Her Filthy Rich Boss (Irresistible Billionaires #3) - Summer Brooks Page 0,2

took my crazy little self who had just blown up at some poor dude who wanted to give me a quarter for my sandwich- which I still thought was extremely stingy of him- and hauled ass over to the crowd of photographers, not caring that I was going to have to jostle my way through them in order to get anywhere.

That sandwich was absolutely worth it.

“Rhett, look over here!” One of them was shouting, jumping up and down behind the rest of the photographers, attempting to get the attention of whatever celebrity had decided that now would be the perfect time to become a patron of my bagel shop.

It was ridiculous, really, the way celebrities thought they could just do something like that. Could just wake up one day and decide they wanted a bagel from a tiny little mom and pop place, knowing full well that they’d bring an entire crowd of paparazzi with them, but somehow not caring in the slightest.

“Excuse me,” I said to the guy jumping up and down at the back of the crowd.

But he was too busy staring at the guy in the middle.

Rhett.

I couldn’t even think of a celebrity named Rhett. But then again, I’d never cared all that much for celebrities. That was Henrietta’s job, to know the who’s who of Hollywood, New York, and Miami at any given moment.

My job was so much similar. It was all about crunching numbers and getting an answer.

“Excuse me!” I hollered, a little louder, as the crowd seemed to shrink in on itself.

Still, no one was listening. They were all just shouting at the guy named Rhett, trying to get him to turn every which way and give them a good view of whatever surgically handsome face he had on today.

Finally, I got fed up with standing at the very back of the crowd, waiting for my chance to just get my freaking business before I went home and changed so I didn’t get any other strange men tossing coins in my face with absolutely no warning.

“Listen, lady, get here earlier if you want the money shot next time,” a rougher pap said, elbowing me harshly in the chest.

If I’d thought I’d hit my breaking point when I yelled at that kid earlier, it was nothing compared to the complete blank wall of red I saw the moment that guy elbowed me.

“Yo,” I growled, standing up and shoving him back, just as hard as he’d shoved me. “I just want a sandwich. I don’t care about any celebrity.”

And with that, I used every weapon at my disposal, every elbow and shoulder and foot that I possessed, to literally muscle my way through the crowd and stumble into the center, where I came face to face with someone who was, to my surprise, completely familiar.

But it wasn’t because I’d seen his face in magazines or on any sort of social media.

It was because, not that long ago, I’d sat at a table with him trying to fight the strange little butterflies in my gut that told me to be brave, and bold, and do some flirting.

I’d hardly managed to do it, though. And I’d never seen him again.

Rhett Thompson.

The moment I stumbled into the center of the little ring of paparazzi, the camera flashes stopped, and the yelling came to an abrupt halt.

“Who are you?” Someone shouted rudely, lowering her camera and glowering at me as if I’d purposefully stepped into the center of them like it was some lame little attempt to get my picture in a glossy magazine or over a clickbait filled link on Twitter.

I couldn’t even bring myself to glare at her, though, because I was still staring into Rhett’s beautiful brown eyes, frozen in time as he cocked his head and scrunched his brow.

“If you wanted to get a picture with me, you could have just asked,” he chuckled.

He thought I was a fan. He didn’t even recognize me.

Suddenly, the little butterflies in my stomach turned into a hot, roiling pot of lava, filled with complete embarrassment.

“I don’t want a picture with you,” I replied. “I just want a bagel sandwich. That’s it. I’ve wanted a bagel sandwich for the last five minutes, and all of these people made it nearly impossible for me to get.”

I waved my hand at the cameras and their dirty possessors, indicating that they were my biggest pet peeve, and all Rhett could do was smile.

“Pretty cool, right?” He grinned. “They follow me everywhere. It’s great