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“Can you please stop calling me ‘billionaire’ like it’s my legal first name?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Can you call your lawyers and make this go away,SirBillionaire?”
He let out an annoyed sigh. “To answer your question, no, the lawyers can’t make this go away. You have to pay off the photographers before they publish the pictures. Once the cat’s out of the bag, you’re screwed.”
“So you’ve been in this position before?” I said.
“No,” he said, not looking me in the eye. “Not me. I make a point of not doing stupid stuff like paying for sex. But my father goes through this about five times a year. He practically has the words ‘extortion expense’ as a line item on his profit and loss statement.”
I closed my eyes. Up until this moment, I’d marked tomorrow on my calendar as “worst day of my life.” But evidently today was going to claim the title instead. “No one’s questioning it,” I said. “Everyone took one look at the headlines and believed what they read. My friends. My family. My thesis advisor. My ex. And those were just the texts I’ve read so far.”
My phone pinged again.
“No one’s questioning it on my end, either,” Ian said softly. “We’re in this together, Clara.”
I looked at him, disbelieving. And a little disgusted.
“Are you serious?” I said. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes.”
“You really think you and I are in the same boat?”
“Yes,” he repeated, getting a little defensive. “You’re not the only one whose picture is all over the internet. I’m right there beside you. The difference is, they didn’t publish your name.”
“Right. Lucky me. I’m just ‘two-dollar whore.’”
“And I’m the sonofabitch who hired you. Prostitutes get forgiven. The men who hire them are branded pure evil for life.”
I wasn’t interested in his bullshit rationalization. Yeah, people in general had a better opinion of hookers than they did of johns. But Ian wasn’t a person in general. He was some spoiled, lying rich fuck named Ian Dunning. “Don’t even try to kid yourself that we’re in the same boat,” I said. “We’re not even on the same planet. You have enough money to pay God to turn back time so that none of this ever happened to you. You want to know how much I make as a PhD candidate?”
“Less than me, but—”
“Thirty-six thousand dollars a year, Ian. In New York City. I can’t even afford a subscription to the newspapers and gossip columns that are destroying my reputation, much less afford a lawyer to sue them for slander.”
“I’m not going to abandon you. I promise, Clara. You want to sue these bastards?” he said, gesturing to the phone in my hand. “Say the word, I’ll take care of the legal fees.”
Yeah, sure he would. My mind traveled back to how happy I’d been just fifteen minutes earlier. I’d been standing in line at a coffee shop, wishing I’d let Ian speak his mind and trying to think up an excuse to go running back, when I suddenly realized that my keys were still stuck in his ignition. And there it was like a godsend—my excuse. I’d plowed through the crowded coffee shop and then bolted back down 63rdStreet, happier than I’d been in years.
But that was fifteen minutes ago. Everything had changed. Ian and I were no longer two simple people on the verge of falling in love. Now Ian was a lying prick billionaire and I was an underpaid whore. We didn’t even know each other. And we had nothing in common. I couldn’t bear to even look him in the eye.
“You didn’t even tell me your real name,” I said. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
CHAPTER 24
Ian
She didn’t trust me. And I didn’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t trust me, either. But less than a half hour ago, we had been on the verge of something real. I had to find a way to get back to that place again. I had to make her trust me again. But based on the song she was currently singing, it wasn’t going to be easy.
I listened as she lay on her back, moving her pointer fingers side to side in a sing-song motion.
Iaann Dundunfordsomer Jingleheimerschmidt
His name is my name, too.
“I said I was sorry,” I said.
“And yet ten years of higher education is still flushed down the toilet, isn’t it?” she said. “Along with my reputation, my life’s work, and all hope for the future.” She began tapping her foot.
