After driving for a while, Nathan Redgrave flicked on his turn signal and pulled over. "You can head back on your own," he said. "I have something to do, so I can't take you home."
"Nathan, these past few days have been awful. I get harassing calls almost every day, or I'm trapped in my house by fans, too scared to leave. I'm so glad I ran into you today. I don't know what I would've done otherwise."
Nathan rested both hands on the steering wheel, his gaze somber as he looked at her. "We should probably keep our distance from now on. Go on home."
"Why? You promised my sister you'd take care of me. Are you planning to wash your hands of me now?"
Fiona's eyes, brimming with tears, conveyed a look of pure vulnerability. She clutched Nathan's sleeve, her face a mask of anxiety and helplessness.
Nathan pushed her hand away, his voice cool and steady. "I'm not saying I'm washing my hands of you, but from now on, we shouldn't meet or call each other unless it's absolutely necessary."
