“I need someone to tell me what the fuck is going on,” I shout, my voice laced with venom as I clench my fists against my legs.
“Okay,” Anna says calmly. “Someone leaked the ballad you wrote about Kate. The one you’re uncertain about putting on the album. Normally, we could manage a situation like this one,but combined with the buzz from the red carpet… Let’s just say, things have gotten out of handveryquickly.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Jason adds. “At least everyone loves the fucking song.”
“Why do I feel like you’re leaving something out?”
“As you anticipated, the song has created some speculation about why Kate ended her engagement,” Anna says softly.
“Speculation? What are they saying?” I ask, a hint of anger in my tone. The last thing Kate needs is more people online dissecting her life.
“It’s merely stupid gossip. You know how it can be,” she replies, trying to avoid answering the question.
“Tell me,” I demand.
“People are questioning if she ended her engagement to chase after you. There may have been a few gold-digger references.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? She’s the complete opposite of a gold digger,” I yell, unable to control my growing frustration at the general shittiness of people.
“What Anna is trying to politely say is, we’re in the midst of a fucking storm. The internet has convinced almost everyone overnight to hate Kate. And there’s not much Anna or anyone else can do to quiet the noise. Normally, I’m all for any type of press—good or bad, but even I don’t want this shit.”
I collapse onto the couch, resting my elbow on my knees as I listen to Anna and Jason talk through various ways to try to mitigate the damage.
Fuck. How the hell am I going to tell Kate about this?
As if my thoughts somehow summon her, Kate walks out of the bedroom into the living area, arching an eyebrow at me and mouthing, “Everything okay?” I shake my head and say a quick goodbye to Anna and Jason. They can continue their strategysession without me. All my attentionhasto be focused on Kate. Trying to find a way for us to weather yet another storm.
“What’s going on?” Kate asks, her brow deeply furrowed as she tries to wipe the sleepiness from her eyes.
I sigh and pat the cushion next to me. When she sits down, I pull her legs into my lap and start rubbing her socked feet, hoping to ease some of the tension I’m about to bring into her life once again.
Kate and I spend the next hour discussing everything Anna shared about the internet buzz from the red carpet and the leaked song. Her initial reaction wasn’t what I expected because she seemed almost stoic and even laughed off some of the comments for being so outlandish.
It wasn’t until later that morning, when she was in the shower alone, that I heard her break down, sobbing. And it absolutely gutted me.
It’s a chilling thought to realize that, no matter what I do, I can’t protect the woman I love from the cruelty of what other people say about her. And it’s only happening because of me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
kate
It’sanother early morning in the office as I head to meet my boss, Frank. The floor is practically empty of people. The only sounds are my heels clacking against the tile, combined with the hum of the air conditioner. Once again, Frank has provided zero context about what he wants to meet for, only having his assistant add a meeting to my calendar for this morning, hoping I would notice the last-minute invitation. Of course, I noticed. So did my anxiety. We’re at DEFCON Level Two, internally freaking out that I’ve done something wrong while externally pretending everything is fine.
I’m sure trending on social media over the weekend hasn’t helped. Although I promised not to look at any of that bullshit, it didn’t stop my friends from sending me screenshots of some of the horrific things being said about me. Or the countless other women the internet would rather see Jake date. The consensus is: he needs someone taller, skinnier, and blonder on his arm. Basically, anyone who isn’t me.
Here’s hoping a shitty weekend doesn’t turn into an even shittier Monday.
“Good morning, Kate. Take a seat anywhere,” Frank says calmly when I enter the conference room. At least he’s alone—that’s a good start. As usual, he’s dressed like we’re in the era of Mad Men, and a three-piece suit is required attire for the workday. “I’m glad we could have this conversation in person rather than virtually. I always find face-to-face works better, but your generation tends to prefer staying behind the computer screen, for some reason.”
I stay silent, knowing it’s not worth the energy to explain that virtual meetings are as effective as in-person ones. “What would you like to discuss?” I ask, opening my notebook and preparing to write down notes for whatever new project he’s about to drop on my lap.
He presses his lips together tightly as his face takes on an even more serious expression than normal.
Shit. This can’t be good.
“I’ll cut to the chase. We lost out on a major new client last week because of you,” he says matter-of-factly, making direct eye contact with me.
Control your face. Control your face.
