Finding Betsy (Betsy Jones Book 2)

Finding Betsy - Chapter One

There were many perks to having a billionaire as a boyfriend; this was not one of them.

As Betsy turned the car on to her street, a small lane of honeysuckle covered cottages, they were all waiting for her. The vultures. 

Cameras flashed at her approach and, as her little red hatchback came to a stop outside of her rented cottage, she could hear them too. Their voices were muted by the glass separating her from them but they could have been shouting in her ear for all the difference it made. She heard each and every word. 

Betsy tightened her grip around the steering wheel. She didn't need to be here. It would be so easy to turn the key and drive away. She could do it. It would be so easy to run away and let them chase her from her house. But when would it stop?

They had already chipped away at her life.

"I can't let them win." Betsy muttered to herself, forcefully loosening her white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. "You can do this."

Releasing the seatbelt, she took a moment to get herself ready for the onslaught. At least, as ready as she could be.  

Not even slightly bolstered by her pep talk, Betsy drew in a deep breath and pushed open the car door. The swarm of paparazzi flooded towards her, like a dam had burst and released a torrent of uncomfortable and unwanted attention. Lights flashed close to her face causing white spots to dance across her vision.

Placing one hand on the door, she fought to gain her bearings. With her bag held protectively in front of her and her door keys clutched painfully between her fingers, she blinked to clear her vision. 

But it was relentless.

It was an assault on her senses from all sides. Noise. Light. Touch.

Shoulders barged into her. Then, as a bearded man thrust his camera lens in her face, she was assaulted by the smell of garlic and onion which lingered on his breath. Her stomach churned uncomfortably in response. There was no consideration for her personal space. There was no thought about her at all other than the money she would earn them. Hands grabbed at her body as they all fought for her attention.

It was too much.

Betsy ducked her head, slamming the car door behind her. Her hands trembled around the keys as she fought her way forwards, one step at a time. It was as if she were wading through treacle. The paparazzi parted slowly - reluctantly. The flashes didn't stop for even a moment. Their voices only grew louder, and their invasion of her personal space more persistent, the longer she ignored them. 

"Betsy, is it true you're engaged?" A voice bellowed into her ear, their phone eagerly pointed at her face.

"What can you tell us of the rumours Nicholas is stepping down?"

"Can you confirm reports that you have set a wedding date?"

"Is it true Nicholas cheated?"

The questions kept coming, becoming more ridiculous and outlandish as the seconds passed. She kept her head down and kept moving. Even so, her chest grew painfully tight. Her palms were clammy and her heart thundered so hard so she could hear the rapid beat of her pulse. Panic had become a familiar and unwelcome friend and Betsy could already feel it's claws digging in. 

Reaching the gate, Betsy broke free from the crowd and rushed towards the blue painted door to her cottage. None of the vultures made an effort to follow past the garden wall. Instead, Betsy hurried path alone and into the welcoming warmth and safety of her house. 

But was she safe?

Even after the door was shut firmly, each of the five locks and bolts firmly in place, her body still trembled. Her keys dropped from between her limp fingers and crashed on to the wooden floor. Gasping, she leaned against the door. Pressing one hand over her heart, Betsy closed her eyes and grasped desperately for the calm she needed. It hovered just out of reach. Her frantic breaths grew more rapid and black spots appeared across her vision.