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“Not that hard,” I quip.
“Now that’s a crying shame,” he says with a grin. We also ignore the fact that Beck’s a flirt. Man, woman, enby, or otherwise—he’s as equal opportunity as anybody I’ve ever met.
“Don’t you have your own work to do?” I ask.
“Nah, Dad’s busy in the office and I’m all caught up out here,” he says, voice dry. I’m the only other person in the pub right now. “What are you working on?”
“Salvage,” I mutter, clicking through the comments section on my Instagram stories.
“Pardon?”
“Just trying to revive my audience,” I say.
“That sounds like actual work,” he says.
“It is.” And lately it feels more like an uphill battle than ever. “Beats the hell out of working for somebody else, though.”
I had a feeling Beck would be firmly on my side if I ranted about Sizzle and the investigation and the termination of my contract. Then again, I had no idea where the good bartender role ended and the friendship part began.
The phone rings, taking Beck back to the bar top. A flurry of incoming chatter brings my attention back to the screen.
“Is it true??”
“There’s no way. Coop’s as straight as I am.”
“Nuh-uh. Fucking pervert!”
What the hell?
Somebody posts a link with no other comment and I click through without checking to see if it’s clickbait.
It’s a tweet from a tabloid, linked by that same sleazebag vlogger who tried to poach my audience while I was working on the show for Sizzle.
On one hand, I should be over the moon. I’d never get tabloid-level exposure normally. It’s the kind of publicity you can’t buy.
Except it’s about Drew and Bailey. There’s a photo of the three of us at the gala, standing in the middle of the ballroom.
Sizzling-Hot Threesome Suspected of Network Sabotage!
The article is tiny—barely a paragraph—but it mentions all three of us by name. The comments on my account are coming in faster than I can screen them.
“Is it true??”
“You really swing that way, bro? Gross.”
“Bitch is hot, tho.”
Some are enthusiastic in offering their support. Some are speculative. More than a few are negative, some horribly so.
Christ. What the hell do I do now? I can’t exactly tell the truth, but with that photo out, I can hardly deny it.
What am I saying, of course I can deny it.
“It’s a tabloid. Don’t you all have better things to read?” is my first response. I don’t mention that this is all just a scam cooked up by the other vlogger to steal my audience, because even though it’s clearly a play in that direction, it’s not wrong. None of that report was wrong. They mentioned the sabotage, the investigation, the fact that Drew and Bailey and I are romantically involved, but there’s only insinuation, no accusation. Enough to draw attention, not enough to bring on a lawsuit.
Goddamn it. God. Damn. It. I knew it couldn’t last forever.
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