The blackmailer’s photos. All of them. Stills from the video of her and Reece together at The Bean Gallery. The Vegas hotel photos. The not-so-flattering pictures of her before she decided she needed to straighten up her life…
All of it, laid out right there on the floor for everyone to see.
Charlotte scooped up several of the photos, her face white. “What is all this?”
“Blackmail,” Shelby whispered and her stomach twisted. “It was you.”
Lena scoffed. “I’m merely exposing a fake.” Puffed up with righteous indignation, she faced Charlotte. “She doesn’t belong in high society. She doesn’t even belong in the middle class. She’s nothing but white trash, and Reece only married her because he got caught slumming and was afraid of losing your husband’s approval.”
“Oh,” Charlotte breathed, and her cheeks flushed bright red as she flipped through the photos. “This is…disgusting.” She spared Shelby a contemptuous glance before scurrying away, pictures in hand. No doubt she was going to find her husband.
It was over. Just like she’d told Reece it would be. Only she hadn’t expected the end to come so soon. Or so publicly.
Shelby whirled around, needing to get away, to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. She felt as if every eye in the room was staring at her, judging her. Imagined the scornful whispers, the derisive jokes they’d all say about her.
She spotted a doorway not blocked by people and lurched toward it, but Alicia grabbed her arm.
“Shelby, wait—”
“No. I…can’t stay here. I can’t—” Voice cracking, she shook off Alicia’s grip and raced from the ballroom.
White trash.
God. How foolish of her to think a dye job and a bit of makeup would be enough to hide what she was.
The more Reece listened to Irving James talk, the more he was sure he didn’t want to tie his company to the man in any way, shape, or form. For so long, he’d thought it was wrong to let his personal feeling of distaste get in the way of business, but fuck that. It was his business and, from here on out, he was only making deals that felt good. No more of this acid-like feeling in his gut or worrying whether he’d do or say the wrong thing and offend the wrong person. He’d figure out another way to keep Wilde Security afloat that wasn’t akin to selling his soul to this devil. In fact, he was ninety percent certain he’d already found another way thanks to the genius of Cliff McWilliam. He’d been so zeroed in on the deal with James that he hadn’t noticed the way out of Wilde Security’s financial crisis was sitting right under his feet in the basement of DMW.
He’d been so stupid. Stupid and tunnel-visioned. And if it wasn’t for Shelby opening his eyes to all kinds of possibilities he’d never considered, he may very well still be that short-sighted man.
All right. Enough was enough.
Reece opened his mouth to tell Irving James the deal was off, but he never got the chance. Charlotte bustled over and shoved something into her husband’s hand. Crossing her arms, she glared at Reece like he was a cockroach.
And he knew. Even before James’s eyes bugged and his face flushed red, he knew the jig was up.
“W-Wilde,” James sputtered and held up the photos. “Explain this!”
He should probably be panicking right now, but all he felt was a giddy rush of relief. He laughed. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.” He turned to go find Shelby and get the hell out of here, but stopped short. “Wait. Yes, I do have something to say. I’ve been so busy trying to kiss your ass I was ruining the best thing I’ve ever had, forcing her to change herself to suit your antiquated view of how a woman should act and what a marriage should be. Yeah, well, fuck you. DMW is pulling out of this deal.” He grabbed the photos from James’s hand. “Have a nice night.”
There was a distinct bounce in his step as he left the ballroom. He’d just committed social suicide, and he felt like dancing. Hell, maybe he would take Shelby dancing.
Except then he saw her standing on the front steps of the building, shivering, tears freezing on her cheeks, and his good mood died a slow, painful death. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her.
“Shelby, baby. What are you doing out here without your coat?”
“Y-you have the valet ticket. And the car keys. I couldn’t leave, but I couldn’t stay in there. The pictures are out. It was Lena. Your blackmailer.”
She was like an ice cube, and he pulled her into him, rubbed her back to generate some warmth. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“How can you say that?” Yanking free of his arms, she plopped down on the steps and hid her face behind her hands. “I’ve ruined everything for you. I always ruin everything.”