Chapter 3
Because Brandon was filming scenes three or four times a week, the studio had set him up with an extended-stay suite at a nice hotel for the duration of his contract. I knew exactly where it was, even knew his room number, and had intended on picking him up at his door. I parked the car and headed toward the hotel entrance, only to see Brandon striding through it. Cameras started to flash and click, the resident paparazzi taking as many picture as they could.
Brandon ignored them all. So did I. I knew they would be there, though I’d hoped they’d be absent. They seemed to follow every one of Brandon’s waking moments. I also knew that there would be pictures of us splashed across the tabloid sites and magazines within days, speculation about who I was and what I was to him in the
