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Mr. Foster and the actress, Vanessa Dumas.
I speed-read the article.
Long, messy story short, he was involved with her before changing his mind and dumping her abruptly.
No, not just involved.Engaged.
Exactly the kind of scumbag behavior I’d associate with guys like him who have way more money than common sense and more clout than character.
He probably thought he would have his fun, and when he got bored of her, she could skip off and pick up the pieces of her broken heart alone.
Which, from what I can see, she’s doing very publicly.
Hmmm.
Victim or not, Vanessa isn’t so much picking up the pieces as flaunting them like hunting trophies so everyone can take a good look.
Still, it doesn’t erase his assholery.
It’s easy to believe he’s a heartbreaker. He’s handsome enough, in a coldhearted lizard blood kind of way.
I figured out money and good looks were a deadly combination when I was fourteen. You’d need to be a saintnotto let great wealth go to your head.
Oh, plus that faint scar on his cheek that makes him look mysterious and dangerous in an annoyingly sexy way.
If this Vanessa did fall hard enough to get bruised, I can kind of see the appeal.
Totally theoretically, of course.
He’s so not my type.
Shepherd Foster is my anti-type.
I only find a guy attractive if his maturity has grown past the moody Neanderthal stage. But I get why shemightfind him attractive.
How, objectively, the jet-black hair and ocean-blue eyes and that slashing faded scar might entice some girls who let their butterflies do the thinking.
At least this program finally makes sense, though.
I’m here so Shepherd Foster can save face.
Sighing, I scroll through another article bursting with sensational claims.
Vanessa is outing all his dirt, even poking at some organized crime rumors I don’t quite understand. When I try to search deeper, nothing turns up.
Huh.
The way it’s played up, the crazier it seems, and the less confident I feel about believing anything.
Everything that came down with Dad after my mother died spoke volumes about where truth ends and entertainment begins in the media.
Bad rumors spread like wildfire when the right people repeat them like mockingbirds. It’s all too easy for hearsay to become fact in the public eye.
That’s the world of billionaires, though.
A world I swore I never wanted to be involved in, having seen enough of it growing up.
All scandal and image management and security concerns.
