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“I’ll give you two weeks and I’ll read through everything myself. You’ll have my notes by Wednesday.” I push back from the table and rise from my chair, signaling the end to yet another trying meeting. This day has been littered with frustrations.
Movement near the coffee bar catches my eye. The object of my early morning frustration—the one I tried to eradicate in the shower—leans against the doorframe. When the design team moves to leave, Kayla steps inside the room. She looks as if she walked out of the country and into the boardroom in her sneakers, jeans, and fitted sweater.
But at least I can’t see her nipples.
“Kayla,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
She runs her hand over the white counters. “I love seeing you in CEO mode.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You came to watch me work?”
She shakes her head. “When did you transform your office space into a playroom inside a coffee bar?”
“After I toured the Facebook offices. If I want to attract the best and brightest, I need to provide a comfortable and attractive workspace. We took out the conference rooms and replaced them with coffee bars.” I step out from behind the table and meet her beside the snack bar. “I’ll give you a tour another day.”
She selects a vegan, gluten free granola bar from a wicker basket. “I’m not here for a tour.”
“Just a snack?”
“I thought you might need me.” She drops her voice so low that I step closer just to hear her. “In another minute or two, you’re going to get a call from Margaret.”
As if on cue, my cell vibrates against my leg. I fish it out of my suit pant pocket, glance at the scene, and take the call. “Margaret.”
“Your ex-girlfriend released her story online,” my publicist states. No hello. No how are you? Just a straight to the point, “you’re fucked” greeting.
“Where?”
“Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter,” Margaret reports. “But the local papers and society pages have started calling. At least two media outlets plan to run stories about New York’s Most Eligible Billionaire’s Secret Past.”
“I see.” I bite out the words. Then gnash my molars together. The fear I carried with me for my entire childhood comes rushing back. Someone is trying to tear me down and break me. And I’m powerless to stop them.
Kayla takes my free hand in hers. “I’m right here,” she whispers. “And I’m ready to fight back if you are.”
This is why I need Kayla in my life. She squeezes my hand and I’m no longer at my blackmailer’s mercy. I’m not helpless and weak this time. And I won’t be lying when I tell the world that the child in Alexandra’s pictures isn’t me because I’m not that person anymore.
“My ex can spread rumors to the press and try to convince them I’m the boy in the photos,” I say, my tone sharp and fierce. “We’ll see who they believe at the end of the day. My vengeful former girlfriend, or me and my fiancée.”
CHAPTER 11
KAYLA
“The anticipation is killing me.” Gavin calls through the locked door leading to my guest bedroom.
“You can’t wait to see the dress I picked out for tonight’s gala?”
“I can’t wait to leave for the event,” he says. “We’re thirty minutes behind schedule. Samuel’s been driving around the block for the past twenty minutes.”
I struggle to pull the gown over my head. The designer skipped the zipper so that the dress would fit like a glove. Of course, there’s always a chance I will get stuck trying to pull it on. Then I would need to ask Gavin to pull the dress off me while I’m wearing a black lace thong and no bra.
Please fit. Please fit. Please fit.
I haven’t worn this particular black tie gown in years. Not since my divorce. In After My Divorce World, I live in jeans and work boots. Gavin offered to buy me a new gown for our debut as a couple, but that seemed like a waste. Instead, I sent his driver up to raid my storage closet, and bring back this timeless black gown.
Finally, I pull the fitted dress into place. I smooth my hands down the ponte fabric. “I’m not sure this is the dress you want me to wear in public.”
“I don’t care what you wear. You can wear a Dogs Are My Life sweatshirt. It’s in the rules. Remember?”
I can hear the exasperation in his voice. But we can’t rush this. I need to look the part of Gavin Black’s fiancée. It will help if my husband-to-be looks at me as if he wants to steal me away to a quiet corridor and strip off my gown.
