by Juniper Bell
Brian was barely speaking to me.
I hadn't heard a word from Bliss.
And Rye … well, I didn't know what to think. My first furious thought had been to blame him. Was this all some elaborate way of ruining my life the way he'd threatened?
Not my style, he'd said. I had to agree. This didn't feel like Rye's doing. And that invitation … come with me … was he serious? He'd come to Washington looking for revenge. How could I possibly trust him? I couldn't.
I went about my day as if everything was normal. I stopped in at a Starbucks for a latte. I attended a planning session for a charity event the Claytons were sponsoring. I had lunch with Brian. Talk about awkward. He was seething while he consumed his turkey Cobb salad. I picked at my food and pretended to make charming, casual conversation. Out of the corner of my eye I kept spotting iPhones raised in my direction.
"Brian," I hissed. "Help me out here."
"Sure." He stabbed at a bit of lettuce. "How about you lie on the floor and I put my hands all over you?"
"Come on. Like you haven't been fucking the valet at the Corinthian Club."
"That's different. I'm not getting a paycheck."
I flinched. "What do you call your trust fund?"
He looked up bleakly, then remembered to paste on a grin. "You think I'm a lucky guy, huh? You try pretending to be something you're not your entire life."
I threw my head back and laughed, as if he'd just said the funniest thing in the world. Because he had. He'd just delivered a perfect description of my existence.
He realized it too, and joined in on my laughter. Reaching a hand across the table, he took one of mine and lifted it to his mouth. He placed a lovely kiss on my inner wrist. Nice gesture. Completely unscripted.
And completely free of sparks. I gave a moment's thought to what that same gesture would feel like from Rye.
Wildfire.
"Nicely done," I whispered to Brian as we drew out the moment for all interested eyes. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"
"For now."
We left the bistro with his arm slung over my shoulder, smiling at each other with camera-ready fondness. Repair Mission at least partway accomplished.
I went back to our townhouse to prepare for my evening event. Family night at the opera. Conservative elegance required. Midnight- blue velvet, Ram had suggested. In July. He probably wanted my outfit to approximate the feeling of hellfire.
Since I needed time to process everything that had happened, I put my phone on silent. Even a scandal-ridden political fiancée needed a break sometimes. I had the townhouse to myself. I had no idea where Bliss was. Why wasn't she here to yell at me? Wasn't she furious over my carelessness? She'd probably recognized Rye from the video. Maybe she was hunting him down right now.
I thought about warning Rye, but decided he could take care of himself. Maybe he'd already left town. I hoped so.
Or did I? The idea that he might already be gone gave me a bleak, empty feeling. As if, without him, I was truly alone.
Which was absurd. He'd only been here a couple of days, and he'd been nothing but trouble. I'd asked him to leave.
I pushed aside the thought of Rye. Focus, Lauren. I took a long, hot, soapy shower. I played music and danced around the townhouse. Once I freed myself from Bliss, my entire life would be like this. Free. Quiet. Anonymous. And good. I wanted to do good in the world. Hence my plan to work with children in refugee camps.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
By the time the limo came to pick me up at seven, I was appropriately dressed in a floor-length violet column dress that left one shoulder bare. My hair was swept up into an elaborate French twist and antique diamond earrings sparkled in my ear lobes. Most importantly, I'd gotten myself into the right headspace. I was ready to face the world.
But no one could be ready for what confronted me when I opened the door.
At first all I saw were bright flashes of light everywhere, like a disco gone mad. I threw up a hand to block the blinding glare. I stumbled backwards. Was it a meteor? A bomb? A roaring sound assaulted my ears. After a moment it resolved into shouting voices.
"Any comment on the nude photos of you that just hit the Internet? What does your fiancé have to say about them? Who's the man in the suit?"
I fumbled for the edge of the door. The crowd of media beasts surged forward as if they intended to follow me inside. With all my strength, I pushed the door closed, then collapsed onto the floor.
What the fuck had just happened?
I dug my phone from my clutch. I turned it on and saw that I had dozens of messages. Texts from Ram, Brian, members of the media. I scanned through them all. Not a single one of those messages was from Rye.
With shaking hands, I clicked on one of the photos Ram had sent, with the angry heading, WTF????
There I was, naked in the Redwood restroom, facing the mirror. The sink cut me off at the waist, but my breasts were clearly visible, although they'd been blurred out in the photo. Behind me stood Rye. The shot had been taken from behind him, so that his black jacket and broad shoulders filled most of the frame. But his face was clearly visible in the mirror. His dark head filled the space over my shoulder. His gaze was directed downward, as if he was taking in the feast of female flesh before him. With his intense focus and dominating air, he looked like a sex god.
And me, I looked … transported.
The one saving grace was that Rye blocked most of the view. And at least I wasn't bent over on the counter, arching my hips for his penetration.
I screamed and buried my face in my hands.
Rye had done this. Who else? We were alone in the bathroom. He must have propped his phone somewhere behind him. It was close enough;, he could have easily reached back at some point and taken a shot of us. I wouldn't have noticed. He had me so hypnotized I'd barely been aware of my own name.
Nearly blind with rage, I dialed Rye's number.
Voice mail. Of course. The ultimate hit-and-run.
"This is Rye. Leave a message and I'll do my best to get back to you."
"No, don't get back to me!" I shouted into the phone. "Stay a thousand miles away from me because I never want to see you again. I despise you. Is revenge everything you thought it would be? I hope you choke on it, you bastard. Fuck you."
Damn it. I'd been taken in by his hypnotic eyes and hot mouth. I was an idiot ten million times over.
I turned my phone off. What could I say to anyone who called? Obviously the Clayton job was over and done with. I'd be fired on the spot and they'd concoct some kind of cover story. We wouldn't be paid. We'd have to vacate this townhouse since Senator Clayton had lent it to us. I'd have to make some kind of radical change to my appearance. America's answer to Kate Middleton had to disappear. Long dark hair would not work for me anymore.
Most importantly, my deal with Bliss was done. Dead and buried. She'd never give me that evidence back now. I was stuck.
I crawled toward the stairs on my hands and knees. Standing upright felt impossible. My future stretched before me, one long vista of lies and deceptions. Quite a prospect. Violet silk bunched under my knees, halting my progress.
Just then a closet in the hallway swung open and a little white kitten stalked out, stretching his back in a high arch, as if he'd been sleeping all afternoon. Gonzo.
I rose to my knees, still encumbered by yards of silk, and snatched the kitten into my lap. Something hard brushed against my hand. Attached to his collar was a tiny scroll.
As the kitten squirmed, I extracted the mini-tube of paper and unrolled it. A note was scrawled on it.
Sorry. I didn't intend this. I hope I can make it up to you someday. Somehow.
Then the letter R.
That's when it all hit me, for real.
I burst into great, sobbing heaves of messy, mascara-ruining tears. Make it up to me—he must be referring to the photos. He'd basically confessed. Any remaining doubt in my mind disappeared.
Rye McAllis
ter was dead to me.
To prove it, I deleted his number from my phone. Then I ran upstairs to the bathroom and threw my phone in the toilet.
Mature? No. Smart? No. Did I care? No.
Life as I knew it was over anyway. I didn't care who tried to reach me. I didn't care about anything any more.
Somehow I must have made it to my bed, because when I opened my eyes, I was buried under my comforter and Bliss was stroking my hair.
"Honey?" she said in her most gentle voice. "You'll get through this. I promise you."
It all came rushing back and I rolled to the edge of my bed, ready to vomit if need be. The wave of nausea passed.
"What now?" I groaned. "We're done here. The political world is going to be off-limits. Maybe the entire East Coast. Possibly the whole country."
"So?" She shrugged in that jaunty Bliss way. "There are plenty of other countries in the world."
I squinted at her. She'd ditched the silly horn-rimmed glasses she didn't even need. A light danced in her eyes, as if she didn't mind being kicked out of town. Knowing Bliss, she probably didn't. "Shouldn't you be more upset with me?"
"Probably. Your indiscretion cost us half a million dollars. And I'm upset that it had to be that little punk Rye McAllister. I never liked that kid."
Right now, I didn't like him much either. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. At least I'd gotten rid of my silk dress, and was down to my underwear. "Is there still a mob outside? How did you get in?"
"I came in through the garage. After I hid behind a bush." Her cheerful attitude definitely made me feel better. It had been the same when I was little. I'd cry when we had to leave any given situation, while Bliss considered it a chance for a new adventure.
"This is such a disaster." I pulled a short robe around me and went to splash water on my face. I shivered when I caught sight of the mirror. But then I changed my tactics and faced my reflection.
Never again, I vowed. I will never let myself be taken advantage of again.
Patting my face dry, I went to my overflowing closet. Should I start packing? Would I need this particular wardrobe again? Should I just pick my favorites and call it good? What was next? Bliss came next to me and gave me a little squeeze. Affection was so rare from her. Maybe this was an opportunity.
"Listen, Bliss. I know I screwed the job up, but—"
She took her arm away. "No. The deal's off. I'm sorry, darling, but you put me in a financial hole and I'll need your help to get out."
I'd known it already, but to hear her say it … something died inside me. All my hope for the future evaporated.
"Luckily, I've already lined up another big job. It should be enough, then we can try your deal again."
Did I believe her? I was so shaken up I didn't know how to answer that question. I watched her move toward the door. She looked energized and excited. Interesting.
"In fact, I already have the plane tickets," she said over her shoulder. "How does Morocco sound?"
Far away from Washington. That was good.
Far away from Rye. Devastating.
Idiot, I scolded myself. Forget that asshole.
I went into the bathroom and spotted my phone in the toilet. "I got a little carried away and destroyed my phone," I called to Bliss.
"Smart move, as a matter of fact," Bliss answered from the other room. "We'll need to disappear completely. I'll do the same as soon as we're onboard that plane."
"How much time do we have?"
"A few hours. Pack light. There's nothing here we can't replace."
I'd heard those words more times than I could count. They had a dreaded and oddly comforting familiarity.
I straightened up and stared into the mirror. The image from the Internet photo swam into my mind. I'd been standing just like this. Rye behind me. His phone must have been propped on back of that chair, or …
But wouldn't I have seen him take a photo? At some point in that stretch of time we'd spent in that bathroom? At the beginning, he was actually sprawled in that chair and I was facing him. Then he'd turned me around and asked me to look in the mirror. The mirror reflected the entire room. I would have noticed a little phone. Or even a camera. How had he managed to get that shot?
And why that particular moment? Of all the things we'd done, that wasn't nearly the most scandalous. Was a cache of more mortifying photos lurking somewhere?
Still puzzled, I left the bathroom and crossed to my bureau. Time to pick and choose my running- away wardrobe. I needed casual, comfortable clothes that didn't stand out. Blending was a priority. Frowning, I sifted through the rainbow of tops stacked in my drawers.
Bliss swept past with a pile of my blazers. "You certainly won't miss these. Honestly, the Washington fashion scene is the worst. No imagination. What's wrong, darling?" She paused as I stood gazing blankly at my lingerie drawer.
"Nothing. I'm just trying to figure out how Rye got those shots of me. I don't remember seeing a phone or camera or anything."
"Oh, darling, it's not worth thinking about. He could have done it any number of ways."
"I would have noticed. I wasn't so entranced by his sexual prowess that my eyes didn't work."
"Well, maybe he had help." She dumped my jackets in a pile in the corner.
"What help? He's here alone. That much I know for sure."
"I don't know. Perhaps from the attendant. Now let's drop this subject, it's such a downer. No looking back for us. Always look forward, that's the key to a happy life."
The attendant. Of course! Maybe there was a peephole in the back wall. Maybe Rye had paid her to take some shots. He'd paid her to steer people away from the restroom. Why not pay her extra to play photographer?
It made perfect sense.
And then it hit me.
I dropped the armful of lacy underwear and strode into Bliss's room. She was on her knees in the big master walk-in closet, sorting through shoes. "Bliss?" I stared at her as if I'd never seen her before. "How did you know there was an attendant?"
"What, darling?"
"You said maybe he paid the attendant. How did you know there was one?"
"Isn't there always at those places?"
"No. Not always. In fact, the Redwood Club doesn't usually have an attendant. That was something special for an event of that caliber."
"Well, I guess I just assumed there would be one. If not, I'm sure he could find someone else to do his dirty work. Take this box of shoes, would you, dear?"
"Bliss."
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
Everything fell into place with a flash of crystal-clear light, the kind that chills you to your core. "You did it," I whispered. "You took that photo."
"That's absurd."
"Right. It is absurd. You paid that woman to take it. The attendant. You put naked photos of me on the Internet. What kind of person are you?"
She jumped up and grabbed the box of shoes herself. "Oh, cut the drama! It could have been so much worse. Christ, Lauren, do you know the embarrassment I suffered through, trying to find one shot that wasn't triple X-rated? Good Lord, you and that McAllister kid ought to make a fucking porno." She swept past me.
"Oh my God. Oh my God. You actually did it. Why? Why? It makes no sense! I had everything under control. The photo in the park was nothing. We only had to last another two weeks and the job would be done. And—"
Another flash of revelation struck.
"Oh my God. You didn't want to keep your end of the deal, did you? You don't want me to have my own life! You don't—"
A brisk slap landed on my cheek. "Get a hold of yourself. This is for the best. Trust me."
"Trust you? You just put my boobs on the fucking Internet!"
"We blurred them. It's not that bad. Definitely not as bad as it could have been. You look sexy in the photo. It won't ruin your future potential. We'll survive this just fine."
My mouth fell open. I'd always known Bliss was a con artist. But I'd thought of our gig as essent
ially a straightforward one. We performed a service and we got paid a fee. We were more like actors than anything else.
This … this was something completely different. It rocked my whole world.
"You’ve gone too far, Bliss." I marched toward the doorway.
"Stop that, darling. I know you're angry. But I had my reasons. When you hear the whole story, I think you'll agree that the end result will be worth it."
She saw I was leaving and grabbed my arm.
"I made a different deal for us. A bigger one. We'll never have to work again, honey."
Another tumbler clicked into place. "I get it now. Someone paid you more than the Claytons did."
"The Claytons weren't going to pay us. I saw the signs. That Ram jerk was compiling a list of all your little mistakes."
"Oh, so it's all my fault my boobs ended up online? Me and my mistakes left you no choice?"
She scrambled after me as I ran down the stairs. "I still have that video! I'm not giving it to you!"
"I don't care! I'm done!"
"I'll turn it over to the police."
"I'd rather go to jail than stay with you," I shouted at her. God, it felt good. "Don't talk to me, Bliss. Never again!"
"Where are you going?"
I didn't answer. I didn't know where I was going. All I wanted was out.
"Rye's gone. He's on a flight back to Houston."
I kept going. That statement definitely had the ring of truth. I told Rye to disappear. He was respecting my wishes. Because he was a decent guy who wanted to avoid causing more trouble.
The note attached to Gonzo—he'd left me that when we were dealing with the cherry tree video. It had nothing to do with the nude photo from the Redwood.
I'd wronged him. I'd thought the worst of him. Accused him of something horrible. Told him to never come near me again.
Even if he hated me now, I had to let him know that I was wrong. I had to fix all of this.
15
Rye
Flight 202 from Dulles Airport to Houston meant three mini-bottles of whisky and three hours to get my head together. The flight attendants in first class took turns checking on me.
