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“It’s my fault,” she said. “I was so reckless.”
Sasha petted her head and tried to console her, but Bonita kept going.
“You trusted me, and I let you down.”
“There, there, Bonita,” said Sasha. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Bonita exclaimed. “They know your secret, and they’re going to expose you.”
Sasha stood and walked over to her men. “Bonita, what I do in the privacy of my own home is my business.” She touched Dan softly on the jaw. “We aren’t doing anything illegal.” She ran her fingers over Bash’s chest. “If they want to publish photos of our entertainment room”—she ran her fingers through Seth’s hair—“and think they’re going to create some kind of scandal,”—she put her hand on Stevie’s ass—“then I guess I’ll just have to find a creative way to console myself.” She put her hand on Jim’s crotch.
Bonita wiped her eyes. “I’ll get the photo back.”
Sasha shook her head. “Let it go, Bonita. It’s okay.”
“I’ll break into their home and steal the camera.”
Sasha chuckled. “Bonita, I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“And while I’m there,” Bonita continued, “I’ll steal the efficiency reports they’re doctoring.”
Sasha returned to Bonita’s side and put her arm around her. “Bonita, it’s okay. They think they can blackmail me. But blackmail can only work if I let it. But I won’t.”
“How can you be so calm?” asked Bonita.
“I knew this day would come sooner or later.” She shrugged. “I’m a private person. But if they don’t want to respect my privacy, that’s their problem. I’m certainly not going to let them blackmail me over a photo of a room in my house.”
“It’s my fault,” said Bonita.
Sasha pulled Bonita into a side hug. “It’s okay. Just let it go.”
Bonita balled her hands into fists. “We’ll turn the tables on them, and this time, for good!”
Sasha continued to try to calm Bonita. She hugged her and told her it wasn’t worth it. But I knew that once Bonita got something in her head, she wasn’t going to let go of it easily.
“They’re horrible people,” said Harry. “The best way to beat them is to keep producing clean energy solutions that are better than theirs.”
Bonita scowled at him.
“He’s right,” said Graham. “Let them publish what they will. That doesn’t change the fact that they can’t compete with Solar Snow.”
I braced myself as I saw the fire and fury ignite in Bonita’s eyes. I hadn’t seen her cry before, but I had seen her get angry.
I took a step back.
“No!” she shouted. “I am not going to let Sasha down. Sasha’s my friend. And I thought she was your friend, too.” She stormed off.
I breathed a sigh of relief. We’d gotten off easy.
Bonita blamed herself. I blamed myself. Seth and Bash blamed themselves since they were each convinced it was their responsibility to lock the double doors for the dinner party. Sasha blamed herself for letting Bonita get mixed-up in her company’s problems. There was plenty of blame to go around, and everybody seemed to be taking more than their fair share.
I couldn’t quite grasp why Bonita was so upset. I got it. She promised Sasha to keep her lifestyle a secret. It was her idea to invite the spies over for dinner, which would potentially lead to information about her lifestyle getting out. But Sasha said she was over it; she said she didn’t mind, and I believed she was sincere.
But I couldn’t get Bonita to see it that way. No one could, not even Sasha.
“I’ll go talk to her,” said Trevor.
I had little hope that would work, but I kept the comment to myself.
“It’s been a long and eventful evening,” said Sasha. “Why don’t we all just get some sleep and deal with this in the morning? Perhaps after a good night’s rest, she will have cooled off some.”
That might have worked, even on Bonita. But the problem was that Bonita felt like she had let down a friend, and there was no night’s rest good enough to have her cool off from that.
And as far as me or anyone else from our group getting a good night’s rest? Well, that strategy might have been fine for Sasha and her men, but for the Savage Seven, it was impossible for any of us to sleep while Bonita was feeling bad.
Trevor, determined to be the good leader he’d been, in all intents and purposes, nominated to be, decided to have a talk with Bonita, one on one.
We lounged in the Polar Trinity and waited for Trevor to emerge from the bedroom, hopefully with good news, though none of us were holding our breath.
When he came out, we could tell from the dejected look on his face that he had not succeeded in making Bonita feel better. Or in getting her to see things our way: that we should lick our wounds and let it go.
