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But I can’t look. I push off the bed and go to the bathroom to clean out the bin and rinse out my mouth.
“It’s all just conjecture and unnamed sources. You know him. He’s not like this… right?”
“I met her,” I say, leaning over the sink, hot tears rushing to my eyes.
“What?”
“We saw her. We were getting ice cream. He introduced me. Said they used to be together.”
“Do you think he knew—”
“She was with her husband.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” Ainsley frowns, typing into her phone. “It’s all just unfounded accusations until there’s proof.”
“That’s what people said before all the shit came out about Armie Hammer.”
“That’s a terrible comparison. Derek isnotthat douchey.” She frowns down at her screen and then flicks her eyes back up. “There’s a new article. It’s on Buzzfeed.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Tansy.
TANZ:Turn off your phone today, Megs. TRUST ME. TURN IT OFF.
Before I can respond, Ainsley holds up her phone.
“She sent a voice message. She hits play and Tansy’s voice comes out of the phone, a little tinny and whispery.
“Tell Megan to stay away from the internet today. This is all reaction and projection. Unnamed sources are like bullshit. Like, literal bullshit. They mean nothing until you step in a big pile and then you can’t get it off you.”
“Is that it?” Ainsley asks, then taps her screen again.
“One more thing,” Tansy’s message says. “If this turns out to be true, I’ll key his car.”
I lean over the sink and run cool water over my hands, splashing my face. I pat the water against my flushed cheeks. She gasps, and then presses the phone against her chest, as if to hide it.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing. You don’t need to see this. You need to talk to him. Hear his side of the story before you read anything else.”
“If you’ve seen it, I want to see it.”
“Please, Megan. In your state, I don’t want to upset you.”
My hands shake as I shut off the water. My mouth feels hot and my back aches. “I’m not going to be okay until I know what made you gasp like that.”
She cringes. Then she motions for me to sit down on the toilet.
“It was labeled NSFW—just so you know.”
My stomach drops. This is it. I’m going to see exactly what happened between Derek and this woman, and they’re not even suitable for work. I hold out my hand, and after another moment, she kneels next to me and shows me the phone.
I thought I’d prepared myself. I thought I knew what I was going to see. That I would see Derek in some sort of compromising position with another woman—a woman who he paid. A woman he paid to fuck.
But that’s not what I see.
I can’t even speak. The tears are running down my face, and I can’t make sense of anything I’m seeing. Because what I’m seeing isn’t Derek, and it’s not Karlie.
It’s a woman who is bent over, tied up with purple silk rope, her nether regions blurred out, thighs wet. Her face is hidden, but the Vegas strip glitters out the window.
