by Lex Martin
Popular Senatorial Candidate’s Brother Is Viral Dick Blog Star.
All the media that featured me before? Now their websites feature my face next to the link of my blog. Fortunately, my family has been texting me links to these all day. In case I miss one. Between that and clients who called to cancel upcoming projects, I finally just shut my phone off.
My mother breaks the silence with a cool, crisp shot. “We need to discuss how this story will affect your brother’s campaign and what you are going to do about this problem.”
One of the six suits pipes up. “We have prepared a denial letter and a press release. We’ve also begun drafting a complaint for libel.”
My brows knit together. “Libel?”
“Defamatory statements. Statements of a false and injurious nature to your reputation.”
Probably not gonna help. Once you’re in the public eye as a celebrity or politician, you’re almost shit out of luck for libel suits. The only defense against libel is the truth. For example, if I weren’t behind All About the D. See what I mean? Shit out of luck.
I’m guessing my family’s attorneys know this, but it’s the only way to save face.
Spencer shakes his head, his expression pained. “How could you do this, Josh?”
“You know better,” adds my mother, her words dripping with scorn. “We raised you better than this.”
“What do you have to say for yourself?” asks Henry.
I want to tell them all to fuck off. I want to tell them that this is none of their business.
Unfortunately, with Spence’s campaign, it is their business.
An hour later, the lawyers have prepared a carefully-worded press release that denies what happened without actually saying anything at all. It’s all factually true, but if you don’t read it too carefully, you’d never know it doesn’t deny that I did it. But it does threaten lawsuits to anyone who publishes my identity in connection with the blog. If I thought I felt low walking in here, it’s nothing like how I feel now. I’ve had to listen to six lawyers use words like “phallus” and “male frontal nudity,” knowing that they’re talking about my cock in front of my mother and grandmother. Real fucking fun.
You’d think I’d committed a heinous crime. Robbed a bank. Murdered someone.
Maybe I shouldn’t have created the blog. Maybe I should’ve told Drew off and not taken his bait.
But then I’d have never met Evie.
Once the language is agreed on, the press release is issued. I make sure that it denies Evie’s involvement.
While my parents offer to let me stay, it’s too stifling here. All I want is to go home, turn off all communication with the outside world, and go to bed.
When I arrive at my condo, however, I’m not home five minutes before my buzzer sounds.
“Fucking let me in, asshole.” Drew’s voice booms through the intercom. “I know you’re there.”
I ignore it.
But he keeps buzzing, eventually tapping out a rhythm so loud I’m ready to punch him in the throat. Persistent son of a bitch.
Finally, I roll off the couch, slouch over to the button, and press it. Almost instantaneously, he appears, hair in his face, out of breath, his clothes swallowing him whole. He really has lost weight.
“What the fuck happened?” he asks. “Who ratted you out?”
“Does it matter? It happened. And now I’ve lost Evie, she’s probably getting fired, I’m gonna be out of business, and my family is disowning me.”
“Sounds like you need this.” Drew pulls a bottle out of a paper bag. “Tell me your sorrows, loser.”
34
Evie
My head vibrates like a thousand miners have tunneled into my brain with pickaxes, and when I try to open my eyes, they’re glued shut. Guess that’s what happens when you guzzle that much wine by yourself.
Blinking requires energy I don’t have, but finally my eyes open despite the stabbing sensation in my temples.
I’m wondering why the hell I drank so much last night when it all slams into me. Gary’s article. That horrid scene in the coffee shop. Crying hysterically on the sidewalk when it all became too much. Josh telling me we needed to stay away from each other.
Tears fill my crusty eyes.
His words hurt more than anything else I endured yesterday. Of course he wants space. And not the kind of space you asked for Sunday night when you meant a day or two.
I couldn’t cry in front of him anymore, so I bolted from his car before he said anything else that crushed me. While I wish that was the end of my humiliation, then I had to endure a few more hours in the office where everyone spoke in hushed whispers around me like I was attending my own funeral.
With a grunt, I pull myself to the edge of my bed. The room spins one way and then the other before righting itself. Chauncey’s sad face nuzzles my palm. I swear this dog knows I feel like shit.
“Hey,” I croak. “You’ll still be my friend, right?”
He wags his tail, and it thumps against me, making me feel more nauseous, but I take a few deep breaths until I’m sure the contents of my stomach will stay down.
I should take Chauncey for a walk, but that would force me out of my house, which is not happening anytime this decade. After I manage to use the bathroom without toppling over, I let him out into the backyard.
With shaky hands, I tighten my robe around me and shiver on the porch. The sky is dark and the scent of rain fills the air.
What the fuck am I going to do? If I lose this job—Jesus, if I get disbarred—what will I do? Who will hire me? For what?
My stomach revolts, and I kneel over a planter and vomit.
Fuck. Oh, God.
I’m on the floor, barely holding myself up over the ivy plant I just bought with Josh a few weeks ago.
Wiping tears off my face, I stumble around the kitchen and shakily drink a few sips of water before I finally get the courage to take a peek at my phone.
Fifty-seven missed calls. Twelve messages. Voicemail full. Zero calls or texts from Josh.
Feeling like an epic loser, I rest my forehead on my kitchen table and listen to the wind blow through the trees in my yard.
I hate Josh.
I love Josh.
I wish I’d never met Josh.
Fine, that’s not true, but knowing how disposable I am to him hurts like a bitch.
A knock on my front door makes me flinch.
For half a second, I wonder if it’s him, and hope—bright and vivid and so very sweet—overpowers me long enough to drag myself to the front door. But when I peek through the curtain, I see Kendall.
Closing my eyes, I lean my face against the door. Of course it’s not Josh. He doesn’t want to be seen with me anymore.
That buoyant sensation I felt ten seconds ago bursts with the harsh sting of reality.
I unlatch the chain and let her in.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls in the last”—she stares at her iPhone—“fourteen hours?”
I shrug because anything more would require energy I don’t have. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”
She points at the burly guy I’m just noticing on my front porch. “Damon here says he’s your bodyguard. When did you get a bodyguard?”
He’s huge, a mammoth of a man with tattoos inked down both arms and a full beard that makes him look like a Hell’s Angel.
“At your service, ma’am,” he murmurs in a deep baritone before he crosses his arms and stares back down my front yard.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask the behemoth.
“Mr. Cartwright sent me. I’m supposed to keep those chumps”—he points toward the street—“and anyone not on your approved list off your doorstep.”
I follow his hand and see two media trucks parked on the curb.
Panic permeates my alcohol-saturated body, and I turn to Kendall. “Do I have to say anything? Make a statement?” Please say no!
The urge to puke again is stron
g. Maybe I can just hurl on the cameraman hiding behind my neighbor’s bush.
“Not yet. Not before we can figure out a few things,” Kendall whispers, ushering me in, but before she can close the door, I yank it open and motion to the man on my doorstep.
“Damon, I don’t need your help. You can tell Mr. Cartwright I don’t need his help either.”
Because fuck Josh, fuck his bodyguard, and fuck all the assholes in the city of Portland.
Maybe I should be grateful Josh sent someone, but I’m pissed that I’ve been so quickly discarded.
And so very heartbroken, I think as I wipe an errant tear. Because instead of coming to see me, he dispatches the help.
Kendall strokes my arm like I’m a stray dog she’s not sure how to approach. “Honey, maybe it’s best if he stays. We don’t know how many people might show up. You can always send him away later if he becomes a menace.”
Damon lifts an eyebrow, never taking his attention away from my front yard.
“You’re not going to be a menace, are you, Damon?” Kendall asks.
“No, ma’am.”
“There ya go,” she says, eyes wide, arms waving, like she just solved the mystery of Bigfoot.
With a huff, she hip-checks me into the house and slams the door shut, which rattles my poor, beleaguered head.
“Can you make sure the curtains are closed?” I mumble as I crawl onto the couch and yank a throw blanket over my head. I don’t want anyone to get a photo of me looking like death. Although… they had ample time while I stood at my front door.
Awesome. Today can’t get any better.
The couch dips with Kendall’s weight, and she gently tugs down the blanket and pets my hair like she used to do after my mom left. I curl up into a ball and close my eyes.
“I almost came over last night, but when you didn’t answer my calls, I thought you might be at Josh’s.”
I shake my head as much as my hangover allows me to. “We broke up, so no, I wasn’t at his house.”
Her horrified screech satisfies the part of me that needs my best friend to be as upset about this as I am.
“That dick broke up with you?” she shrieks. “Are you fucking serious?”
I grab a pillow and smother my head with it. “Don’t yell. Please. If you have any compassion for me at all.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I won’t yell again.” She reaches over and removes the pillow. “Tell me what happened. You never called me after you met for coffee.”
“The whole day was like being on the Titanic. Gary’s column was the point of impact with the iceberg, but the real trauma—when everyone goes flying off the boat into the frigid water—came later, you know?”
She makes a sound of understanding, and I close my eyes and tell her about seeing Josh with those women at the coffee shop and how I freaked out and fucking cried in front of half of the city.
“That’s understandable, Eves. I would’ve been bawling like a baby too. Please tell me he apologized.”
I nod and relay the rest of our conversation, to the point where he dropped me off at work. When I’m done, she makes this humming sound in the back of her throat.
“What?” I ask, feeling wearier after recounting everything.
“Are you sure he broke up with you? Because why would he go through the trouble of comforting you and assuring you those women meant nothing if he was going to blow you off?”
“Because Josh is a decent human being,” I blurt out. “I’m guessing he was embarrassed by me being hysterical—his family is against making scenes in public—and he wanted me to calm down, so he said what he had to. Why ask for space if he didn’t want to break up? You and I both know ‘taking a break’ is code for breakup, but I don’t think he had the nerve to say that outright. Like he thought I was too fragile, and he wanted to let me down easily.”
“Fuck. I can see your point. Well, damn, that sucks. Because when we went to dinner, I thought he was really into you.”
I sigh, and it’s deep and reeks of despair. “Yeah. Me too.”
Out of the corner of my eye, the light from an incoming text on my phone catches my attention. It’s from Penny and only says two words and an emoji: Sorry, honey! :(
Attached is a screenshot of a letter from Sullivan Montgomery, Josh’s family firm, requesting his client files.
Of course.
That’s all it takes for the floodgates to open, and I can’t help the rush of tears down my face.
“What?” Kendall asks, her face etched with worry.
I wave my phone before I toss it into my bag at the foot of the couch. “Josh is switching law firms.”
“What the fuck?”
Shaking my head, I feel the need to justify his actions. “It’s the smart thing to do. He should be with an attorney who can defend him. I can’t even go to my office.”
Her warm arms wrap around me, and she lets me cry. Because that’s what best friends do. We sit in silence for a while after the tears finally subside, and then she says she’s hanging out with me all day.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I sniffle. She’s always juggling ten different clients at once.
“Nothing is more important than cheering you up and helping you get through this. You’re my oldest and dearest friend, and if I have to go out there and eviscerate some douchebag photographer with a broken wine bottle, I will totally do it.”
Laughing, I squeeze her. “You’re a little psycho when you want to be.”
“And don’t you forget it.” She buffs her French manicure on her cashmere sweater. “As long as this means you won’t try to set me up with Drew Merritt again, I will totally go Tony Soprano on anyone who messes with you.”
“You have a deal.”
Half an hour later, Kendall’s cut up some fresh fruit, made a veggie omelet, and percolated a pot of coffee.
As she serves me a small plate of food, she asks about work.
“They haven’t fired me. Yet.” I explain how I still have to make myself available for Nathan and Angela and help them “get up to speed” on my cases.
Which makes me wonder if Angela was the one who leaked the story to the press. She had everything to gain—getting me fired means her making partner is a sure thing. Malcolm’s firm desperately needs a female partner, which means without me around, Angela is a shoo-in.
Kendall’s shaking her head with an expression that says she thinks all of these people are vile, when there’s a firm knock at the front door.
Fuck.
Only one person I know knocks like that.
“I am so dead,” I whisper, ruing the day I got Josh’s phone call.
Kendall frowns at me as she tiptoes to the front of the house to peek through the blinds as though we could hide at this point.
When she sees who it is, her eyes widen, and she blanches, her normally rosy skin going white.
Go ahead, I motion. Let’s get this over.
“Mr. Mills!” she chirps as she opens the door, like she’s not mortified my dad stopped by today so we could talk about my hand-on-dick modeling job.
“Hey, Kendall, good to see you.” He gives her a hug and then frowns at Damon, who’s busy glaring at the street.
As she ushers in my dad, Kendall explains that Damon is a bodyguard, and my father nods slowly, like he’s trying to make sense of the giant on my doorstep.
But when my dad finally turns to me, it’s obvious he’s heard the news. He’s heard, but he’s still here.
I’m so grateful to see him, I could cry again. Grateful and so mortified, I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.
I swallow the boulder-sized lump in my throat and offer a rueful smile. “Hi, Dad.”
Pretty sure I’m blushing from head to toe.
Because the truth is a father should never know about his daughter’s sexual escapades. And I had fully planned to maintain that veil of secrecy if I ever got married someday. Sex? What sex? We sleep on twin beds, Ricky and Lucy style.
But the look on my dad’s face isn’t embarrassment, like it is on mine. No, it’s fury and frustration, and dare I say resignation?
He shakes his head, taking off his baseball cap to run his hand over his scruffy hair. “Didn’t I warn you about dating someone like Cartwright?” he mutters.
I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure you never specified Cartwright.”
“Damn it, Evie, you know what I mean. People like your mother.”
“Rich?”
“Filthy rich. So rich, they don’t think their shit stinks, but I know for a fact it does.”
While it would be easier to let my dad say his piece, something deep inside of me needs to defend Josh.
“He’s not like that, Dad. He’s—”
“Don’t say it, honey.”
“He’s different.”
My father looks at me like I’m crazy. Like I should know better after what my mother put us through. “Yeah? Then where is this knight in shining armor? Why isn’t he here right now defending your honor?”
My eyes well with tears, and I finally give into the sob that’s been choking me. “Because we broke up, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Will that make you happy?”
“Son of a bitch. Are you serious? After all of this?” He tosses his baseball cap onto the kitchen table. “I have half a mind to go over to the Cartwrights’ and give that whole fucking family an ass-kicking they won’t soon forget.”
“Okay, Maximus,” Kendall says, forcing him to take a seat next to me. “No storming the castle before noon. You want some breakfast?”
“No, I’m too pissed off right now.”
“It’s my famous veggie omelet,” she singsongs.
He pauses and quirks an eyebrow. “Could you toss in a little bacon?”
Ah. There’s my dad.
Kendall eyeballs him. “Turkey bacon, because we all know you’re supposed to lay off the greasy stuff.”
He bitches about it but nods, and she pats his arm before she pours him a cup of coffee and gets to work whipping up his food.
“Kendall, please tell me you’re at least dating a nice boy,” he grumbles.
“I’m going to become a nun because men my age are pricks.”
