as though having the details of your tonsillitis or ingrown toenail sold to the highest bidder is an everyday thing. But now I see that it
is
an everyday thing, at least for someone like Mitchell. All of a sudden, the silent presence of Mack the Bodyguard makes a lot more sense.
    ‘Why do you want to go to the beach, then, knowing those guys were on your trail? Isn’t it a bit public? We could have had dinner at my house.’
    ‘Because fuck them, that’s why,’ he says, and I instinctively recoil at the malice in his voice. ‘If people think they’re somehow better off because they saw a picture of me on a beach, that’s their damage. I’m not going to change the way I live my life just because my job makes me interesting to some people. Why should I?’
    I understand what he’s saying, really I do. And I can’t imagine having to put up with that degree of daily intrusion. I don’t even like it when Frankie wants to know what my weekend plans are.
    But at the same time, I also think Mitchell’s attitude is kind of selfish.
    ‘Well, maybe because it’s not just
your
life,’ I say.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘
You
don’t care if you’re photographed at the beach, because you’re used to it after so many years in the spotlight. But the person you’re at the beach with might not be so relaxed about it. That’s the reality of your life, but for mere mortals the possibility of being seen in swimwear by thousands – maybe millions – of strangers is kind of overwhelming.’
    I keep my gaze trained on the cracks in the footpath. It feels as if, in the thirty-six hours I’ve known Mitchell Pyke, I’ve done nothing but tell him off. I’m sure his patience is going to wear thin any moment now.
    Right on cue, Mitchell stops in his tracks. Behind us, Mack stops, too. ‘You must think,’ Mitchell says, ‘that I am a grade-A asshole.’
    Not quite the response I was expecting.
    Mitchell grasps my hand between both of his and presses them to his shirtfront. Knowing my hand is just a whisker from that broad, powerful chest has a dizzying effect.
    ‘First I kick your dog, then I turn up unannounced on your doorstep, and now I’ve thrown you to the paps like a piece of meat to a pack of wolves.’
    I wrinkle my nose at his gruesome analogy.
    ‘Kitty, I’m truly sorry. I swear I’m not the thoughtless prick you must think I am.’ He doesn’t let go of my hand as his green eyes search mine. I think this is what Frankie would call ‘Having a Moment’. The intensity of Mitchell’s gaze is unsettling.
    ‘I don’t think you’re a . . . I don’t think that.’
    ‘You’re sure?’
    ‘I’m sure. I’m not in the habit of going out with grade-A assholes. Even famous ones.’
    This makes him smile. But only for a second. The second after that, he’s leaning in close and brushing his lips softly against mine. Maybe it’s all the practice he’s had with his gorgeous co-stars over the years, but damn, this guy can kiss.
    But just as I start to melt into his embrace, Mitchell pulls away.
    ‘There I go again,’ he says huskily. ‘Thinking I can call the shots. I should have asked before I did that.’
    ‘No, you shouldn’t have.’ I close my eyes and tilt my chin up to kiss him again.
    Then, suddenly remembering I’m kissing a famous person in broad daylight and in the middle of the street, I stop and glance around us. From his sentry post a few metres away, Mack is watching the lorikeets fluttering in a jacaranda tree. He must have been taking acting tips from Mitchell, because it’s the perfect portrayal of studied nonchalance.
    Beyond Mack – but still close enough to raise my hackles – the red Hyundai has crept nearer. The driver’s face is obscured by his camera, but in the still of the early evening I can hear the shutter clicking away as aggressively as if it were