The #5Star Affair (Love Hashtagged Book 1)

by Lindt, Allyson

  She should get to work, now that she had some time to herself. Right. She tried to force her brain to think review thoughts. It ground just short of fully realizing anything. Something thumped against the wall, and her heart leaped into her throat, hammering against the bruised tissue, and nagging in her skull. It was just the neighbors. They had to be moving furniture or something heavy.

  She forced her feet to carry her into her room, and made herself comfortable in her chair. Something creaked somewhere in the building. Was that a footstep, or just the structure settling? She strained her ears, but all that echoed back was the hollow ringing of trying too hard to listen. Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder at her bedroom door. Why had she set up her computer facing the far wall?

  She couldn’t work like this. She grabbed the laptop, made her way back to the living room, and plopped onto the couch. There. Perfect view of the entrance and more than half the open space. Every few seconds, her attention drifted back to the clock on her laptop. Her throat ached when she swallowed. It had all happened so fast. Kent bursting in. His hands on her throat. Her vision blurring.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks, focusing on the friction. This wasn’t going to solve anything. She was safe now, since the police had picked up Kent. More secure than she’d been in…she didn’t even know how long.

  She closed her eyes, breathed deeply through her nose, and focused on finding her center. She’d used a fake gun to threaten the guy who’d tried to kill her, and she’d won. Maybe she could do anything.

  The reassurance sounded phony, bouncing around in her head, but she needed it. She grasped the thought and ran with it, and inspiration struck. The write-up she’d done of God of Stars still sat on her hard drive, uncontracted. Console Power wouldn’t work with her, but if Ethan was right, and people out there were taking her side in this #5StarFUQ mess, was there a market for her work still?

  She kept a spreadsheet of all the paying publications who published reviews. It had been a while since she’d updated it—work had been good—but now seemed like as good a time as any. The name at the top of the list glared back at her, taunting her forced resolve. Mocking her. Game Sneak Weekly was the one gaming magazine bigger than Console Power. She hadn’t sent them anything for a couple of years, because the tiny promise of prestige wasn’t enough incentive to put up with the repeated rejection.

  Rejection. The word danced in her thoughts, testing the edges of her resolve. She couldn’t do this. Another person telling her she was wrong?

  No, it would be fine. At least if these guys turned her down, she’d know it was—mostly—because they didn’t like her writing, and not because of some stupid set of misplaced publicity and rumors.

  She double and triple checked her query, attached the review, and clicked ‘Send.’ One down, five billion to go. Hours of distraction. Thousands of seconds to keep her mind occupied, before Ethan got home and resumed his hovering. A hollow ache echoed in her chest. She really did miss his concern. She sniffled back her doubt about the inevitable rejection, and moved onto the next name on the list.

  Time passed quickly. She didn’t realize she’d been at it almost four hours, until her stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped breakfast.

  She grabbed a cold soda from the fridge and a stack of crackers, and dropped back in front of her computer. A new message waited in her email. At least someone had rejected her quickly. And it was Game Sneak. She clicked in without further hesitation, afraid she’d chicken out, if she gave herself a chance.

  She opened her eyes wide and tried to right her scrambled thoughts, as she read the note. That couldn’t be right. She scanned it again.

  Ms. Wharry,

  Thank you for trusting us with your work, we know it’s not an easy decision to put yourself and your writing out there. I loved your review, and I’d like to contract it for our next online issue. If you’re interested, we’d also like to get your write-up on the game of your choice from our list, for our next print issue.

  I look forward to hearing from you soon.

  Brenda McPherson

  Giddiness flitted through Jaycie, shoving aside the morning’s stress. She shouldn’t appear too eager, but her restraint evaporated. The minutes it took her to type an acceptance letter and send it back were the longest five she’d lived through in ages. And she received a contract and another message within moments of that, asking if she was free to talk.

  Actually, she typed, my voice isn’t quite up to par right now. But I’m here via email.

  She hated having to send the response, but they’d understand, right? There was no way they hadn’t heard what was going on in the industry. Self-doubt crept in. What if Brenda hadn’t? Was it possible that, once they found out what kind of drama was associated with Jaycie’s alter ego, they’d withdraw the offer?

  Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to find out. Brenda’s reply hit her inbox quickly.

  Of course. My Tweetstream is blowing up with the news of your weekend. I’m so sorry. I hope you feel better soon. I just wanted to make sure we’re both on the same page, here. A full disclosure kind of thing.

  Jaycie’s chest wrenched. They did know who she was. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. She swallowed several gulps of air to keep from panicking, and forced herself to keep reading.

  Your writing is brilliant. Keep that in mind, as you read what I have to say. We want your words, and we’re not going to edit or censor you. I’m buying your work as is, with the standard grammar edits.

  However, I want to make it clear I know who J-Dub is, and part of the reason I want you, is because of the name. We’re going to be the magazine who didn’t push you away, and your byline will draw in readers we haven’t been able to attract before.

  Jaycie paused, rolling the words around in her head. They were going to use her for marketing. Was she okay with that? Then again, publications like Console Power had been doing that with her name for a while now, and she’d never taken issue with it before.

  Besides, she needed the job, and the flattery was already soothing her fractured ego. She kept reading.

  We’ll work with you of course. Put this all in writing, to make sure you’re comfortable with how we use your image.

  Let me know if you’ll consider my offer, and I’ll have legal draw up another contract.

  Brenda

  PS—this whole thing with the police and your pictures getting out is horrific. And illegal. If you need any help on that front, we really do want to back you 100%. Even legally, if you need.

  Jaycie had no idea what she’d do with legal help. Even Damon had said she couldn’t silence an entire internet. But it was nice to be reminded not everyone was on the negative side of this blowout.

  She sent back a quick ‘thank you,’ saying yes she was interested in everything Brenda had said, and she’d have them a review for print in a few days.

  Even after she hit ‘Send,’ she kept coming back to the legal help comment. Could she actually do something with an offer like that? It seemed like it, but the details were just out of her grasp.

  *

  Ethan grabbed a soda from the break room vending machine, and tossed his coworker a smile, when he saw he wasn’t alone. “Hey, Stacy.”

  She rolled her eyes, and turned away. Whatever she was putting in the fridge looked like the most fascinating thing in the world compared to his greeting. She had to be having a bad morning.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  She sighed, and shut the fridge, still not looking at him. Maybe she hadn’t heard him? More likely, she wasn’t in the mood to talk. Okay, he could deal with that.

  He was about to tell her he’d see her around, when she answered. “What do you think?”

  He wasn’t always great on picking up the more subtle hints of what he’d done to piss someone off, but he was pretty sure his brief interactions with Stacy were safe. Especially sinc
e he’d been made so hyper aware of his own behavior. “You’ll have to help me out. Did I do something wrong?”

  She let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “I’m going to go with hell yes. You couldn’t let it drop.”

  He was almost certain at this point he was holding a different conversation than she was. “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m guessing you’re not.”

  He wanted to be polite, but didn’t like being on the receiving end of vagary. “You’re going to have to help me out then, because I get the impression you know more about how I feel about whatever this is about than I do.”

  She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? Okay, sure, a rumor starts that questions your integrity, and I get it. You need to clear your name. Most of us know you wouldn’t actually screw someone for a review.”

  Oh, this. But why was she pissed at him? Rich had started the rumors. The entire internet had taken them and run, creating that stupid hashtag.

  “But you had to go out there and play the big, kind, chivalrous protector.” Anger filled her voice. “Someone has to stick up for us poor little girls. You had to join the ranks of guys speaking out on our behalf, because—I don’t know—you think no one hears us otherwise?”

  Wow. He was getting reamed for siding with her? “That’s not why I do it.”

  “I don’t care what you think your reasons are. Every time one of you mighty I’m-a-feminist-not-a-sexist assholes speaks up, we feel the backlash. Because you can’t drop this issue, men who never cared before are treating us all like we’re the enemy. Guys in this industry who were my close friends are steering clear of me, because they’re afraid we’re going to… I don’t even know. I can’t tell you what they’re thinking, just that the tension is high, and the threats from the assholes are higher. You’ve shone a spotlight on what they like to pretend doesn’t exist, and that makes them uncomfortable. Now uncomfortable is becoming hostile.”

  That wasn’t fair. “So I’m not allowed to take your side, because…I’m a guy?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m happy you’re not one of them. That’s nice. Except, until a few weeks ago, you were. Maybe you forgot what life was like before someone flicked a switch on your perception, but the jokes have always been there. The reminder that we’re not supposed to be a part of this industry. Sometimes we get to forget, and then someone makes a comment about how we won’t be here for long, once we have a baby, or asks if we like being single because it means we can have a career.”

  “I’ve never done that.” Had he? He’d never even thought about it before, but he didn’t see any of his colleagues that way. Right?

  “No, you haven’t. Not to me anyway. But that didn’t stop you from laughing at the jokes about female drivers and nagging wives and… Do you want me to go on?”

  “You laugh at those too.”

  “What else am I going to do?” Frustration bled into her anger. “Ask you to stop? Be the stick in the mud, who can’t take a joke? Bite back, so the comments get made behind my back instead? Make myself the woman who’s hard to work with? Laughing off the occasional jab is a lot easier than dealing with the fallout of not. Which, by the way, is exactly what this has become, thanks to people like you. One big stinking pit of fallout.”

  Guilt sank in as her words did. He’d never stopped to consider, but her argument sounded too much like Jaycie’s. Like Stacy hoped it would all vanish, if she ignored it. The event with Kent surged into his thoughts. “It doesn’t go away just because you pretend it’s not there.”

  “You think?” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “The thing is, for the most part, it’s just words. Words hurt, but they don’t lurk in dark shadows, waiting to catch us alone. It’s the tiny percentage of guys who mean the words that I worry about.”

  The bruise under his eye throbbed, both with increased blood pressure, and another reminder of the scuffle with Kent. Ethan didn’t know what to say.

  “There’s always someone who means the threats,” Stacy said. “Who wants to act on them.” Her voice dropped in volume. “Who, like Rich and his friends, is willing to make them all too real. The difference between him and you is you’re just clueless. But he’s drawn attention to us, and really, the more they forget we have different innie and outie bits than them, the safer it is to fall asleep at night.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Ethan didn’t have anything better.

  “Good.” She strolled toward him, resignation in her voice. “Backtrack to two weeks ago, and keep your friends from finding out who J-Dub is. Keep your dick in your pants, and don’t sleep with her.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Then sorry doesn’t matter.”

  “Don’t take this out on me, because they’re assholes. It’s not right to demonize me over this.”

  She paused in front of him, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t take it out on them. You’ll listen, you’ll pretend you understand, you won’t stalk me in the dark, and you won’t fight back, so it’s safe to take it out on you. Welcome to my world.” She brushed past him, and was gone.

  Her words drilled into his thoughts, as he made his way to his desk. The longer her mini speech lingered in his head, the more sense it made, especially when it bound to everything Jaycie had been saying. He didn’t honestly think he was responsible, but was he making things worse?

  “Got a minute?” Bill’s request—and the lack of question in it—halted Ethan in his tracks on the path back to his desk.

  He fought the urge to groan, and shifted direction. The conversation with Stacy still played in his mind. Did Jaycie feel the same way? No wonder she’d kept pushing him to drop things. “What’s up, Bossman?”

  Bill waited until Ethan was seated, closed the door, and took his own spot on the other side of the desk. Twice in as many days. That couldn’t be a bad sign. Ethan’s own sarcastic cynicism almost made him smile.

  Bill studied a single piece of paper in front of him. A pen. His mouse. “I asked you to take this off us, not make things worse.”

  Wow. Apparently it was his day to get shit for taking a stand. “I’m not sure what you expected me to do. Why isn’t Rich in here?”

  “Because I’m not getting complaints about Rich.” Bill still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know firsthand, before the email announcement, we’ve decided to go with someone else for the director position.”

  The words smacked Ethan in the chest. “Because of this whole thing?”

  Bill turned away. “Because we have a candidate who will do the job better. I have another meeting. I need to run.”

  Ethan swallowed a growl, and smothered his disappointment with anger. He should have had that job. So maybe they found someone more qualified—his ego almost let him admit that—but they’d already said otherwise. And the timing was just too convenient.

  He fought the urge to punch a nearby wall, as he bypassed his desk and headed for the elevators. He needed to clear his head.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jaycee’s attention twitched at the soft click coming from the living room. After her exchange with Game Sneak, she’d been able to cling to the euphoria of the conversation and the same resolution that made her query them in the first place, and had moved back to her own desk in her bedroom.

  A loud ka-chunk reached her, and her heart leaped into her chest. The sound of someone pushing the door against the security chain.

  “Jace?” Ethan’s tired voice soothed her hammering heart. She’d completely forgotten she’d chained the door that morning.

  She hurried to let him in. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” It looked like it took effort for him to smile. Faint wrinkles lined his forehead, and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Are you okay?”

  “Good. Better now.” Her news pushed at the seams of her restraint, bouncing up and down to get out, but from the look on his face, now wasn’t the time. “What’s wrong?”
<
br />   He intertwined his fingers with hers, raised her hand, and brushed his lips over her knuckles. He ducked in and kissed her—a touch so light it echoed more in her chest than on her skin—then rested his forehead against hers. The tender gestures were almost more desperate than the frantic kisses they’d shared just a few days ago, and her heart pinged with a jumbled mixture of desire and concern.

  “You tell me when I’m being an ass, right?” His voice was low, mingling with the whir of the fridge. “I mean, I guess that’s a stupid question; you don’t tend to hold back. But I still have to make sure.”

  How was she supposed to answer a question like that? Something told her no response would be quite right. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Long day at work is all.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, and steered her toward the couch. “Let’s watch something.”

  The redirection was so abrupt, it almost gave her whiplash. She twisted from his grip, and met his gaze. “What kind of nothing leads to questions about you being an ass?”

  “Forget I asked.” His smile was brighter this time, but still didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped around her, and grabbed the remote. “Something funny? Ridiculously stupid? Romantic, if you want.”

  She could drop the subject. He obviously wanted to. Except he wouldn’t let her get away with it, and she couldn’t deny it hurt being shut out. “Tell me, please?”

  “It’s nothing, really.” He turned on the TV, and pulled up his movie catalog. “Didn’t get the director position at work. No big deal, though. It went to someone better, I’m sure.” The bitterness that slid into his voice as he spoke could have curdled milk.

  “I’m so sorry. I know you really wanted that,” she said.

  He shrugged, still not looking at her. “I’m already over it.” His tone had gone flat.

  “So who’d they go with instead?” She should stop pushing, so why couldn’t she?

  He finally looked at her again, jaw clenched, and eyes hard. “Someone who’s happy to keep their mouth shut, if it means they can keep their job.”