The Writer & The Player #Wattys2016

Chapter 8

I jumped back instinctively, straight out of Zac's grasp, shaking my head rapidly. Zac with a look of bewilderment followed my eyes to the paparazzi, as I watched his face go stone cold with anger.

"If that is one of Tiffany's little minions I swear to god-" Zac begins to mumble angrily but I cut him off.

"We don't know that for sure." I interrupt. "Either way, we need to get back to the beach house without anymore photos being taken of us." I say. I look back up to the paparazzi to see 3 more jumping over the bushes and down towards the sand with more cameras.

This is really bad.

"They shouldn't even know that we're here. Nobody knows about this house." He says looking towards me. "Except Rafael and me."

He runs his wet fingers through his hair, frustrated. "If those photos get out, this could ruin my whole career." He face is numb with realisation. I would ruin his whole career? It was like a punch to my stomach.

"Either way," I say, trying to ignore his words. "We have to get back to the house."

I trudge through the water, feeling the water line slowly decrease around my feet. Shielding my face from the flashing cameras, as soon as my feet touched the sand, I hit the ground running. I pushed forward, my ears being filled with the noises of flashing cameras, shutters and shouts from prying men I don't know, in what felt like the longest run ever. I stagger for a moment, the dry sand sinking at my feet as I feel a hand on the middle of my back pushing me forward.

Finally we reach the gate, and run up the stairs, Zac closing the gate behind us and locking it shut. My feet burn from the rapidness of movement and the hot sand as my heart beat rapidly, blood pumping everywhere.

We were out of sight now, from any invading camera and all I could hear was the faint mumbling of an annoyed paparazzi who sounded like he was retreating away from the beach.

I flopped onto the top step and lied down onto the wooden patio with my eyes shut, my fingers placing pressure between my eyes.

I hear Zac flop down beside me, but I stay as I am. I was in no mood to talk. At least not with him. I was now in a picture with Zac Bleu. I was not only in a picture with Zac Bleu, I was in Zac Bleu's damn arms at the beach. And there was no stopping these images getting to the press. I had already used up my blackmail points with Tiffany, if I was to do anything now, it would just become a vicious circle.

We stay still for what felt like forever. Me lying on the ground and Zac sitting over his knees, palm over his chin, deep in thought.

What are magazines going to say? What are the articles going to say? Did they even get a recognisable photo of me? They're going to assume I'm just another conquest. I am far from one of Zac's conquests.

Either way, it was done, and we were going to have to deal with it. Those were the facts.

I sit up, sighing. Zac glances at me from the corner of his eye then stares back out into the sunset. His shirt was still drying, the wet spots sticking to his muscles on his back.

"Can I ask you a question?" He says quietly.

"Uh-yeah." I say, looking out into the vibrant sky full of strokes of reds and oranges, leaning on my palms.

"Why are you writing for Trend, when you clearly aren't into this kind of stuff?" He begins. "I've never come across someone who despises almost every moment she's with me like you do." I was slightly taken aback. Yes I know that I wasn't the nicest to him and that I certainly wasn't like every other girl who fell at his feet, but really? Despise? I'm not that mean.