Grumbling, I roll out of bed and head for the shower. She’s managed to ruin my morning and leave a sick, ugly feeling in my stomach. The craziest thing about my situation? I hear Macon moving around in his room and find myself in the same predicament I awake with every day—excited to see him.

In the four weeks since the accident, Macon has been in self-imposed seclusion. He’s slowly getting better; the black eye fades away; the slash over his brow heals to a faint scar that merely gives him more of a rakish appearance.

While his leg is still in the walking boot, his wrist and ribs are now unwrapped. He works out with North every day, doing a modified routine.

Being more mobile clearly makes him antsy. And he soon tells me to accept an invitation to a charity luncheon on Saturday. Which is fine—I’m glad he’s getting out of the house and back into life—only I have to go too. It’s a daytime event, which means fairly casual, but I’m still stuck in a little black A-line dress and sensible heels, trailing behind Macon as he walks the red carpet, camera flashes going off like starbursts, people calling out his name.

North blends with the crowd, his job as bodyguard not as needed with all the security manning the event. I’m met by Timothy Wu, Macon’s publicist. The energetic man’s enthusiasm tires me out within minutes, but I have to say he totally rocks a pinstripe suit and yellow polka-dot tie.

Timothy takes me under his wing, and together we answer press questions, take numbers, and run interference whenever someone he deems unacceptable tries to get too close to Macon. I quickly learn about press-publicist vendettas and backbiting.

“That bitch,” Timothy hisses in my ear after waving off a woman with promises to keep in touch. “She completely misquoted Macon in an interview. Made it sound like he was ungrateful for his success with Dark Castle.”

One thing I know for certain about Macon is that he never takes his work for granted.

“Then why did you agree to set up another meeting?” I ask Timothy.

He shrugs lightly. “Her magazine is too popular to ignore her.”

That pretty much sums the whole thing up. Here, Macon is a commodity, a product carefully crafted and handled. It isn’t that he’s fake; his genuine nature is still there—that’s what makes him so appealing—but it’s as if a glass wall has been dropped between him and everyone else. And what we get to see is a picture, not the true man.