His head is turned to the side and he’s looking at me.
Underneath the drawing are the words, love is the best gift I’ve ever had the privilege to give.
My heart thunders in my ears and the world feels like it tilts on its axis, turns everything upside down, and then realigns itself.
Josh.
When I felt like I was broken after my divorce it wasn’t Ian’s words that pulled me up, it was Josh. When I felt that I couldn’t go on after my diagnosis, it wasn’t Ian who helped me, it was Josh. Every time I quoted Ian to Josh, I was actually quoting Josh back to himself.
Why didn’t he ever tell me?
Why didn’t he ever say anything?
“I didn’t know that was you in the drawings until this year,” Ian says.
I look sharply over at him. I was so engrossed in the journal that I didn’t hear him walk up. He gestures at the picture. “Your looks improved with age. Lucky for you.”
A hot anger rises in me. “You stole Josh’s book.” It’s half-question, half-statement. Then, Ian smirks, and like a movie shown in replay, I remember all of Ian’s questions about Josh, his gloating reaction to Josh outside the restaurant. I remember how Josh stared at the quote on my wall, how he seemed annoyed whenever I told him to stop quoting Ian, how I thought that some of the quotes sounded just like something Josh would say. I remember all of it. And all the missing pieces click together to make a new picture. “You lied. Josh never took your work. At the start-up, you stole his work. You made a company from his ideas. You’re the thief.”
I look at Ian with a whole new level of disgust. I’d thought he was a sleaze that knew how to write inspirational words, but no, he’s a sleaze that steals other people’s words.
“You’re disgusting.”
Ian lifts his eyebrows, then shrugs. “Unfortunately, half my fanbase agrees with you. The microphones were on during your practice introductory remarks and someone fed them to the live stream.”
I narrow my eyes. What’s he talking about? Then I remember. He showed his true colors and someone must have aired him to twenty thousand people.
I remember Lavinia glaring at us, sitting behind the sound board. There wasn’t any reason for her to be there. Except…
“You know who did it,” Ian says. His eyes narrow on my face.
“I don’t,” I say.
I turn back to the journal. “This belongs to Josh.”
Ian shakes his head. “Actually. It doesn’t. I had my lawyers copyright, trademark and legally bind it to me years ago. Josh would have a hell of a time proving ownership. Besides, he never tried, did he? He could’ve taken me to court. But he didn’t. Instead he decided to quit and start a comic.”
I stare at him in shock. “But you stole from him. You lied. Everything you’ve done is based on a lie.”
Ian sighs and runs his hand through his thick hair. “Gemma. Grow up. Josh was never going to do anything with this book. It’s a glorified sketchpad that he left in a desk drawer. I saw it and realized the potential. I took it and made a multi-million-dollar business that has changed millions of people’s lives. What’s wrong with that? Tell me. The worth of a person is measured in the fruit of their actions. My ‘stealing’ and ‘lying’ has given millions of people hope.”
I’m so stunned by his logic that I can’t think of anything to say. Because in a way, he’s right. No matter what he did, no matter how rotten of a person he is, the words that he put out helped people.
I press my hand against my stomach. I feel slightly ill.
Ian lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be sick again.”
I shake my head.
Ian nods. “Good.” He gives me a searching look. “So you understand me then? Josh has never been a go-getter. He’s a living example of his own quote, I never regret the doing, only the not doing. He is an example of not doing. For example, it’s clear he has feelings for you, but he hasn’t acted on them, has he? He let me steal his work, and then he let me steal his girl.”
I clench my fists together and resist the urge to punch him in the face. Now I understand exactly why Josh laid him out on Valentine’s Day. I’d like to do exactly that. “You didn’t steal me.”
“Near enough,” Ian says. “That’s not the point. Here’s the deal. Three quarters of my staff has quit in outrage because of the ‘incident.’ The media is having a field day tearing my carefully built image apart. I need you. You believe in this organization as much as I do. I need you to issue a statement that you and I were role-playing a situation of how not to talk to others and it was all in good fun. Then we can come out with a series of videos about self-esteem for women in the workplace.”
I let out a disbelieving noise and Ian raises his eyebrows.
“Furthermore,” he says with the confident smile that I once found attractive, “next month, you’ll be promoted to vice president of Live Your Best Life Starting Now, where you will spearhead an overhaul of our image and the recruitment of new staff. With a commensurate pay raise, of course. Think of it, Gemma. You’ve worked so hard. You believe in our message. You can help me reach millions of people and get the credit you deserve. We can do great things together. We can make a difference.”
I look down at the journal, at the drawing of my teenage self, staring up at the sky. I wonder what I saw in the clouds that day, what I dreamed of. I wonder what Josh was thinking when he lay there next to me, when he drew this picture.
Ian watches me intently. “You have to see the reality, Gemma. Remember what I told you before? If Alexander Graham Bell hadn’t stolen from Elisha Gray we wouldn’t have the telephone as we know it. If Edison hadn’t stolen from Tesla, where would we be? If Zworykin hadn’t stolen from Farnsworth we wouldn’t have television. Imagine that, by your reasoning there is a lie, a crime behind every television in the world. But isn’t it better to be on the side of progress and not limit that?”