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“Too far to stop it,” she says. “You’re watching her on the biggest morning gossip show in North America, which means it’s too late to scrub the internet. Too many eyes have seen it, saved it, tweeted it, and sent it to TikTok.”
Wonderful.
“You are now Shepherd Foster, brilliant CEO and cunning heartbreaker. Congratulations.” She pauses for a breath. “In some eyes, I’m sorry to say, anabuserof women.”
“I never touched her once, dammit,” I growl.
“Emotional abuse, sir.”
“I wasneveremotionally involved with her. The whole arrangement was fake as hell.”
“Oh, no doubt. I knew it from the second she claimed you went all Prince Charming on her. That’s... not you, Mr. Foster.” She nods intently. “Regrettably, I’m afraid you’ll have a hard time convincing the internet. The reality of the ruse won’t win you many sympathy points, either.”
I wince because she’s right.
The age of social media means no secret stays sacred for long, and some lies never have an expiration date.
Worse, it’s the age of the ambush.
I didn’t know what Vanessa Dumas was doing after I brushed her off until it was already public knowledge.
“What are our options? Anything yet from PR?” I demand.
Vanessa’s perfect, red-lipsticked mouth moves on the screen as she tells another lie I don’t care to listen to. No doubt she’s squawking about how wonderful she thought we were together, and how she was so sure we were madly in love.
Hannah hesitates. “I’m afraid—”
“There must be favors to call in.” I push my chair back and pace across the rug in the center of the floor, all slate-grey to match the building’s décor. “We have a few friends in the media. Maybe even at the network that signs Martha Rubina’s paycheck.”
“...it’s already live and approved, sir. You’d need to bring out a big stick and make a lot of noise to put the cork back in this bottle.”
Yeah, and Legal would love to whack me with a big stick if I even consider lawsuits over this, considering it was my own ham-fisted idea that started it.
“A press conference then,” I say. “I’ll go straight to the people. Tell my side of the story, set the record straight, and be just as loud as she is.”
Hannah only tucks her hands behind her back, which I know from experience meanshell nobefore she says a single word.
“No, sir,” she clips. “If you push back, you give them more attention. The more you protest, the guiltier you’ll look. And considering your past...” She clears her throat.
“Don’t say it. Believe me, I know,” I snap. “The louder I bleat, the more people will go digging, and then I’ll be one big open wound.”
I’ve been dealing with this fuckery for my whole adult life, ever since the day I flipped and helped take Uncle Aidan down. And that wasbeforethe goddamned mess with Serena.
My particular past required moving a goddamned mountain when there were guns and bodies and the whole world knew my uncle was an Irish mob boss. Never mind the whole tragic dead wife thing.
I resist the urge to throw something at the wall.
“So, what then? You want me to stay silent while she drags my name through the mud for the thousandth time?”
“I want you to be the bigger person, Mr. Foster. Billionaire CEOs don’t acknowledge petty rumors,” Hannah explains patiently. “Doing so will just give them fuel.”
“Yeah, yeah. Above the fray and all that.”
I drag my hands through my hair and bite back all the caustic words I want to hurl at Vanessa, who’s still running her mouth.
The smug smile on her face behind the crocodile tears tells me how much she’s enjoying this.
What the hell happened?
