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I spent the rest of the day passive-aggressively shifting through my overdue cases until my brain was swimming. It was only putting off the inevitable. The security guards could keep me safe until I left the building, and then I was easy pickings.
Mum offered to send over one of the house security, but I refused to act like I was hiding from this. I wasn’t walking out into a crowd of flashing cameras cowering behind a beefy man when Jazz and I had been training for years so she could deal with situations like this. When Jazz was younger, I didn’t want her to get trapped in the same position as Grace when she got older. So, the kickboxing classes Jazz and I took came in handy. It was bad press to attack reporters, but if one of those bastards manhandled a teenage actress and got a black eye for it, that was their fault. The same applied to me. They could sue me for assault. I’d be happy to return the charges.
I chose to come to work, and I would have to leave. I’d dug my grave, now it was time to lie in it.
We’d been through this so many times when we were growing up: Mum would cause a scandal on set, or Dad would be involved in a shady business deal, and, later on, the stalkers who followed Jazz when she was a teen. The Fischer family was used to publicity. You held your head high, you kept a smile on your face, and whatever you did, you didn’t talk to them unless it was essential.
I’d walk out of here proudly, swapping the trainers and giant sunglasses for a bright Gucci printed scarf, black leather Chanel bag and Christian Louboutin heels, made up in my best war paint, and my hair down for the full Fischer effect. Jazz might have gotten Mum’s violet eyes and platinum blonde hair, but it didn’t mean the other Fischer siblings missed out. I was still smoking hot, and now it was time to put on the charm. I had nothing to apologise for, despite the accusation of being a man-stealing harpy.
I was the daughter of Mallory Fischer, the actress who made a name for herself by sleeping with all her directors and co-stars when she was only eighteen. The infamy still followed her, and subsequently us, even though she had been married to Dad for nearly thirty years. Her dalliance with Jazz’s dad wasn’t public knowledge, and we didn’t know what else she’d been up to since then.
At 6 pm, the elevator doors parted, and I stepped into the white marble foyer. I could already see the reporters spread around the street, chatting, laughing, waiting. They’d even brought news vans, for God’s sake. As I drew close to the main entrance, I was clearly visible through the brass and glass doors bearing the company name in gold lettering. They all moved at once. Like a pack of hunting wolves, they crowded around the front steps, at least thirty of them swarming, cameras flashing and people shouting.
I thought it was me they wanted. I saw a black BMW parked at the bottom of the steps and assumed it was mine. What I didn’t expect was for the piranhas to part like the Red Sea as the driver opened the back door of the car.
And who should emerge but the nation’s favourite princess? Her blonde hair cascaded around her, the black off-the-shoulder dress cut diagonally across her thighs, and a thick diamond choker matched her glittering eyes. Cherry lips and killer black stilettos completed the ensemble. Bunny looked fantastic, dressed to kill and ready for a performance. She swept her hair over her shoulder and met my glare with a twisted smile. Apparently, I was the supporting act.
I tightened my hand around my bag, looking down at her from the top of the marble steps. Bypassers had stopped to watch, and the crowd was growing. It was rush hour, the perfect time to gather an audience. My co-workers flocked behind me, none of them daring to brave the scene in front of them.
She posed as the driver closed the door behind her. Hips jutted to one side, elbows pointed out, eyes fierce, preparing for war. The reporters were eating it up already.
I felt like growling. If Bunny was pulling this shit, she must be more committed to the engagement than I thought. Maybe I’d been right to feel guilty all along.
She enjoyed giving a good show, and she’d already set herself as the martyr of this little drama. From the public point of view, Max and I had been cheating on her. Well, theywereactually engaged, but any sympathy I had for her vanished at the Clutch/Angel party.
Bun looked like a raging bull as she stormed up the steps towards me. She’d already perfected the crying angle. Now it was time for anger. I was the wrong person for her to try it on. I folded my arms, waiting for her, unimpressed. The ascent took away the impact I’m sure she wanted to create.
She finally reached the main entrance. I hitched my chin, letting my amusement show on my lips. I was curious to see what she had prepared. I had to bend my neck to look down at her. Another point for me. She still had enough room to throw her arms around as she began.
“You psycho bitch!” Good start. “I trusted you! I trusted you to take care of us before our big day, and this is the thanks I get!? I should have known, especially from the way you were looking at him when you first met!” Did she mean when I was thinking of all the ways I could make him suffer? “I looked up to you!” she screeched. “You were like a big sister to me. How could you go behind my back like some cheap slut and steal my man!?”
Honestly, I was more annoyed that Bunny thought making a scene was the best way to play this situation. If I hadn’t seen her rubbing up against to two different men, I would apologise to her, my guilt overwhelming me, and the shame I felt over letting Max trick me would cause me to take the blame instantly. But I was disappointed in her and angry she had pulled that little show with Melinda and Co.
She’d already got herself on prime-time TV with her charade of heartbreak and scandal, but she was really going for it here.
She drew in another deep breath, her clenched fists shaking. “Why couldn’t you be happy for me? I finally found someone to love and call my own, and you ruined it! You’ve ruined everything!” I was hoping she would stamp her foot, but she let me down. It seemed far-fetched that she was laying all the blame on me. Was Max the innocent party in all this? “You’ve destroyed my one chance at happiness.” I appreciated the way she went from waving her arms to clutching them against her chest like her heart was aching. “Was it fun for you? Do you hate me that much?”
“Enough.” I cut through her rant.
I’d been through enough with Max. I didn’t need her piling it on me as well.
“What!?” she was practically screaming. She had a reputation for drama, but this was unseemly. “Don’t tell me what to do! You’re the one who should be sorry. I —”
I strode forward and grabbed her wrist, tugging her inside the building as she fought me, shouting out for someone to save her, that I was going to hurt her, that I was kidnapping her.
I ignored her, dragging her into one of the small waiting rooms in the foyer, thick frosted glass protecting us from the worst of the onlookers. As soon as the door closed, I turned on her.
She opened her mouth to start her next round, but I ended it with a sharp slap to her right cheek. She choked out a gasp, lifting her hand to the reddening skin, her mouth wide.
“How… How dare —”
“Oh, shut up, Bun. Honestly? Is this seriously worth it? You’re selling yourself out to these parasites like you’re untouchable. How do you think this is going to make you look? You’re better than this. Come on.”
Her mouth flapped open as she took me in. I was not in the mood for this.
Her bottom lip trembled, and her hand shook against her cheek. “You don’t understand…”
“Oh, really? Please, enlighten me, because how I see it, you’ve gone off to Melinda Harkin to have a cry about how Max doesn’t love you or pay attention to you and how he’s cheating on you when we both know that is a load of shit. You were the one that roped him into the marriage, and as soon as he does something you don’t like, you get rid of him!” I didn’t like how familiar it sounded, but this wasn’t about me.
