After she’s in, I skirt around to the driver’s side and turn the car on, silencing the radio.
My eyes shift toward her before I pull out into downtown traffic. Misery is written all over her face, and it fucking kills me to see her like this. “Do you want me to take you home instead?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head. “I have to go back and hand off some cases.”
“Let’s give you a moment to calm down then.”
Yes, we should talk about why she assumed I wanted to sit there gabbing with those women while I waited for her, but I’m grateful she stopped crying and don’t want to light that fire again. At some point, though, we’ll need to finish discussing it.
As we circle around the narrow streets, skyscrapers rising all around us, I turn to her and say, as evenly as I can, “I really wish your friend Kendall hadn’t blabbed about my blog. I can’t imagine how many clients I’m going to lose.”
Evie narrows her eyes at me. “You think that Kendall did this? Never,” she scoffs. “I trust her implicitly. There’s no way, in any version of the facts, that Kendall leaked this to the press. She’s better than that.” She pauses and shakes her head. “And I’m hurt you’d accuse her.”
I take that in a moment before I speak again. She was just so chummy with that dickwad this weekend. “If it wasn’t Kendall, who could it be? The only people who know besides you, me, and Drew, are people at your office. Do you think the paparazzi could have infiltrated your law office and paid someone off? With my brother running for Senate, I’m half wondering if it could’ve been his opponent.”
“No. I don’t. It’s not worth your job to divulge a client’s secrets.” She looks thoughtful. “Although this definitely benefits—”
“What?”
“I don’t know. When I get back to the office, I’m going to ask around. I have some suspicions. I hope I’m wrong.” She rummages in her bag for her access pass as we pull up to her building. “Are you sure it couldn’t be anyone from your family? What if your ex found out? What if she identified you?”
Fuck. That’s a possibility.
I reach under my glasses and rub the bridge of my nose. “I’ll make a few phone calls. Right now I have to go face the firing squad.”
“Firing squad?”
“Family meeting.”
After a moment of silence, she tightens her arms around her bag. “You should’ve told me about Gary’s article last week.”
I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. Last week was insane, and then last night kept getting worse and worse. I meant to mention it.”
Nodding, she opens the door and sets a foot onto the curb.
Reaching out, I gently grab her arm. “You going to be okay? How are things at your office?”
Shit. I should’ve asked about that sooner.
She turns, and I watch her profile, hating that she feels so far away. “Not well, I’m afraid. They never liked having a porn star as a client, and they certainly don’t like having one as an attorney.”
The distance in her voice pins me back. I resist the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear. I let out a breath. We obviously need to cool it while this story is still so hot. Hopefully, some other scandal will break soon, and we’ll become old news.
I slide my hand over hers and gut out some of the hardest words I’ve ever had to say. “I think the best thing to do is to stay away from each other for a while. Try to get a handle on our jobs. Figure out who leaked this story.”
Internally, I kick myself for sounding so formal, but I don’t know how else to say it. I want the press to leave us alone and for her to keep her job. The media storm is just starting, and I won’t be doing her any favors if she’s seen with me. I’m the pariah, not Evie. She doesn’t deserve to go down with the ship. I know I’ll lose clients, but I don’t know how Evie will recover if she has to relinquish something she’s worked so goddamn hard to attain. It rips at me to think I’ve done this to her, put her in this position and made her suffer.
Tears collect in her eyes, but she nods and hands me my jacket. “Goodbye, Josh.”
I open my mouth to tell her that I love her, that this is only for a little while, only until the vultures are fed, but she’s out of my car and slamming the door before I can say the words.
I shove my hands in my suit pockets as a shield and look around the room. Almost everyone is standing—my father, my paternal grandmother (really, Mom?), my brother Spencer and his chief of staff, my brother Henry, and his business partner. They’re all staring—or glaring—at me with expressions that range from disbelief to disgust.
Not one of them thinks this is amusing. Not even my grandmother, who normally has a twinkle in her eye and takes my side. She’s always wearing a skirt suit, with pearls, a fluffy coif of silver hair circling her head. That Barbara Bush style hides a wicked sense of humor, thank God.
But she looks grave now.
A phalanx of six suited attorneys—I recognize them from my family’s firm—sit off to the side at a table, laptops open and briefcases out. Command central. They were typing furiously until I entered.
Then silence.
I tried so hard to keep this from them. To keep the reputation of the Cartwrights intact. And I failed.
My mother, the general, paces in front of the troops, wearing a slim, pink skirt suit and sensible pumps.
I correct my expression to one of impassiveness. Better get this over with.
We’re gathered in the formal drawing room at my family home on the hill. It’s furnished with antiques, meticulously kept clean by our staff. The wallpaper is hand-painted, the Rothko painting the only nod to modernity. My mother’s summer roses fill the room with sweet fragrance, but I’m going to be sick. Previous generations of Cartwrights used this room for parlor games or planning new enterprises like world domination—or at least control of this entire city.
No one has ever sullied their name like I just did. Not one Cartwright is a fuck up. Not one is a porn star.
The low thrum of the helicopters outside reverberates through the old bones of the house.
It’s a damn warzone outside. The curtains are drawn, but on the other side is a swarm of press waiting at the gates, here to get a statement from Spencer. Here to see the ever-coiffed Marjorie Cartwright way the fuck out of her element. Here to see my dick maybe? Who the fuck knows?
Guess I’ve made my mark like the fam always wanted me to. Funny, I always thought Drew would be the one known for dicking around.
I’d laugh if everyone didn’t look like I’d just infected them with the plague.
Sighing, I scrub my face.
I just hope Evie’s okay. The bodyguard detail won’t be able to get to her house for a few hours, but at least I know she’ll be protected.
God, Evie.
Is she going to lose her job because of this? Have I ruined her? If I hadn’t fallen for her, this wouldn’t have happened.
No.
This is happening because some motherfucker leaked my identity. And as a result, I’m the biggest breaking news story the Pacific Northwest has had in years.