“I have my ways.” She smirked.
“Did the #BuzzBoss post them recently?” I asked, panic making my leg jump underneath the table. I tried to remain calm, to appear unruffled. It was fucking hard. Those pictures couldn’t get out.
Not now. Not ever.
“One,” she replied. “A very naughty one of you two in bed. The whole campus was atwitter at the sight of Ivy’s naked chest.”
Wait a minute.
There was more to this. Missy was like Ivy’s shadow; the two went everywhere together. It took a while to get Ivy alone at the party that night just so I could get her back to her dorm room. And if Missy knew what I’d done to Ivy, then she wouldn’t be sitting there all calm and collected.
Wouldn’t she be outraged?
Wouldn’t she be pointing a finger and yelling, “Rape,” for all to hear?
Did Missy think what Ivy and I did was consensual? Is that what everyone thought? This was good. This could work in my favor.
I’d been on a high that night. I hadn’t been thinking straight. I was pumped up from pulling off breaking into Rimmel’s room and starting my next plan to bring down Romeo. I was also pretty keyed up over the hot sex I’d just had.
So I did something stupid. I sent the pics I took throughout the night (with the help of a couple of my buds) to the #BuzzBoss.
At the time, I thought of those pictures as trophies. Of proof of how good I was.
But I didn’t see them that way now.
Now they were evidence. They were nails in my coffin. If word got out, proof that I assaulted a girl after slipping her the date rape drug, my cushy cell here might be exchanged for something a little less cozy.
If I thought this place was bad, I’d never survive prison.
There are probably guys just like Brett there. Men waiting to assert their dominance over guys like me.
But Missy said she knew what I did. Not what we did. That implied she knew Ivy wasn’t exactly wanting what I gave her.
And…
She said she saw the pics—plural. If the #BuzzBoss only posted one, then how did she know there were more?
I looked at her sharply.
Her glossy, painted lips stretched into a slow smile.
It was the kind of smile I sometimes saw in the mirror (minus the gloss, of course).
“You’re the #BuzzBoss?” I asked in equal parts awe and shock.
“In the flesh.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I crooned and stuck out my hand. “I need to shake your hand. You’re a goddamn genius.”
She looked at my outstretched arm, then back up at me. “I’m not touching you.” She sniffed.
I wasn’t offended. I was still too awed by her fucking brilliance.
“So all this time, you’ve just been pretending to be friends with those status freaks?” I asked, warming up to this conversation.
I finally felt like I was amongst equals. That I’d finally met someone who was at my level.
Damn, it felt good.
She half shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that.”
I pursed my lips and studied her. Missy didn’t seem put off by my stare. In fact, I think she kind of liked it. She probably felt relieved she was finally around someone so similar to her level of genius.
“So,” I surmised, “if you hadn’t planned to take them all down from the beginning, then what, or should I say who, caused you to snap?”
Beneath her white top, her shoulders tensed. It told me I was on the right track.
“I didn’t come here to talk about my personal feelings,” she snarled.
“I think you did.” I disagreed. “I think you needed to talk to someone who understands what it feels like to be their victim.”
Her nose wrinkled. “You are not a victim.”
“Only because I wouldn’t let myself be. Just like you. So tell me, Missy. Why did you post that picture of Ivy and me after months and months of sitting on it?”
“She slept with Braeden.” The words rushed out.
“Ahh,” I sang and sat back. She squirmed in her seat. “So the blond swooped in and took away the one you wanted.”
We had so very much in common. She had no idea.
“She knew I wanted him,” Missy snapped.
“So you posted a picture that would totally ruin her reputation and make Braeden regret falling into bed with her.” I rubbed my hands together. “Brava.”
Oh, the things I’ve missed while locked up in here.
Her grey eyes shifted away as if she were embarrassed and her arms wrapped around her middle. She didn’t exactly appear to be a woman vindicated. And if she’d gotten back everything she wanted, she wouldn’t be sitting here with me.
“So what happened?” I asked. “Didn’t your big reveal work? Did your choice of meat move on to better pastures instead of coming back like you planned?”
The look on her face appeared reminiscent of sucking on an entire lemon. Sour, bitter, and slightly pissed off.
My eyes widened, and the words bubbled out of me almost with glee. “Don’t tell me. She batted those big blues of hers and he stayed.”
Missy made a choking sound. “He says he loves her,” she muttered. “The guy who never wanted to settle down.”
“Once again, the power of the blond wins.”
Missy looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “What?”
“Forget it.” I brushed aside the words and leaned my elbows on the table. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this little visit, I must ask. What does any of this have to do with me?”
“I’m not the only one who knows about Ivy. He saw all the pictures too. He knows what you did.”
“Who?”
“Braeden.”
I slapped my hand down on the table. “How could you let this happen!”
She jumped a little at my sudden movement. “I didn’t let it happen,” she hissed. “He broke into my laptop and went through all my files. He found me out.”
“What about Ivy?” I asked. “What does she say?”
Just then, an orderly came over to the table. “Five minutes.”
Missy looked up at him and smiled deliciously. “Thank you, sir. I’ll just say my good-byes.”
The orderly was also taken with her exotic beauty and never-ending legs. He cleared his throat and walked away.
Missy leaned close. “She doesn’t know.”
“You mean the guy who professes to love her didn’t tell her?” This just kept getting better and better.
“No. He doesn’t want to hurt her.” I saw the flash of regret in her eyes, and I knew now why the #BuzzBoss never posted the pictures when I first sent them. She didn’t want to hurt Ivy either. Until the blonde got in the way of what she wanted.
Missy was a woman after my own heart, the devious little minx.
“This is serious.” She snapped her fingers in my face. “He is beyond pissed. Braeden has a bad temper.”
I shrugged. “What do I care? He can’t get to me, and he isn’t going to say anything, because if he does, he’ll have to admit he’s been lying.”
“He’s waffling.” She seemed way less convinced that our secret was safe. “I think he’s going to tell her.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I’ve seen him. It’s eating him alive.” The emotion in her voice when she talked about her old flame made me angry. It made her sound like she still had feelings for him.
I started to push away from the table. This conversation was over. I had my own agenda. I couldn’t be bothered with hers.
“Wait,” she said and reached across the table to take my hand.
I looked down where she touched me. Her olive-toned skin looked warm and inviting next to mine—which hadn’t seen the sun in far too long.
I lowered back into my seat.
“I’m pretty sure it would be bad for you if what you did gets out. They might lock you up longer.”
She didn’t remove her hand as she spoke
. She still touched me, still wrapped her fingers around mine. I couldn’t remember the last time someone voluntarily touched me.
“I’m getting better,” I said. “They think I’ll get out soon. I’m even getting to spend the holidays at home with my father.”
Missy gave my hand a light squeeze. “So you definitely don’t want this to get out.”
No, I really didn’t. But I didn’t say it. “I would think if he tells all, it would be pretty bad for you as well. You’d become the campus pariah pretty quick. You’d be ostracized just like me.”
In the depths of her stormy gray eyes, I saw something I hadn’t seen since she sat down.
Fear.
“Probably even kicked out of Alpha U,” I added just because I wanted to see more of that look in her eye.
I liked seeing her frightened. It was like she looked to me to make it better.
Her hand jolted at my words.
I flipped my hand over so they were palm to palm. “What do you want, Missy?” I asked softly.
“I don’t know what to do. How to stop him from telling Ivy. Because once she knows, they’re going to tell the entire world.”
Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe being violated like that would be the last thing she’d want anyone to know. I had first-hand experience with something like that.
But I didn’t say that to Missy.
But then, of course, there was Braeden. He was a lot like Romeo. He wasn’t just going to let this go. He would want to see me punished. Maybe even see Missy punished.
“You want me to help you, don’t you?” I asked.
She nodded. “It would be bad for both of us if what you did came out.”
Indeed it would.
Visitors started getting up and filing out of the room. I glanced down at our joined hands.
“All right, Missy. I’ll help you. I’ll see what I can do.”
She let out a relieved breath and gathered up her bag. Reluctantly, I let go of her hand. “Thanks, Zach.”
I wrapped my hand around the handle of the basket she brought and watched her walk away.
Fascinating things were happening on the outside.
So fascinating that now, more than ever, I had to get out of here.
It’s about to go Down
In Alpha Town…
(AKA Part Three)
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ivy
I didn’t want to think I was slowly losing it.
I wanted to deny I suspected there might be something wrong with me.
After the incident at Screamerz a couple weeks ago, I did everything I could to shut it all down. Talk about embarrassing. It wasn’t the first time I’d been grabbed from behind on the dance floor by someone wanting to dance. It wasn’t a big deal, yet the way I reacted, you’d think I was being attacked.
I freaked out so bad Drew punched the guy right in the face. ‘Course, that only made things worse. When I fell to the ground, it’s like all reason and logic fled from my brain. My body totally took over and a panic attack took control.
I wasn’t a person prone to panic attacks and anxiety. I was usually laidback and a go-with-the-flow type girl.
I changed, though. Lately, I was a lot less laidback and a lot more rattled.
Braeden drove me home that night. He held me through the trembling that wracked my frame, and he wouldn’t let me apologize. Not even once.
In fact, as I was drifting off to blissful sleep, I heard him tell me he was sorry.
What could he possibly be sorry for?
He hadn’t done anything but be there to help me get through.
The next morning, my body was tired and sore, like I’d run a marathon. I drank coffee in bed, hiding from the entire house, afraid to come out, afraid to face the questions and the stares.
I told B I heard his apology. I never asked him why he felt he should be sorry.
He never asked me for an explanation. He didn’t ask why I flipped out that way.
I kept thinking about that morning in the shower and how I’d basically reacted the same way, just not quite as extreme. He hadn’t pushed me then either. I remember thinking at the time it was like he sort of understood.
But how could he when I didn’t?
I was afraid to ask that too.
When he told me he wanted to talk, I shot him down.
I wasn’t ready to talk. I wasn’t ready to uncover the doubts in my head or in my heart.
I loved him so much it hurt.
And I was terrified I was going to lose him.
Braeden didn’t push me. He gave no reason for me to think our relationship was in danger.
The heart didn’t need reason.
The heart had a mind of its own.
The space between us I thought we reclaimed the night under the stars was back, wider than ever.
I never quite understood how paralyzing and all-consuming fear could be. How it turned you into an alternate version of yourself. I became someone I didn’t even like.
I wanted the old me back. The makeup-loving, fashionista, happy girl who wasn’t afraid of her own shadow.
Braeden probably wanted that me back too. He didn’t strike me as the type of guy who wanted to date a head case.
I did my best to hide the darkness within me. I tried not to let anyone see. No one except Drew asked me about that night. I laughed it off and told him I had too much to drink.
He said he believed me, but deep down, I knew he didn’t.
I was starting to wonder if perhaps he sensed there was something wrong with me all along and that was why he was really here.
Everyone got busy fast, which also made living in denial a lot easier. The football season was heating up. Braeden had training and practice before and after classes. I picked up some extra shifts at the boutique, and we all started cramming for midterms.
Thanksgiving break was almost here, and once that was over, we would be on a downhill slope to the end of the first semester.
The declaration of a major letter lay open on the dresser in our room. I stared at it almost every day. Braeden had one too, right beside mine.
Sometimes we laughed about our poor decision-making skills. Other times it made me worry how we would hold on to the decision of each other if we couldn’t decide on anything else.
It was cold outside now, the crisp bite of autumn gone and the cold promise of winter in its place. I was at the boutique, unpacking a few shipments of more winter clothes to stock on the floor. As I went through the boxes, I set aside some extra cute combinations so I could style the mannequins around the store.
That was probably my favorite part about this job, mixing and matching pieces to make complete ensembles.
The owner of the place let me run with my creativity. She said I was better at it than she was.
I reached into the box and my hand closed around a stack of shirts I’d yet to unearth. I pulled them out and plucked one from the top and held it out.
“Oooh,” I said to myself. It was a soft, flowy material, a lot thinner than most winter shirts should be, but that’s what coats were for.
And staying inside.
The front was completely white with a rounded hem, but the long sleeves were a sheer gray with yellow polka dots. I turned the top over to look at the back.
“O.M.Geee,” I squealed to no one but myself (the shop was empty). “I need this.”
The back was in the same style as the sleeves and there was a big V-shaped opening up the back. It would be totally adorable with a coordinating tank beneath it and a pair of destructed jeans.
I found my size in the pile and put it beneath the register. I was totally using my discount to buy it.
What?
Yes, I had changed, but some things never would.
And besides, this just proved the old me—the real me—was still in there somewhere.
The bell above the door chimed, and I looked up from the boxes as Rimmel came into view. “Hey, girl!” I called. �
�You’re back!”
She smiled, her cheeks red from the cold outside. “Just got back in town,” she replied, a large garment bag draped over her arm. “I figured I would bring this back before clumsy me lost it or somehow spilled something on it.”
I laughed. “You know you’re allowed to keep it all. The owner said so. It’s the least she can do for all the free promo you’re giving the store.”
“I like my sweats.” She laid the bag across the counter, and I unzipped it to reveal the pile of clothes inside.
Romeo was a newspaper staple in Maryland these days, so of course, his girlfriend was getting some press time as well. She hated the attention, but because it made Ron Gamble happy, which in turn reflected positively on Romeo, she played along and sat in the stands, in very open view, at all the Knights games she could attend.
After her first two appearances, there was mention in one of the magazines (a total gossip rag) that she was too frumpy for the Comeback Quarterback, and a few of the other headlines started following the way she looked.
So far, she got lucky and they only ever photographed her when she was at Romeo’s games or something having to do with the team. The reporters caught her and Romeo out on a date once when she was visiting him, but that never happened again.
Romeo was fiercely protective of her privacy and he hated what the media had started to say.
But of course, there was a solution. If the press wanted to talk about Rimmel, then we’d let them talk. She just needed to put a positive spin on it.
So I stepped in and helped her.
Now before she went to visit Romeo, she came to the boutique. I would choose outfits and style her. I matched everything up and put it together, including accessories. Now when she sat in the stands, the papers wondered who she was wearing.
They’d begun calling Romeo’s father’s office to request a statement about the “first lady” of football’s fashion.
And where she was getting her clothes was always mentioned. Business had picked up, and as soon as Rim stepped out in an outfit styled by me and it hit the paper, students would come in and buy the pieces until we were sold out.
#Poser Page 18
