So I drowned myself in the Sellwood theater plans for the last several hours, but I could use a break. I stand up and open my office door, signaling that it’s okay to disturb me. As the noise from the rest of the office wafts in, I check out the skyline.
The sun bathes Big Pink in a particularly rosy glow. With no drizzle in the way, the downtown features come into sharp focus. The traffic buzzes below us, and airplanes soar from PDX. It’s the kind of day for movement.
I need to do something. Show Evie she’s the only one for me. Let her know that the response to my blog means nothing compared to her. I pace.
Meredith pokes her head in. “Need a warm-up, Mr. Cartwright?”
“Yes, please.”
She takes my mug, gives me an odd look, then smiles. “Figured you’d need it to get through today.”
What does that mean?
Do I have an appointment that’s escaped my mind?
I check my calendar. Nope. Nothing unusual.
Glancing around, I notice there’s a strange energy in the office, an excitement that doesn’t normally happen on a Monday morning, except after something noteworthy like the Super Bowl or the Academy Awards, when everyone’s talking about it the next day. But this past weekend, there was nothing. I have no idea why the office is tittering. The phones are ringing like crazy.
With my hand in my pocket, I stroll out of my office into the main galley of cubicles, and like an orchestra conductor signaled, everyone falls silent, except the phone keeps ringing. No one picks it up, though.
Okay, now what the actual fuck?
Handing me a refilled cup of coffee, Meredith says, “Here you go, big guy.”
Someone giggles.
Furrowing my brow, I thank Meredith and go back into my office and shut the door. I pause with the mug half way to my mouth when the noise immediately returns to the elevated levels.
Now I’m fucking paranoid.
What the hell is going on?
The red light for my phone messages blinks. I haven’t checked my emails yet. I’ve been so absorbed in drafting.
But pulling out my cell, which has been on silent, I see twenty-nine text messages since I got to work.
I am now officially freaked out. What happened? Did someone die? Was there an attack? Is Evie okay?
Have I been found out?
I click on Drew’s text first.
Send nudes, followed by various selfies where he’s clearly inebriated.
Not helpful.
But I breathe a sigh of relief.
Evie’s simply has a link and says, “Did you see this?”
I click on it.
With my heart beating in my ears, the roar so loud I can’t hear the rest of the office, I see the headline splashed across TMZ.
POPULAR PORN BLOG FEATURES MEMBER OF CARTWRIGHT FAMILY
Gary the Gossip reported earlier today that the anonymous blogger behind the viral All About the D blog is actually Joshua Aden Cartwright, youngest son of Portland’s famed Cartwright family and brother to Senatorial candidate Spencer Cartwright.
The blog, which portrays full-frontal male nudity in whimsical situations, has spawned a mini-empire of merchandising, including adult novelties by Caligula Toys and other partners.
There is no word from Spencer Cartwright’s campaign regarding his younger brother’s X-rated pastime.
Although a spokeswoman for the Cartwright family categorically denied the report, Gary the Gossip insists his sources are reputable. Joshua has been seen with local attorney Evelyn Mills, who is rumored to be the hand model in a graphic video. Click here for NSFW photos…
And there’s a picture of my bored face from Spencer’s ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Next to my face is a black box that repeats the warning that the image is graphic, and when I click on it, I’m greeted by a photo of my cock.
Oh, motherfucking hell.
The sound of the coffee mug smashing on the floor is the only reason I know I’ve cleared all the shit from my desk with a swipe of my arm.
Rage and humiliation mingle in a dangerous concoction in my chest. In a blind panic, I call Evie.
“I was about to call you—” she starts, but I interrupt.
“What the actual fuck? How could this happen? It was your job to ensure this never happened.”
And then I’m pissed at myself for taking this out on her. I let out my breath and try to get myself under control. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to blame you. I’m just… This is… This fucking sucks. I don’t know what to do.”
“I have no idea how it happened, Josh, but trust me, we will get to the bottom of it and take appropriate action. If anyone breached the NDAs, we will litigate. This is damage to your reputation—and mine.”
That hurts. It hurts that I fucked up her reputation, and it hurts that being associated with me is now an embarrassment to her. I was raised better than that.
“I need to see you, Evie.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“Let’s meet at the café. I don’t have time to run back to your condo. I have too much to do here. Too many fires to put out,” she says, with an edge to her voice now too.
My phone is a grenade—a bomb full of unread messages bearing bad news. The pin has been pulled out. I want to throw it, but it’s stuck to my hand. With a sinking gut, I check the rest of my texts.
Every single member of my family has texted me to call them.
Life can’t get any worse.
32
Evie
Using the back of my hand, I wipe the spontaneous tears that streak down my face the moment Josh and I get off the phone.
He might have apologized for biting my head off, but that doesn’t lessen the sting of knowing his first reaction was to blame me.
With a sniffle, I realize I need to see what else the media is saying.
Reaching for the mouse, I click on a few more links and notice that Gary had written an article about Josh last week, which Josh never even mentioned. I skim it quickly. It’s about Josh and his ex and how he’s dating someone new now. God, why do people care about someone’s dating life?
Was this my fault? If Josh had told me about the article Gary wrote last week, could I have prevented him from digging further? Why didn’t Josh say anything? Was he that busy? Or is he so used to having his personal life splashed across gossip blogs that it didn’t register?
The hard knock on my office door makes me flinch, but the person on the other side doesn’t wait for me to respond before it opens.
“Evelyn, aren’t you a vision,” Angela says with a self-satisfied smile as she takes her phone out and scrolls down the screen, stopping to cluck her tongue at me. “Can’t say I’m not the teeniest bit jealous you’ve been fucking the hottest guy in Portland, but next time you do any hand modeling, you might want to get a manicure first.”
Since Angela has dropped any attempt at civility, I roll my eyes. “What do you want?”
Aside from enjoying a front-row seat to my humiliation.
“To be a partner, and now that my number one adversary is out of the running, I’ll have to readjust my goals in life. Thank you for challenging my vision for myself,” she says with a smirk.
Shame in the form of tears builds behind my eyes. Furiously, I blink. Of course my dream of being a partner is over. One moment did this. One stupid decision.