by Raquel Belle
This is the most hellish workweek I’ve had at P&B so far. I’ve never been so relieved to get home to Pepper and a cold beer. I still don’t have a lot of friends in New York so it’s just going to be me and him. I kick back on the couch and put Game of Thrones on Netflix. Time for some much-deserved relaxation.
But two episodes and a few beers later, I start feeling antsy. I replay my conversation with Sarah from that afternoon in my head, bristling at how she called me nothing more than a distraction. As if she’s one to talk.
I grab my phone and start scrolling through @LuxeOnLex’s posts from the past week. Pepper whines gently. “What’s wrong, boy? You think this is a bad idea, right?” He climbs up on the couch and flops his head onto my lap. Usually I’d scold him about getting on the furniture but right now I couldn’t care less.
He nuzzles my hand, as if to get me to stop searching aimlessly through Sarah’s pics. He’s right. I’m just torturing myself. I finally get to the end and pause on the very first photo she posted, with that LV bracelet — and her cleavage.
“Pretty racy pic, huh?” I ask Pepper. His eyes are closed though; he’s snoozing happily on my knee. Damn, it must be nice to be a dog. I finish my last swig of beer. I should probably stop drinking. But tomorrow’s Saturday — one more can’t hurt, right? After all, I can sleep in.
Staring at Sarah’s sexy photo, an idea comes to me. An idea that I try to push out of my head at first: What if I report her account? Instagram is always shutting accounts down for nipples. Hell, an entire #freethenipple campaign was born to protest it.
I mean, you can’t actually see anything in this shot — I pause and study it more closely to make sure — but if I complain, they’ll probably close it down immediately and then only check later once Sarah has contacted them to complain.
“What do you think, boy?” I nudge Pepper gently. He opens one bleary eye and gives a gentle whine. “Is it too sneaky?” It definitely would be a low move. But Sarah is the one who set the tone. She and Amanda are the ones who took this competition to a nasty place when they almost got me disqualified with their little fake followers “prank.”
If they want to play dirty, I can play dirty too. I smile as I start composing the message to notify Instagram of content that violates their community guidelines. I know that Sarah will get her account back online soon enough and that the shutdown will only be temporary. But it might keep her out of the game just long enough for me to regain the ground I’ve lost in the past week.
I hit send and feel a huge weight lift off my shoulders. This is the best I’ve felt all week. Who knew revenge could be so sweet? Sarah Anderson, get ready. You are about to get exactly what you deserve. Pepper wakes up and gives a tiny yip. Yup. He agrees with me.
It’s time to level the playing field. I’ve said my apologies to Sarah about the past and I’ve made my peace. If she can’t accept that and move forward, it’s her problem. No more Mr. Nice guy, Jake. @LuxeOnLex, you’ve been pretty confident handing out the low blows. But can you take what you dish out?
Chapter 9
Sarah
I’m usually not one to shake off a bad workweek with a big Friday night out. I’d rather sit at home in my sweats, put on Netflix, and drink a glass of wine. My original plan for tonight was to catch up on Game of Thrones. But Amanda convinced me to come out instead.
After the big blow up in Serena’s office on Monday, I spent the rest of the week trying to avoid Jake. And I managed perfectly well until today’s run-in in the kitchenette. After I told Amanda about it, she insisted I come out with her and the girls tonight. And honestly? I’m glad I did.
“Cheers, ladies!” I hold up my glass.
“Cheers! To Sarah’s Insta account —may it be a winner!” Amanda is already two drinks ahead of me and feeling great.
“Yes! Sarah that job is yours!” Our friend Maria chimes in.
“Oh for sure! You are doing womankind all over the world a service by kicking your ex’s butt in this competition,” our other friend Laura pipes up.
“Amen,” Amanda concludes. “Another round of shots?”
Usually I would decline but tonight, I’m open to anything and everything. After the last couple weeks at work, I want to unwind fully. I want to clear every thought — of work, of the competition, of Jake — out of my head.”
“Let’s do it,” I give Amanda an affirmative nod. “But only if it’s tequila.”
“Yes!” Amanda turns to Maria and Laura. “Sarah is usually done after one round of shots. And now she’s demanding tequila?! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Carpe Diem, girls!”
Amanda’s right. Usually I’m more judicious about my drinking. But the P&B competition has been trying my last nerve — especially since my little scheme to have Amanda buy Jake fake followers backfired and we almost all lost our jobs.
So yeah: For once, I think I deserve to exceed my usual “two drink maximum.” This Friday, I’m joining Amanda and declaring a “two drink minimum” for myself. It’s time to leave all thoughts of P&B and work far behind me.
Well, almost all thoughts: I still need to take advantage of this opportunity — a night out with some gorgeous girls — to boost the @LuxeOnLex brand.
As Amanda rolls up with our tequila shots, I make my pitch to my three fabulous girlfriends: “So, girls, I promise this is the only mention of work I will make tonight — ”
“It freakin’ better be!” Amanda interrupts me.
“Shh, let Sarah talk,” Maria interrupts her, giggling.
“Thanks,” I blow Maria a kiss. “As I was saying,” I shoot Amanda a look: “I would love to post at least one pic to the @LuxeOnLex Insta account — perhaps of you three fabulous New York ladies, photogenic as you are, each of you with an equally fabulous cocktail in hand?”
“Ugh, Sarah, can’t you let it go for just one night?” Amanda groans.
“Shut up, I want to be Insta famous!” Maria cuts her off.
“Me too,” Laura agrees. “Let’s do it.”
“Perfect,” I grin. “Then the next round is on me. Everybody choose a yummy cocktail and we’ll set up the shot.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m busily posing my three friends in front of a picturesque Brooklyn bar backdrop. A neon sign flashes the words “TGIF” in the background. This is the perfect @LuxeOnLex Friday night shot: boobs and booze.
After taking about 100 pictures, I finally get each girl’s approval for a single photo of the three of them: nobody’s eyes are closed, nobody hates their double chin, nobody thinks I’ve gotten their “bad” side. Everyone is happy with the final picture.
I open Instagram and prepare to post my masterpiece. And that’s when I get the notification: “Your account has been disabled for violating our terms.” I can’t get into @LuxeOnLex. I can’t post a picture. I can’t even see the previous pictures I’ve posted. I’m completely locked out. Blocked. It’s like @LuxeOnLex never existed.
“SHIT!” In this case, no other word will do.
“What’s up?” Amanda asks.
“Yeah, did your favorite Insta filter get discontinued or something?” Maria giggles.
“No. My entire account.”
“WHAT?” All three girls screech so loudly in unison that half of the bar turns and looks at us. They cluster around me frantically, chattering in confusion:
“Are you sure?”
“Try logging out of Insta and back in?”
“Maybe Instagram is just down?!”
“Why would your account be discontinued?”
“It must be some weird mistake.”
“Wait, let me see if my account is working.”
“For sure. Do you want to try logging in on my phone?”
Ten minutes later, nothing is solved. I’ve tried logging in on the other girls’ phones. I’ve checked my two-factor authentication for Insta; I haven’t been hacked. Amanda and I regroup: Did we post anything in the past week that could have raised a red flag with the Ins
tagram community guidelines? No. We review the camera roll, checking every pic we posted for an unseen nipple slip. Nothing.
“Someone must have reported you.” Laura finally says the one thing we’ve all been thinking but haven’t been saying aloud.
“Jake?” Maria says the single syllable barely loud enough for the rest of us to hear.
Shit. I can only nod my head. Would he really stoop this low? Apparently so.
“That dick!” Amanda explodes next to me.
“Maybe it’s some kind of weird ‘revenge’ for the fake followers?” Laura suggests hesitantly, clearly not happy to propose the idea.
“But Serena said they could all lose their jobs if there were more ‘antics’ in the future,” Maria retorts. “He couldn’t be that stupid? Now he’s literally putting everybody’s future at risk.”
“Ugh, he is that stupid,” Amanda sighs. “Right, Sarah? What do you think?”
I can barely talk. I can feel my entire face getting hot and I have no doubt my ears are a brighter shade of pink than they’ve ever been before in my life. How dare this guy make a false claim to get my account shut down completely. Who does he think he is?
“Sarah?” I snap out of my reverie and realize all three of my friends are staring at me.
“Yes.” I come back to the moment at hand, back to the buzzing Brooklyn bar life around me. “Amanda’s right. He is that stupid.” I’m seething. I throw a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “Girls, thanks for your gorgeous selves. Your photo will make its way onto @LuxeOnLex ASAP. I just have to squash a little…bug. First.”
“A bug like a tech glitch?” Maria shoots Laura and Amanda a worried glance as she watches me pack up my purse.
“Not quite,” I smile.
“Sarah…” Amanda’s voice has a note of warning. “You aren’t going to try and hunt down Jake now, are you?”
“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Laura chimes in. “You’ve had a lot to drink.”
“I just want to talk some sense into him,” I assure them. “I’ll just have a quick chat with him. And on the way there I’ll contact Instagram and let them know the whole thing was a big misunderstanding and that @LuxeOnLex doesn’t have any content they need to stress about censoring.”
“Okay then,” Amanda eyes me dubiously. “Do you want me to come with you? For backup?” She doesn’t say it aloud but I know she means so you don’t kiss him — but doesn’t want to say it in front of the other girls; I’d left that little detail out of my updates when we were catching up earlier in the night.
“No, it’s okay,” I give her a reassuring hug. “You girls enjoy your Friday night. Let me sort out this bullshit with my ex. Soon enough we’ll be out celebrating again —when I sign my contract for the VP of Social Media position.”
“Cheers to that!” The girls cheer me on as I exit the bar, giving me all the girl power support I’m going to need to take this guy down. Jake Baker, you are going to regret the day you stooped so low as to make a false complaint about @LuxeOnLex.
I grab an Uber on the street and collapse into the back seat. “Cobble Hill neighborhood, corner of Warren and Henry.”
“You got it, miss.”
I don’t know Jake’s exact address but this is around where I ran into him when he was walking Pepper last Saturday. I’ll recognize the building he pointed out when I see it. Assuming that was really his building and not just some random house he was pretending to live in.
As the competition between us has become more cutthroat, my paranoia that last Saturday’s confession and kiss really was all just some ruse to distract me has grown. My sister, Celia, basically told me I was being crazy. Paranoid. I know she’s right. But with this latest move, reporting @LuxeOnLex and getting the account temporarily disabled, Jake has proven that he will do anything to win.
Well, same here. I’m not going to let him get the best of me. During the car ride, I contact Insta and explain that there was no inappropriate content on my account. The sooner I can get @LuxeOnLex back up and running, the better.
I also start rehearsing my speech to Jake. What should my opening line be? You think you’re pretty smart, huh? So you were so threatened by my success that you had to cheat to get ahead — after you claimed you would never do such a thing? You’re pathetic, you know that?
It is kind of pathetic. What is he doing home alone on a Friday night anyway? Does he have nothing better to do than plot against me?
“Here we are, miss.” The Uber driver stops at the intersection I specified.
“Thanks.” I get out and give him a quick five-star rating — thankful that he didn’t try to make conversation and just left me alone with my thoughts in the back seat.
I spot the brownstone that Jake indicated as his home immediately. Clambering up the stairs, my heel catches on a crack and I almost wipe out completely. Why did I feel the need to put on high heels tonight, anyway? And this ridiculous miniskirt. I wriggle my butt and pull the hem down a bit. It was just supposed to be a girly night out in low-key Brooklyn. There was no need to get all dolled up. Oh well. That’s not important now.
I blearily look at the names next to the doorbells. I’m having trouble reading them and starting to realize I might be a bit tipsier than I anticipated. Shit. Why did I have to agree to that second round of shots? Amanda, I groan internally. I love her but she can be an awful influence.
Finally, I find it: Baker. Well, what do you know: He really does live here. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I need to make sure I’m clear and coherent. I want to leave no doubt in his mind as to how serious I am about this. I press firmly on the doorbell and let it ring, once.
No answer. Shit. Maybe he went out after all? I ring again, briefly — two, three times. As I keep ringing and no response comes, I feel my irritation growing. Finally, an intercom crackles to life and that familiar deep voice comes booming through: “Uhh, yeah?”
“It’s me.”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah, open the door you jerk.”
“Jeez,” I hear him mutter under his breath. But he pushes the buzzer to let me in; the door clicks loudly and with a gentle push, I’m in the foyer of his building. Great, it’s a walkup. No elevator. Please let him be on the first floor.
“I’m on the third floor,” I hear his voice call down the stairs from above.
Perfect. I inhale and exhale softly and then start climbing, gripping the railing firmly. I don’t want to risk another near-tumble in these shoes.
By the time I make it to his floor I want to gasp for air but I’m careful to keep my breathing as quiet and controlled as possible.
He’s standing in the doorway, looking out expectantly. When he sees me, a grin breaks out over his face. “Getting in your cardio for the day, Sarah?”
“Move,” I push past him and walk directly into his apartment. “I need to talk to you.” I ignore his comment, not wanting to admit that I’m winded. Those stairs are a killer. No wonder he’s in such good shape.
“Well, come in, I guess,” he shuts the door after me.
Pepper comes running towards me, yipping happily. I’m not falling for that trick again. Fool me once with your cute dog, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
“So, Sarah, what can I do for you? I wasn’t expecting company, as you can see,” he gestures towards the living room. A half-eaten pizza sits on the table, still in the box, along with some empty beer bottles. An old episode of Game of Thrones is running on the television.
“You’ve sunk to a new low, Jake,” I turn to face him head-on. With my heels on, we’re almost eye-to-eye.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he throws his hands up in defense, his mock innocence totally transparent.
“Please. I just tried to post to @LuxeOnLex, only to find out that my account has been reported for ‘violating community guidelines’.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Post one too many cleavage shots, did you? Guess you offended someon
e.”
“Quit it. First, that ‘someone’ is obviously you. And second, you know perfectly well that none of the photos I posted on that account ever violated guidelines. A cleavage shot doesn’t equal nipple. Amanda and I checked every picture before posting.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sarah.” He widens his eyes.
“Stop acting! I know it was you.”
“Fine,” his face sets firmly, his jaw suddenly clenched in anger. “It was me. Feel better? And as for ‘acting’, what can I say — I learned from the best.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” I step towards him and feel my heel wobble slightly. I put one hand up against the wall to brace myself.
“Please. You should have seen yourself in Serena’s office this past Monday, pretending like you didn’t know about Amanda and the fake followers. Acting like you had absolutely nothing to do with it — when I’m sure you were the mastermind behind it all.”
“Whatever,” I mutter. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting to it. And I don’t want to give him any ammunition — if I ever admit it, he could still try to talk to Serena and tell her the truth, putting my entire job on the line. I feel my heel wobble again. Screw these shoes!
“You’re looking a little unsteady on your feet there. Care to sit?”
“I’m fine,” I reply icily.
“What’s this getup, anyway?” His eyes rake over my body, scanning me from head to toe. “Are you trying to live @LuxeOnLex’s life for a night? This doesn’t look like your usual weekend getup of sweatpants.”
“Just a girl’s night out,” I snap back. “At least I’m doing something on a Friday. And that’s more than I can say for you.” I nod towards the living room, where Pepper has curled up on the couch.
“What can I say, I was just trying to have a chill night in after a long work week. One that you and your little pal Amanda made particularly hellish. It looks like that plan is shot though.”
“Ohhh, sorry to ruin the party,” I respond sarcastically.
