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“Your PR department?”
“Yes. They were who I was conferring with in regards to the police statement you made on your birthday,” King vaguely says, alluding to the termdate rapewithout actually stating it. “They’re shopping around for an interview we can exploit. I’ll add Bex into the mix regarding the marriage.”
“She’s not going to go on television defending her actions when she was in the dark about the entirety of who I was and my past since I lied.” Even though it pains me to say, I add, “She’s as much a victim as Jessica is in that regard.”
“She’s also a celebrity in her own right, something like this isn’t going to tarnish her reputation in any major way, but it has the possibility to impact her life.”
“How much traction has it gotten?”
“This morning, barely anything. Now? It’s blowing up. I expect it to be airing on tonight’s news as a segment and I amnothappy about it because I have no fucking clue what they’re going to say.”
Which could be anything at this rate. With all the fodder floating around about me, this is bound to end horribly. “Fuck.” I scrub my hand over my face.
A short knock quickly accompanies Holly’s face peeking out about four inches as she inspects me. Clearing her throat, she quickly says, “I understand now is a bad time, and if I wasn’t terrified of him I’d send him away, but your father is here.”
I stare at the ceiling in my office, contemplating jumping out the window and wondering if my death will even be a blip on anyone’s radar with all the squawking those media vultures are doing about my supposed drug addiction and hidden marriage. “King, I have to go.”
“I heard,” he drawls. “Tell your father I’m handling it.” With that parting comment, he ends the call.
Holly winces as I turn my attention to her. Waving my hand, I beckon for her to send my father in. Might as well get whatever this is over with.
She disappears for a few moments and then my office door gets tossed open like proper etiquette is a fucking joke as my father saunters in.
His olive skin is better suited for the Mediterranean instead of New York. And while we’re Italian in heritage, it’s been generations since any of us emigrated to the States, yet somehow my cultured father has perfected the Italian accent by spending a majority of his time overseas. “Thorin.”
“Dad.”
He puffs out a breath, his dark hair slicked back out of his bushy eyebrows, and his cheeks hollowing out as soon as he starts perusing my office. “I like the new design.”
“Thanks.” Ravenscroft men are not built for small talk. We’re meant to function in the grind of business deals and boardrooms. “Any particular reason you came here?” I flick a dark brow up. “Need me to piss in another cup perhaps?”
Dad’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “No, I do not. This is getting out of hand.”
A scoff leaves my lungs burning. “You’re right, it is. King is handling it.”
“Maybe it’s time we tell the truth.”
I raise both brows this time, but not because I’m surprised by what he says. In fact, I know exactly where his mind is at and I’m tired of walking on eggshells constantly when it comes to my situation. “And which truth is that? The one where we admit someone slipped illicit drugs into my birthday party, used them on me, and potentially raped me? Or the one where I’m a supposed drug abuser who needs to step down from the family company and pay penance for something untrue? Which truth are you wanting? The actual truth or the one that ties up my life in a neat little bow for the press to go away?”
“That’s not what I mean, Thorin. It’s breaking your mother’s heart.”
Last I checked, Mom could give less of a fuck about the press, but who am I to tell him when he’s wrong? “Sure she is.”
His face grows stony. “This is a serious allegation, Thorin. And now you’re being manipulated–”
The irony seems to be lost on him as he continues on.
“–by a woman who has financial troubles.”
For Christ’s sake. “I’m not letting Jessica manipulate me. I’m actually doing the opposite by keeping her away, so your entire point is moot.”
Dad’s bushy brows draw together. “Jessica? No, no. I’m talking about this Bexley Hastings girl.”
“Don’t go there with me,” I warn him. Much like the verbal blows we came to when I got divorced, Bex is one thing I won’t let him tarnish by trying to overshare his unwanted opinion.
But Dad is undeterred, only hearing what he wants as usual. “If you’re going to use King to clean up your mess then he should be threatening a lawsuit against this woman. She’s coming back again trying to steal your money and make a name for herself amongst your suffering.”
My feet propel me forward as anger constricts around my lungs. “Don’t fucking come into my office and tell me I need to step down from my position, because that’s where this is ultimately leading to you getting at. And do not bring Bex into this. You know damn well who she is so don’t pretend otherwise. You’re insulting your own intelligence by doing so.”
