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“These were taken from corporate property. They belong tome. Some asshole has clearly sold them to this shit mag!” Henry roars into his phone as he paces. Dyson is surely on the other side of that line. “I want the full list ofeveryfucking security guard on staff this summer, and who was working the night of the grand opening. Get it from Belinda. Find out where they live, their contact information. I’m going to make whoever did this pay!”
I haven’t seen Henry this agitated since the night at the golf club when we discovered Scott had been lying about having seen William before he died.
Violet watches. What must she think of her father in this light?
“And this Ben Shaw? Who is he?” Henry barely listens before barking, “Find out!”
Here I was just two days ago, thinking that snooping reporter didn’t unearth what he was digging for. But he had a bigger aim than releasing it on some hot-take celebrity scandal website that feeds a thousand clickbait offshoots. Not that those sites haven’t jumped in to ride the magazine’s coattails. I’ve already received texts from Autumn and half of Greenbank.
“How bad is it?” Violet whispers.
“Oh, you know, they’ve made it sound like I’m a habitual cheater, that I’ve been running around, humping every male’s leg I can get near.” Tears prick my eyes. Mama called twice and texted three times, but I’m avoiding her. Her judgment is the last thing I can deal with.
“But it’s not true.”
I avert my gaze because the reality is, there are many truths buried in this reputation-destroying smear campaign. “Does it matter? Enough people will believe it. I’m already getting DMs and comments on Farm Girl’s social media.”
Her face screws up. “Already?”
“Yup.” Got my first “you slut” comment about an hour ago, before I even knew this article existed, and they’re trickling in, gaining momentum. Everything fromwhoretostupid, plus a few comments directed at Henry.
“Dump her cheating ass, Wolf. I would never cheat on you.”
“Her loss, our gain.”
Annie texted to ask how I’d like to handle it.
I have no damn clue.
Violet bites her fingernail. “Don’t people have anything better to do?”
“Clearly not.”
My phone rings with a call from Ronan. I answer in a rush. “I’m so sorry you’re getting dragged into this.” I sent him screenshots of the magazine as soon as the initial shock wore off.
“I’m not getting dragged into anything. And don’t fucking apologize to me, Red.” He sounds annoyed. “Is Wolf with you?”
“He’s here.” And pacing while spitting out orders. “He’s pissed.”
“No shit.” Ronan chuckles, but it’s a mirthless sound. “I guarantee you it was either Corbin or Mark who sold those pics to the press. Those fuckers kept tabs oneverythinggoing on. Corbin has a hard-on for the boss. He’s obsessed.”
I vaguely recall those names and something about a Henry shrine. “In security?”
“Yeah. Mark was Aspen’s roommate.”
Oh no …“Mark knew about Michael.” He was there the morning after I hooked up with Michael. He also knew that Henry didn’t sleep with Roshana and her friend that night, that Henry left and Roshana dragged in Andy—another of Mark and Michael’s roommates.
Henry ends his call and offers me a curious “Who are you talking to” frown.
“Hey, Ronan, I’ve gotta go—”
“I’m flying back to New York. Be there by tonight,” he says.
“No, don’t be crazy. You’re visiting your family.”
“Shut up, Red. I’ll see you soon.” The line goes dead before I can object.
“What did he want?” There’s no small hint of annoyance in Henry’s tone.
