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“Not if,” Michelle insists. “When.” She smiles at me before I walk her to the door, and leaves.
I wish I had as much confidence in my happy ending as she does.
Chapter 29
Blake
It’s out there. Every fucking dirty detail of my life is out there for the world to gobble up. I feel like I’ve been skinned alive and served up on a platter, naked and vulnerable for vultures to pick at.
How could this have happened? I should have made Rachel sign a damn NDA the same way I did with Howe. Maybe that would have made her keep her mouth shut instead of blabbing the details I shared with her in confidence to the one man I can’t stand.
“How are you going to deal with it?” Greg asks. He’s comfortable in my office, with one leg slung over the other in the chair that faces me, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
But he doesn’t. I’m the one carrying the load here.
“I’m going to sue the tabloid, and that little shit of a reporter, too,” I say hotly. “And then I’m going to do some kind of press release that will hopefully change the world’s new view of who I am.”
“And say what?”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come. Because I have no fucking idea what I’m going to say to change how things have worked out for me. I can’t do anything to erase the ripple effect that article has had, not only in my personal life but in my business.
Overnight, my stocks have dropped dangerously low, and some of my investors have backed out.
Not Gregory Dillon, about which I’m glad because his investments carry most of what I do. But I don’t think he’s staying out of loyalty. I think he’s sticking around out of curiosity. If he leaves and takes his money with him, he won’t have a first-hand account of what’s going on behind the scenes.
I try not to let it get to me. His intentions may be skewed but at least his money is helping me keep my business afloat for now.
How long will this shit take to blow over? How long will it be before people think my company is worth investing in again, and I can put this nasty business behind me?
Greg looks at his watch. “I have to go. I have a few meetings lined up for the day. I’d love to hide out in your office with you, but duty calls.”
“I’m not hiding out,” I say.
“Sure. That mob of reports downstairs isn’t the reason you haven’t left the building today.”
He’s right. I’m hiding. I feel like a coward.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say.
“We’re in this together,” Greg says.
I don’t snort the way I want to. Greg isn’t here for me; it’s still every man for himself out there. Greg just likes the fuss.
He leaves my office, and it takes a few minutes in which he rides his way down to the lobby before I hear the reporters down below crying out questions as Greg pushes his way through them. He won’t leave through the back of the building to avoid them—he’s high-jacking my scandal to get his five minutes of fame.
I just hope he won’t say anything incriminating.
But at this point, there’s very little he can say that will make things worse than they already are.
When I glance at my phone for the fifth time in half an hour, I throw it down on the desk, irritated. She’s not going to call. And why the hell would I want her to?
I want nothing to do with Rachel anymore. She’s ruined my life.
And yet, despite the disdain and bitterness I feel for her, I miss her. I want to talk to her, to hear if she’s doing okay. When I dumped her for leaking my personal information to the press, she looked so ripped up about it, I worried about her.
“Fuck,” I curse out loud and walk to my windows, looking out over New York. What the hell is wrong with me? How can I be sympathetic to someone who did this to me?
I know why I feel this way.
