the younger woman staring at her. “What?”
“You’re going to give up on that guy?”
“Um…” She’d explained over a bottle of wine the night before the circumstances of why she’d left Nueva Vida. “I shouldn’t have fallen for him, I told you. I’m his butler.”
“You’re a butt-head, if you think being his butler or his shoeshine girl or his banker makes a whit of difference to that man.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I watched him. I heard him. I saw how he got through to his sister.”
Thinking of it tightened Sara’s throat. “She’s a good kid.”
“He’s a good man,” Imogen declared. “And I saw the way he looked at you, touched you, when he was worried about her.”
Sara shrugged. “We have…chemistry. But he’s not looking for romance.”
“I hope he’s looking ahead,” Imogen muttered, suddenly straightening in her seat. Then she turned around to look behind them. “And you better be careful of the cars on your tail.”
“What?” Sara glanced in the rearview mirror. A car was following close behind, with something poking out from its sunroof. “Is that a selfie stick?”
“That’s the paparazzi,” Imogen said with a grimace. “And if that’s where we’re turning in up ahead, another bunch are waiting.”
“Good God.” Sara gripped the wheel and tried to think. “How did they find us?”
“The masseuse,” Imogen said after a moment. “She’s new, and she gabbed the whole time about which celebrities she’s met or seen. As she was leaving she heard us talking, and I bet she tipped off the bastards.”
Nearing the entry to the estate, Sara followed Essie and Joaquin’s lead and flipped on her left clicker and edged close to the center line. The car behind her followed suit, nearly making contact with her rear bumper. But there was only room for one vehicle at time to pull into the driveway before the gate barred the way. Essie made the turn, then braked and unrolled her window to key in the passcode. Half–a-dozen photographers gathered around her car, making kissy faces and calling questions.
“Damn it,” Sara exclaimed. “I can’t believe I brought this to her.”
“Keep cool,” Imogen advised. “And I’m just as much to blame as you.”
Finally Essie was on her way down the drive and Joaquin swung right in behind her, before the gates could close. But a car traveling in the opposite direction meant Sara couldn’t immediately do the same.
Once clear, she made the turn, but then had to roll down her window, key the passcode, and wait for the barrier to open. It seemed like days, long enough for the relentless paparazzi to pepper her with questions.
“Are you marrying the mogul in Malibu?”
“Did his wife blacklist you in the U.K.?”
“What’s going on with you and Imogen?”
The pop star giggled at that. “Granny and I will sure have something to talk about on Sunday.”
But Sara couldn’t find it amusing because the reporters—if she could call them that—now ringed the car so tightly that when the gate began to move, she couldn’t.
Then Joaquin was there, shoving away the photographers to clear a space for her. She gunned the engine, almost crying in relief as the car cleared the entrance and the barrier closed behind her.
When she braked near the garage, Joaquin pulled open her door, Essie hovering at his elbow. Then the girl’s eyes went as wide as saucers as Sara’s passenger climbed from the other side. The pop singer had ditched her visor and her sunglasses and now she walked around the car to hold out her hand.
“Hi, Essie. We didn’t get to meet before. I’m Imogen.”
“I…wow…I had no idea…” The girl swallowed. “You’re my favorite singer.”
“Thank you. And sorry about bringing the paps with us,” Imogen said breezily. “Occupational hazard. Want to show me inside? I could use a soda or something.”
Clearly star-struck, Essie led the way to the front door of Nueva Vida.
Sara glanced back at the estate’s entrance then met Joaquin’s gaze. “I’m truly sorry. You wanted peace and quiet.”
“And what I got was a butler, a sister—”
“And my scandal.”
“About that…”
Sara felt herself cringe. “None of the story is true…at least on my side. I never encouraged him and his idea to leave his wife for me. Not once, not one single time by word or by deed.”
“It’s okay, doll,” Joaquin said. Then he took her by the hand and led her toward the house. “Now you come inside, too.”
“I can understand that you wouldn’t believe me,” Sara continued, miserable, as he drew her over the threshold and in the direction of the deck.