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“Why bother reaching out if you know they’re not going to work for you?”
“Why do you reach out to vendors you know are going to turn you down?” King redirects.
Touché. “Because when our hotel skyrockets to the premier spot in a city then they can’t go crying to the media for not being considered.” Sometimes it’s not about actually wanting a company to invest, but preventing the potential fallout that will occur. If they say no, they can’t argue that they were never given the chance to partake in a business venture. Strategy comes into play when forming a new business and inviting others to partake in the start up. Every decision is carefully planned out, much like how King runs his business.
“Unfortunately this particular plan requires time,” King sighs. He taps his fingers on his knee. “There is another option to speed things up, but I’d have to run the risk level of doing it and it can only be done with your permission.”
My interest piques. “Oh?”
King gives me a look that tells me I won’t like what he’s about to say. “You put out a statement about what happened at your birthday party. A full statement or interview about everything you remember. We didn’t do this initially because we didn’t know about the photos and there was no need to get ahead of something that didn’t exist,” King explains. “However, I understand that something like that can be exposing, especially with how few men are targeted with a date rape drug. This will be your call. We can disregard it, table it, or run with it.”
Fuck. After having gone through it all, it’s something deeply personal I don’t want to see splashed on the pages of some magazine that doesn’t give two fucks about me. Between the party, the drugging, the hospital visit, the exam, and the police questions and investigation that went nowhere, it all feels like it’ll be a never ending stream of dead ends. “Run the risk assessment but table it. Let me know what the projected outcome of reaction would be that an audience may have about a man being drugged with GHB and potentially raped since they couldn’t determine if I was or not. I’m not giving an interview about it to Vicky Elmer.”
King scoffs like I’m an imbecile for merely suggesting it. “Of course not. I don’t work with vile beings that aren’t on the same page as me. Going after you is counterproductive to what my goal is. I’ll have several people vet a journalist before using them due to the content we’ll be sharing. For now I’ll see how the people would react knowing the full story based on hypothetical situations. Men often do not get as big of a reaction as women who go through the same thing because it’s so rare in comparison.” King gives me a softer look, one I only tend to see when he interacts with Emilia. “I can’t promise anything.”
“I know that.” As unfortunate as it is, I do know the likelihood of people reacting as strongly to what happened to me as if it happened to a female socialite is slim to none. The world works the way it does, and while I’m glad women are coming forward more often and being praised for it because they deserve to have a larger voice, it does make it difficult for me to feel comfortable saying I was drugged too.
King stands up, handing me back the list of charities Bex gave me. “I’ll have Emilia get in contact with you to get Bex’s information. That way if there’s a specific charity you want to try, you can tell her before she decides if we’ll be joining you this time.” He pauses to stuff his hands into his slacks. “We probably will join you regardless, but at least this way I can say to Emilia that she can find out what we’ll be doing first.”
I can’t help but snicker at him. “Thank you for scaring off Jessica for the time being.” Breathing in deeply, I try to find a sense of calm and grasp onto it. “And for what you said about Bex,” I add once I know I can get the words out, semi-believing them. “Even if we won’t amount to anything.”
King nods in acknowledgement to my words. “I’m still a bastard,” he muses. “Even bastards have their lines they won’t cross. Mine are my friends.”
Deep, deep down I know that King will always have my back. He’s always had it in the past, even if I didn’t appreciate or necessarily like the way he went about it. He’s right, though, growth comes at all times, in all manners. Holding King accountable to something that happened so long ago isn’t going to be beneficial to either of us.
Whether he sees the emotional toil easing from my eyes or not, he still gifts me with one of his ghost smirks before he turns and leaves my office without another word. Sometimes we can speak without needing to give voice to our thoughts. What a joy that ability offers us in times like these.
9
“I’m not quite sure how forced friendships work, but apparently only one person decides and you have to live with it.” - Bex
My lips press together as I watch the woman opposite me continue to jabber on. She introduced herself before flopping down across from me, a notebook out as she scribbles in it, but it all looks illegible. I’ve not even said anything, just confirmed my name, and I have no idea what she wants or who she is, but I’d bet all the cash in my wallet she’s a reporter of some type.
“Love triangles are so tricky,” she says, her blond curls bobbing as she takes a drink of her iced tea. “It’s so hard to believe that people get caught up in them so easily, you know what I mean?”
I don’t. But whoever this woman is, she doesn’t care about my lack of interest in this conversation.
“Then there’s the poor misuse of drug paraphernalia,” she adds and blinks at me expectantly. When I don’t respond, because I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about, she continues. “It’s just so sad to see good people fall off their pedestals we put them on, you know?”
I continue to stare at her in abject fascination. Who walks up to a random person and begins to talk incessantly about something trivial and unimportant? She’s made me lose all interest in my lunch with her arrival, but thankfully it’s a club sandwich that I can shove in my fridge for later.
“But you’re Bexley Hastings.” The whacko does jazz hands when she says my name. “You’re so important.”
Hardly, but I don’t contradict her. I doubt even if I was participating in this conversation she would hear a word I say.
“And you’re so pretty up close. I’m just really interested in your take on this whole situation.” She poises with her pen ready to write.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I know she told me but she’s info-dumped so many random questions and comments that her name has slipped my mind.
“Victoria Elmer. Do you have any thoughts?”
About her name? Plenty. But none of my thoughts are exactly polite. “And you’re a reporter?” I ask her, just to clarify that my assumption is correct.
“Yes.” She bobs her head up and down, making all the curls around her face spring like she’s on a trampoline.
“I don’t do interviews.” Not with reporters Detrick doesn’t vet himself. The man is beyond thorough in making sure the interviewer is as real as possible since it usually goes over a litany of philanthropic questions and then inserts about my favorite charities. This woman, though? Whoever she is, she’s a snake and she’s not even good at hiding it.
Her mouth fishes open and closed several times. “But youhaveto have a response.”
