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“The pictures came with this letter.” My PR rep reaches into the folder and withdraws a single sheet. “She signed the missive Alexandra.”
I glance at the letter but don’t move to take it. “What does she want?”
“Nothing.” Margaret cocks her head and studies me. I know she’s waiting for a reaction, but I don’t say a word. I don’t even move a muscle.
“She wished to inform me of her plan,” Margaret continues. “Alexandra intends to tell the whole world that Gavin Black was once a terrified, abused little boy named Terrance—”
“He doesn’t exist.” I stand and pace the seating area. “I buried him when we created Gavin Black. It took years to make him disappear and both of you helped.”
“After all this time, after all your success, why not tell the world the truth?” Margaret asks gently.
“Look at the picture, Margaret,” I demand. “That boy sees two options. He’ll die if he’s left where he is. Or someone will come to his rescue.”
“Gavin,” Margaret begins.
“I know how this story ends,” I cut in, pointing to the picture as I pace beside the table. “This kid has to wait two fucking years before he is beaten so badly by his foster father as punishment for getting beat up by a bully at school that a school nurse finally calls the police. This kid has to beg and plead for them to hear him, to listen to him, to understand that he’ll take his own life if they send him back to his foster family.”
“Gavin,” Kayla whispers.
I hear the pity in her voice, and shit, I’m tempted to shut up and walk out of the office. But if I’m going to fight back, if I’m going to preserve my image, I need the people on my side to understand why I must do this.
“The cops send the kid back anyway,” I continue, “They accept the social worker’s reassurances that the boy will be okay with the loving fucking Masters family. It will take months before the police realize their mistake. When the cops add up all the calls from the neighbors, from Kayla’s parents, and the others who knew something wasn’t right at home, and pull that kid out of the house, that boy wishes he’d done what all the bullies told him to do for years—killed himself. So yeah, I’m pretty fucking certain I don’t want anyone to know I was that kid once upon a time.”
“Okay,” Kayla says as if it is truly that simple.
I stop pacing and turn to look at my best friend. Yesterday, she asked the same question Margaret just posed—why? Kayla wanted me to tear off the armor I’ve built as if it didn’t take years to piecemeal my confidence—hell, to put my will to live back together. Now she’s on my side.
Thank God.
The relief hits me like a tidal wave, and I take a step back. I need my best friend on my side.
“Gavin, it’s a horrible, awful story, but it was not your fault,” Margaret protests. “You were the victim.”
“He’s not anymore,” Kayla says firmly. She glances at me and then turns back to Margaret. “Look, I don’t know how long Alexandra has been holding onto these pictures or where she even found them. I can’t imagine how anyone would have a record of those moments. We went to high school before every student carried a phone, and long before the age of iPhones.”
New York’s leading PR guru nods. “I wondered that as well.”
“But doesn’t it seem strange that Alexandra waits until after Gavin breaks up with her to deliver this threat?” Kayla keeps her gaze fixed on Margaret. “And after he proposed to me?”
“Did Gavin share the happy news with his ex?” Margaret speaks directly to my fake fiancée.
“No. It’s none of her business,” I say.
“We’ve been engaged for less than forty-eight hours, and my entire town knows,” Kayla points out. She gestures to me. “He’s Gavin Black. Everyone wants to know whom he’s dating, where he’s eating, what product he’s working on. I suspect Alexandra found out he’s engaged, and took it as a pretty clear sign they are not getting back together. Then she went searching for blackmail material. Alexandra happened to hit the jackpot. But I wouldn’t be surprised if a dozen of Gavin’s ex-girlfriends come forward with crazy claims now that he’s off the market.”
Margaret raises both eyebrows and glances from Kayla to the pictures. Before my publicist ponders Alexandra’s ability to find compromising photographs in a matter of hours, I return to Kayla’s side, sink into the couch, and take her hand.
“Gavin, I believe you should rethink your denial. We can get in front of this before she releases the photograph to the press or shares them online,” Margaret says. “No one will think less of you for surviving a horrible situation.”
“No.” I don’t give a damn how she plans to spin the story. “I don’t want pity. I don’t want anyone outside this room knowing I was ever that kid. We’re not telling anyone the truth. I control my public image. And shit, Margaret, I pay you a small fortune to help. So find a way that won’t paint me as a victim.”
“We could deny the photos are of Gavin,” Kayla volunteers. “Show the world that Alexandra is nothing more than a vengeful ex-girlfriend.”
I want to kiss her again for drawing Margaret into our plan. Instead, I turn to my publicist. “It’s not a bad idea. Will it work?”
“Yes.” Margaret looks at the images. “But it won’t erase your past, Gavin. Just keep it hidden for another day.”
“Please,” Kayla pleads. “We want to enjoy being engaged. I’ve known Gavin forever. But this—” She raises our entwined hands to her lips and kisses my fingers. “This is new and special—”
