Chapter Twenty-Two
“You’re going to buy The Insider?”
Aaron looks at me across the table, sucking up a string of spaghetti like a child. I wrinkle my nose at the action, and he laughs.
“Why are you looking at me like I’ve gone completely crazy?”
“Buying a tabloid. You could pay them off instead.”
“Paying people off doesn’t always work. As soon as the money is in their hands, all bets are off, especially for a company like them. Dottie said it herself—the only reason they’re running the story and paying Naomi an extortionate fee is because they’ll fold if they don’t. If I step in, buy the company, and keep them afloat, they have no need to pay her and run the story.”
“Okay, so I understand that.” I put my fork on the table. “But do you really want to be associated with them?”
“They’ll have a regular investment from a silent partner. My name wouldn’t be connected to them in any way.”
“You say it like it’s so easy. Like, what? You’ll just roll up to The Insider’s office and tell them you’re buying them? Slap a contract on the table in front of the dude who owns it?”
He smirks slowly, the curve of his lips both tantalizing and amusing. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart. I’ll tell them I’m buying their company or they’ll find themselves unable to sell another paper regardless of the supposedly breaking news stories they print.”
“Really? You’d destroy their company?”
He levels his gaze on me. It’s steady and firm, honesty reigning supreme in the blue of his eyes. “I told you this morning that I’d kill a man if it meant protecting you. What makes you think I won’t rip a shitty little tabloid to shreds to do the same thing?”
***
A sheen of sweat covers my skin as I pound my feet against the treadmill. After more than two weeks of not exercising, I feel a little bit out of it. A lot out of it.
But I need this. I need to feel the burn in my legs and the thumping of my heart as I put all of my frustration and tension into this workout. I need to let go of some of it, or who knows what will happen. I sure as shit don’t need to have another anxiety attack.
The gym on the floor beneath Aaron’s apartment is a happy discovery. And since it’s early afternoon and everyone is at work, I’m here alone. Which means I’m here to pant and scream and grunt my way through pushing out the heaviness of the last few days.
Yesterday is still niggling at the back of my mind though. I’m still feeling uncertain over Aaron’s proclamation regarding The Insider. I’m also aware of the fact that it doesn’t cover all our bases.
We don’t know if she sold the story exclusively or not. Still, it doesn’t matter. I wish that it did. The story won’t run, so she can sell it again. She can sell it to any number of papers in this city alone.
Not to mention nationwide. Stone Advertising is a staple in so many industries, not just the fashion and modeling worlds. They run campaigns for fragrances and music and food. They’re everywhere because they’re the best.
Any number of the shiny, glossy magazines I eye every time I walk past the stand in a store would buy that story. My story.
I close my eyes and slow my pace. How did she know everything? How could she possibly know every little detail about my life? The only ones who know anything like that are…
The people I’ve worked with.
Monique wouldn’t do that. This much I do know, and I’m completely certain of it. The informal contract we sign upon joining her dictates that work never leaves work, and personal details are never provided to anyone.
But the girls…
The escort world isn’t dissimilar to the modeling world in the sense that your looks are everything. The prettiest, sexiest, most alluring girl gets the big players. They get the big pay at the end of the week and keep drawing them in. They get the regular, strong income.
That makes for jealousy. I don’t know anyone who does that job because they truly enjoy it. Really, having sex with numerous men isn’t fun. It’s not the kind of thing that makes you bounce out of bed excitedly on a morning. That’s the bottom line, and the only thing that sweetens the fact you’re a f*cking toy for whoever buys you is the money they pay.
It isn’t irrational to believe that one of the girls I worked with for the last couple of years would have broken the story.
After all, I got the fairytale. All bullshit aside, I was the top girl. I met the guy. I won his heart. I left the business.
I did what they want, however unintentionally.
And now that could destroy everything.
I wipe my face with a towel and take the elevator up to Aaron’s apartment. Our apartment. I really have to get used to saying that—which is a problem when I’m not used to sharing.
I run the shower and grab my cell from the kitchen side, ignoring the blinking message icon, and call Monique.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I mutter.
“I have,” she responds. “This better be good.”
“I hope you mean good-important and not good-good.”
“Nope. I was hoping for a marriage announcement or the like.”
I snort. “About as far from it as I can get, Mon. Listen, we have a problem.”
“What the f*ck now?”
“One of your girls sold me out.”
Silence. Nothing but her heavy, controlled breathing. Until… “What the f*cking hell do you mean? Sold you out?”
I reel off the whole story, ending with my realization of just moments ago. She hisses out a string of angry words, none of which are remotely understandable, and I hear a door slam behind her.
“Let me check the appointments from four and five weeks ago. There has to be something out of the ordinary. I’ll get back to you in half an hour.” She hangs up, and I drop my phone on the sofa.
I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The water beats away the tension in my shoulders the way the treadmill sweated it out. The only thing this can’t solve is my annoyance.
No, it’s not annoyance. It’s anger. One that’s only set to increase when I find out who turned my shit inside out and sold it.
I don’t doubt Naomi paid for the information. Which means it would have been one of the lowest-earning girls on Monique’s books. One of the most jealous, desperate ones. One of the ones who needed the money the most.
Which means…
“Shit!” I rinse the conditioner from my hair and grab a towel, my wet hair dripping down my back. Then I shut off the shower.
My cell rings as I run into the front room. “Monique, it was—”
“Lori. She had a random two-hour long client who paid a lot of money for her time around the time you called to cancel Aaron’s payments.”
“Just before Naomi came to see me. F*ck! What’s her address?”
“3A Juniper Avenue.”
“Wow. Thanks. I didn’t think you’d actually give it to me.”
A knock sounds at the door.
“My girl or not, she doesn’t f*ck with you. Call me later when you know for sure. If she sold you out, she’s out on her f*cking ass.”
“Gotcha. Bye.” I hang up for the second time and look through the peephole in the door. “Tyler! Perfect timing.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Grab a coffee.” I shut the door behind him. “Or tea. Whatever the hell you want. I need to get ready. Then you can take me somewhere.”
He raises his eyebrows, a welcome glint of amusement reflecting throughout his expression. “I can, can I?”
“You can and you will.” I point at him, walking backward.
“You’ve been taking lessons on ordering people about from my cousin,” he calls through the apartment.
I smile. It seems that way. Well, that’s something that will come in handy in the next half hour.
I change quickly and blast my hair through with the hairdryer. When it’s damp, I braid it to the side so it hangs over my shoulder. A flick of mascara and I’m ready to go. Ready to go and do what I’m going to refer to as “doing an Aaron.”
“Let’s go.” I open the front door.
“But I just made tea.”
“F*ck your tea. I’ll make you ten cups later. Move it, Ty.”
He sighs and puts the mug down, leading me out of the apartment and into the elevator. “You know what, Dayton? You’re lucky you’re Aaron’s girlfriend. The last woman to boss me about this way found herself bent over my f*cking car.”
“Nice,” I say dryly.
Tyler opens the door of his rental car and I get in. “Where are we going?” he asks.
“3A Juniper Avenue.”
“Hang on. Oh, yes. Got it. I know exactly where I’m going.”
I hit him in the arm. “I’ll direct you. Now let’s go.”
“Where are we going, exactly?”
“Right. Now left. That’s it.”
“Day.”
“I know who sold me out.”
“Ah.”
***
The elevator in Lori’s apartment block is broken, so I climb the stairs, thanking myself for putting on flats instead of my usual heels. I’m not thanking the seven flights of stairs, I admit.
I bang on the door and fidget while I wait for her to answer. I knock again, and I hear her call, “One minute!”
I take a deep breath, trying to rein in the annoyance running rife through me. Screaming at her won’t do any good.
She opens the door and her eyes widen when she sees me. “Dayton. What a surprise.”
“I’d imagine it is. Can I come in?”
“I don’t—”
“Thanks.” I squeeze past her and look around her apartment. You wouldn’t look at this place and believe she was the lowest earner on Monique’s books. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” She closes the door softly.
“How much did you have to sell me out for to pay for it?”
Lori draws in a sharp breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Lori.” I turn to her, my hands on my hips, and pierce her with my gaze. She freezes. “I know for a fact you told Naomi everything about me.”
She says nothing, but she pulls her gaze from mine and looks at the floor.
“I’ll take your silence as an admission. Why would you do that, Lori? Why the f*ck would you go and break the unwritten rule we all lived by? We weren’t friends, but we weren’t enemies either.”
“You had everything.” She looks at me again, her eyes harder than a moment ago. “You had f*cking everything. The big clients. The biggest cut for Monique at the end of the week. You coasted through life without as much as a damn pimple on your chin.”
“And that’s a reason to sell my life story to my boyfriend’s jealous, manipulative ex-wife, right? So she can blackmail me into paying her the money she didn’t get from their divorce?” I raise my eyebrows, and her face whitens. “Oh, she didn’t tell you that. I didn’t think she would have.”
“F*ck. I-I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apology, Lori. You’ve f*cked everything—for yourself as well. Did you think you wouldn’t be found out? What do you really stand to gain from this?”
“I was in debt. She offered me enough to pay it all off and then some.”
I don’t have it in me to feel bad. I just can’t feel an ounce of sympathy or pity for her.
“I hope it was worth it, and I hope you truly thought through what you were doing. You haven’t just put my identity and Stone Advertising at risk. You’ve put your own life and Monique’s business at risk, too. It wouldn’t take much to link me back to Monique.”
“Naomi said that wouldn’t happen.”
“Naomi is a lying bitch, Lori. She can’t control what happens when she sells the story, what digging journalists do. And she has, by the way, sold the story, and now I’m trying to do damage control. Aaron has one hundred other things he needs to be doing, but because you decided I was worth a few thousand dollars, he’s busting his ass trying to make this right. I hope you’re proud of yourself. You can expect a call from Monique later tonight.”
“Wait, what?”
I open her front door. “Do you honestly think she’ll keep you on her books after this? You’ve put every single one of us at risk of exposure, and in some cases, you’ve put us in genuine danger. Angry wives are ruthless, as evidenced by the woman who put us here.”
She pales even further. “F*ck. I didn’t think,” she whispers.
“Evidently f*cking not.” I step through the door then pause and look over my shoulder. “And, Lori?”
“Yeah?”
“If this story breaks, if my whole life is splashed over the pages of some sleazy tabloid, you can bet your damn life I’ll be slapping a lawsuit on your ass.”
Her eyes widen.
“And as much as you know about my life, I probably know a lot more about yours. If I go down, I’m sure as hell taking you with me.”