She reels in another deep breath and squeezes her eyelids shut. “Oh, Sunshine…” she sighs. “We’re so fucked right now.”
That pain in my chest intensifies, so I stand. I fidget with the strap of my purse, waiting for an explanation. Waiting for her to tell me she’s upset over something that easily fixable—like making the wrong size table or shipping a box of toys with five or six products missing.
“You're really freaking me out,” I say, my voice rising with each word. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Your Snapchat,” she says simply, and when I stare at her blankly, her jaw goes slack. “The story you put up on there last night? We’ve been reporting it all morning, but it’s still there. Someone took a photo of your pic. It’s all over the place this morning. Jace’s clients are freaking the fuck out.”
Since there was only one picture I shared last night, a chill slices through me. “No.” There’s a tremor in my voice, and I shake my head. “I mean, yes. I sent a private snap to my best friend, but she would never do that to me. She would never…” I drag in a deep, gasping breath as I nearly rip my purse open, digging around for my phone.
As I fumble through the apps on my phone, Daisy offers me a look of sympathy mixed with a double shot of pity. “I'm sure she wouldn't, but you didn’t make it private. Jace might not have gotten it because he hates social media, but I saw it. And someone who follows you is a shithead who might’ve ruined us.”
My throat feels like it’s closing so tightly I can no longer breathe as I confirm what she’s just told me when I open the app to find the photo from B’s party—the one I thought I sent secretly to Jamie—in my public posts. I release a sound that doesn’t even sound human as I jab at the screen, desperately trying to erase my mistake. Tossing my phone on her desk, I sink into the chair and drop my head between my knees. “How bad is it? How … where has the photo been shared?”
“It’s on the front page of Gossip Daily.”
My head snaps up from my lap, and I press my hand to my chest, praying it will calm the angry thud of my heartbeat. “How is that even possible?”
She turns her tablet towards me. A numb pressure settles over my face, draining into the rest of my body, as I scan the headline. Millionaire Heiress involved in Kinky Sex Scandal with Prominent Entertainment Attorney Mateo Bailon.
Oh dear god, what have I done? I bring my hand up to my throat, dragging my fingertips across my skin as I look at my mistake. Staring at it with sober eyes, I see now that, although my face is front and center in the picture, I’m not the only person on display. Directly behind me, Mr. B is speaking with the woman I noticed when we first stepped into the Voyeur Room. Though the X-rated bits are blurred, it’s obvious she’s naked and even more apparent his finger is skimming the side of her breast.
“Has Jace seen this?” She looks away from me, worrying her lips together.
“That's why I stopped you. He's in his office right now with his lawyer and it’s not good. Like, we could be royally fucked over this.” When my breath hitches, she shakes her head. “I’m not mad. I promise I’m not mad, but … good luck. With Jace.”
It’s the same thing she said to me on my first day working here, but as I brokenly walk through the door, I already know there's not going to be anything good about this.
I had screwed up—again—and now I’ll have to find a way to fix the awful mess I’ve made.
Twenty-Eight
Jace
At almost thirty goddamn years old, I’ve learned what to expect from people so that I don’t get shit on.
I was taught early on not to expect a thing from my father. When the inheritance that started my business came in, a shock to me, it was nearly a decade too late to help my mum.
I expected that my instructors at Middlesex would write me off, so I’d applied myself more than I ever have in my entire life.
I even anticipated Michaela. I figured she’d get pissed at me, that she’d threaten to share a design I was working on with a national chain, so I fired her before that ever happened.
Up until this morning, I thought I was good at knowing what to expect, at reading the people around me.
Then Lucy had shit all over that belief.
My muscles tightening, I clench my teeth and stare across my desk at my attorney. “What the fuck do we do?”
Hannah sneers at me. It makes this situation worse. I’m about to toss buckets of money at her, and she’s staring at me like I posted the fucking photo. “For starters, you fire the bitch who made this mess and—”
“Don’t call her that,” I growl. The attorney’s shitty expression deepens, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m furious at myself for sticking up for Lucy. For trusting her. I don’t want my lawyer reminding me of what a pussy I am for falling for big hazel eyes and that willingness that had driven me mad with need. I scrub my palm over my face. “I’ll handle Williams, you just handle this.”
Uncrossing her long legs, Hannah stands and grabs her briefcase. “You know I will, Jace. For now, I don’t want you talking to anyone. And I want that bi”—I stare her down, making her swallow hard—“to keep quiet too. My assistant’s already working on the paperwork, so I’ll be in touch in an hour or two.”
“Good, make sure that it’s quick.”
She hurries to the door, her dark hair bouncing behind her. “I will, I swear. Look, I know Bailon. I’ve dealt with him numerous times, and I know how to get through to him. This will all be taken care of,” she says. “Just make sure you get rid of that woman so I can begin to appease him.”
“I will,” I say. It shouldn’t sting my chest to make that promise, but it does.
Lucy has fucked me.
She’s fucked me into feeling the kind of hurt I haven’t experienced in years.
As Hannah starts out the door, she pauses in the walkway. The vicious sneer returns to her face as she stares at something. I’ve got an idea of what that is, and my body stiffens. “You’re lucky he doesn’t sue the shit out of you,” she mutters before taking off down the hall, the sound of her heels clicking on the concrete floor. It competes with the awful thud of my heart. I don’t want to see Lucy. Don’t want to voice how she’s fucked everything.
I don’t want to let her go, but I’m going to because I can’t trust her.
It takes a few moments, but she finally steps into the doorway. She’s wearing those red pants she had on that first night at B’s and the same red lipstick. Her gaze is lowered to the edge of my desk, but she looks up when I make a sound. Meeting my bitter stare, she flinches. So do I. Because the wide fear in her hazel eyes is the opposite of the sleepy grin she gave me right before she fell asleep last night.
“Sit down,” I order, needing to get this over with.