A fter Saturday, I could add the Valhalla Club bathroom to the list of
places I’d never look at the same again (after my office, my kitchen, Xavier’s living room, and well, pretty much every place we’d had sex).
It was a great cap to the night, but blowjobs and orgasms aside, the gala also kicked off step two of Operation Perry Wilson, which officially commenced that Monday.
I had just stepped off the elevator and into my office when a breaking- news alert popped up on my phone.
Soraya engaged in scandalous sex affair with MARRIED influencer?!
the headline screamed. It was a rhetorical question.
One click took me to Perry’s blog, which expounded breathlessly on the alleged affair using details my friends had fed into the grapevine: the gifts, the secret weekend getaway in upstate New York, the airplane bathroom blowjob during a brand trip both Soraya and Bryce had participated in over the summer.
It was salacious and dishy and completely untrue, but Perry wasn’t known for his fact-checking. His post was chock-full of allegations without proof.
I smiled. He’d bought the whole story hook, line, and sinker. “Is it true?” Jillian asked breathlessly. She was already at her desk, her coffee
mug full and her computer zoomed into a photo of Soraya and Bryce on their brand trip. Perry’s blog branding was splashed across the top of the screen. “Is Soraya really sleeping with Bryce? I totally shipped them together before he got married, but—”
“Jillian.” I fixed her with an arch stare. “Is Soraya our client?” She sighed. “No.”
“Focus on our clients, please. What’s the status on magazine profile pitches for Ayana?”
After some minor grumbling, Jillian updated me on the pitches. I sent a quick text during her tangent about how much she hated a certain editor.
Your turn
SORAYA:
On it [devil emoji]
Soraya may not be a client, but her publicist and I were friends and we’d come to a mutually beneficial agreement, locked into place by an ironclad NDA.
Like I’d said, I needed an army to take down Perry’s social media accounts, and Soraya happened to have one of the largest, most terrifying fanbases on the internet. They’d once taken down a huge makeup brand’s website for forty-eight hours after their director of marketing said they’d never work with Soraya because her “image” wasn’t the “right fit.”
Luckily for me, Soraya was venturing into music and launching her debut album soon. She wanted a big PR splash, and a sex scandal meant major PR. No such thing as bad publicity and all that. The fearless social media star also wasn’t afraid to go head-to-head with Perry, whom she already hated after he’d invented a nasty nickname for her best friend, another influencer, and driven the poor girl into rehab.
Soraya was one of the very few public figures he’d been cautious about attacking directly due to her fans. However, thanks to a few pushes from
me, he’d finally caved when the juiciness of the story seemed to outweigh his sense of self-preservation.
I entered my private office, my steps lighter than they’d been in weeks.
Bryce knew the story was coming too. I wouldn’t drag an innocent into my schemes without their knowledge, but he and his wife had been okay with the plan. The furor over their wedding had died down, and they were interested in keeping the public’s attention on their relationship.
After Soraya posts her denial video later (accompanied by photos and receipts showing her in Europe during her alleged upstate getaway with Bryce), it was only a matter of time before her followers ripped Perry apart.
Taking Perry down wouldn’t solve my Pen dilemma, but it gave me a semblance of control, which I desperately needed. Between dating Xavier and Perry’s sabotage, my life had spun out of control after Spain.
I turned on my computer and resisted the urge to check the updates Xavier had given me about Pen again. Things could’ve changed after he’d handed me the files, but I hoped that the upcoming holidays meant George and Caroline wouldn’t do anything too rash. They kept Pen out of the spotlight as much as possible, but they’d still get questions if their youngest daughter was mysteriously shipped abroad right before Christmas.
The only force stronger than their desire to spite me was their desire to keep up appearances. That meant I had until the New Year to figure out a solution because never seeing Pen again was not an option.
I spent the morning and better part of the afternoon taking calls and closing email chains before the holidays. I was reviewing the Sports World interview with Asher when the door flew open.
I lifted my head, expecting to see Jillian or maybe Xavier. Shock rippled through me when I saw my sister’s slim form instead.
“You bitch.”
My eyebrows winged up at her scathing greeting. Georgia was usually subtler than that.
“That’s a matter of opinion, but I’m only a bitch to people who deserve it,” I said, overcoming my initial jerk of surprise to offer a cool smile. “For example, people who show up uninvited to my workplace and attack my character before I’ve even had my second coffee.”
Georgia came to a stop in front of my desk. Red splotches mottled her flawless skin, and a muscle twitched beneath her eye. I’d never seen her so upset, not even when our grandmother left her vintage Chanel collection to me instead of Georgia in her will.
“Bentley told me what you did,” she snapped.
“Really?” This was going to be good. “Please, what did I do? Enlighten me.”
“You tried to fuck him. You called him, pretended you had something important he needed to know, and asked him to meet you at the same time as the Windsor Rose Society’s annual post-Thanksgiving ladies’ brunch because you knew I’d be occupied that day.” Her blue eyes flashed with animosity. “Trying to seduce your pregnant sister’s husband? That’s low even for you.”
“Not any lower than fucking your sister’s fiancé in their living room on New Year’s Eve.”
Georgia’s mouth thinned. “Oh, please. That was years ago, and Bentley had a good—”
“Spare me your bullshit, Georgie.” She hated when people called her that, which was why I did it as often as possible. “I’m not rehashing the same conversation we’ve had multiple times in the past, but I’ll tell you this: we’re not the same people we were back then, and I wouldn’t touch Bentley again if you paid me a million dollars.” I returned to my computer. “You want him so bad? You can keep him.”
“You’re many things, Sloane, but I didn’t think you were a liar.” Georgia tossed her phone on my desk. “You met up with him on Sunday. Don’t deny it.”
I glanced down. Motherfucker. Bentley had somehow snapped a photo of me at the bar when I was ordering my drink and distracted. His hand was also in the frame, displaying his favorite Rolex.
I didn’t know what had possessed him to do that—insurance, maybe, or blackmail—but the man was truly dumber than a box of rocks. The photo was more damning for him than it was for me. “I did meet up with him— after he called me and said he wanted to talk.” I slid the phone back across the desk. “He’s the one who propositioned me, Georgie.” I didn’t go into detail about what he’d said—yet.
It happened so fast I almost missed it. A flicker crossed Georgia’s face, just long enough to make me think there’d been trouble in paradise before Bentley and I ever met up.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I lying about the Lalique vase you threw at his head?” She went deathly still.
The vase was a small, specific detail that I would’ve never come up with on my own unless Bentley told me—Georgia hadn’t made a habit of throwing expensive housewares growing up.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her complexion several shades paler than when she’d entered. “It could’ve just come up during your conversation.”
“Believe me, don’t believe me. It’s not my job to convince you of your husband’s infidelity.” My voice cooled another degree. “But there’s an old saying, Georgie: if he cheats with you, he can cheat on you.” I paused, letting pettiness take the wheel. “There’s also another saying: karma’s a bitch.”
The splotches from earlier made a glorious return, spreading across Georgia’s face and neck and blanketing her skin with a mask of bright red.
“This is why no one wants to be around you, Sloane,” she hissed. Whenever she felt threatened, her claws came out, and right now they
gleamed sharp and deadly beneath the lights. “You’re a coldhearted snake; you always have been. You didn’t even cry when Mom died. What kind of sick, heartless monster doesn’t shed a single tear when their mother’s gone?”
Ice rushed to fill my veins, freezing me from the inside out.
I could handle anything she said about us, Bentley, or the estrangement, but in true Georgia fashion, she’d zeroed in on the one weakness I had left
—the idea that there was something wrong with me, that I was broken somehow because I didn’t feel the way “normal” people should feel. The fear that I was a monster in human clothing, devoid of compassion and unable to form genuine connections.
I knew that wasn’t totally true. After all, I loved my friends and Pen, and I connected with Xavier more than I had any man in the past, including Bentley. But fear often overrode fact, and Georgia had ripped the stitches off my wounds with alarming alacrity.
I stood, taking comfort in the way I towered over her. My sister had an uncanny ability to make me feel small, but I would rather die before I let her see it.
“Get out of my office.” The quiet command lashed out once in warning. Georgia ignored it.
“Thank God we got rid of Rhea.” When she sniffed weakness, she was like a shark hunting blood. “She was a terrible nanny anyway, and I would hate for Penny to grow up with a lying traitor in the house. How much money did you bribe her with?”
“Get. Out. Of. My. Office.”
“Speaking of getting rid of people, you know Xavier’s going to leave you.” Georgia pivoted to another soft spot with unerring accuracy. “I’m sure dating you is a novelty in the beginning. Everyone wants to melt the so-called ice queen; Bentley says that’s the only reason he proposed. He liked knowing he was the one who tamed you, but he quickly realized his
mistake, didn’t he?” She tilted her head, her beautiful face vicious. “Now let’s take Xavier. Rich, gorgeous, used to having fun. How long do you think a guy like that will stay with someone like you before he gets bored? He doesn’t—”
“Ever since we saw you at the hospital, she’s gotten more paranoid. She accused me of checking you out and said I still had feelings for you.” Bentley’s voice played from the recording on my phone. Georgia froze, her smirk withering at the sound of her husband’s words. “She said she was my second choice and that I’m always comparing her to you. The thing is… she’s not wrong.” I didn’t take my eyes off my sister’s rapidly paling face as the replay of my conversation with Bentley continued. There was a reason I hadn’t sent her the audio right after I left the bar; I’d wanted to see her reaction, and it was as glorious as I’d imagined.
For once, Georgia was speechless.
Part of me had considered keeping the audio to myself, but that was before she stormed into my office, flung accusations in my direction, and ignored my requests to leave.
If she wanted to stay so badly, then she could do so on my fucking terms.
Her earlier words still hurt, but the satisfaction at seeing her tremble with outrage was enough to temporarily numb those wounds.
“Worry less about my relationship with Xavier and more about your own marriage,” I said, my voice cold and calm. “It took one chance encounter for Bentley to try and come crawling back to me. I don’t want him anymore, of course, nor will I ever want him again. Unlike other people, I prefer partners who understand the concept of loyalty, but I can easily walk away and never give that man another thought. You, on the other hand, are stuck with him.” I offered a casual shrug. “Perhaps try marriage counseling or therapy. I imagine being someone’s second choice is
difficult, but you should be used to that by now. You seem to want only the things I’ve had first.”
Georgia’s skin grew increasingly mottled the more I spoke. This was the worst-case scenario for her—not only hearing the shit Bentley had been saying behind her back but knowing I, specifically, was privy to her humiliation. She hated losing face in front of her “competition,” and as much as she and her friends tried to one-up each other on a regular basis, I’d always been her biggest competitor in her mind.
If there was one thing Georgia Kensington did not tolerate, it was coming in second place.
“Now, if there’s nothing else, I have work to do.” I leaned back in my chair. “Xavier and I have dinner plans at Monarch, and I don’t want to miss them.”
Monarch was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Even my father had issues getting a reservation.
“Whatever,” Georgia snapped. “Monarch is over anyway. No one eats there anymore.”
It was as weak a comeback as I’d ever heard from my sister, and I merely looked at her until she spun on her heels and stormed out without another word.
I waited until the door closed and several beats had passed before I let the disdain slide off my face.
What kind of sick, heartless monster doesn’t shed a single tear when their mother’s gone?
Thank God we got rid of Rhea.
You know Xavier’s going to leave you.
In her absence, Georgia’s taunts rushed to fill the void, and without my pride to keep me upright, I was suddenly so, so tired.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the rapid patter of my heart. I hated how I’d taken her bait before I cut her off with the Bentley
recording. I hated how transparent I was to her, and how deeply her words cut when I should’ve been immune.
I’d known she was trying to hurt me, and I’d let her do it anyway.
My hands closed around the edge of my desk. It reminded me of Xavier, which reminded me of what Georgia had said.
Everyone wants to melt the so-called ice queen.
How long do you think a guy like that will stay with someone like you before he gets bored?
The deadline for our two-month trial period loomed at the end of the month. I’d avoided thinking about it because I wasn’t sure what I would do
—stay in a relationship that made me terrifyingly happy and risk it ending one day, or run back to the comfort of my solo bubble? That was, of course, assuming I had a choice and Xavier wanted to be with me after the trial period concluded.
What if he didn’t?
That would make things easier for me. I wouldn’t have to choose, and I could slide back into my old life like it’d never happened. Like we’d never kissed or floated in a pool beneath the city skies. Like he’d never held my hand during a race to the hospital or set up a rooftop movie screening on a beautiful fall day. Like I’d never comforted him, trusted him, and—
The world blurred for an instant.
It was so unusual and disorienting, I couldn’t comprehend it. When I did, a reckless shock of hope darted through me, and I reached up, my breath stuck somewhere between my throat and lungs.
My fingers touched my cheeks. They were dry. I blinked, and the world was clear.
Of course it was.
Disappointment and relief amplified the pressure crowding my chest. My office suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. I could still smell my sister’s perfume, and it made my stomach roil.
I needed to get out of here before I suffocated.
Jillian was waiting outside my door when I exited. “Sloane, I’m so sorry,” she said, her expression stricken. “I tried to stop her, but she got past me, and once she was inside, I didn’t want to—”
“It’s fine.” At least my voice was clear. Thank God for the small things. “Please call building security and ask them to place Georgia Kensington- Harris and Bentley Harris on the guest blacklist. I want them to call the police if either comes within a thousand feet of my office.”
“Consider it done.” Jillian worried her bottom lip. “Are you okay? Do you, um, want a doughnut?”
She believed sugar was the answer to all problems.
I almost smiled, but my facial muscles didn’t have it in them. “No, thanks. I’m working from home for the rest of the day. Assign Tracy to oversee the Curated Travel interview with the Singhs instead.” I gave her a few more instructions before I left and walked to my apartment instead of taking a car.
Nothing cleared my head like a good walk.
I missed Pen. I missed Rhea. I even missed the tiny sliver of hope that my sister and I could reconcile one day, which was ironic considering I’d never felt like I truly belonged in my family.
But there’d been a time when I could pretend, and on days when I was too tired to fight, pretending was enough.
What happened in my office had effectively killed that hope. It’d drawn too much blood.
As for Xavier…
I entered my building’s lobby and slid into the elevator right before the doors closed.
As for Xavier, he hadn’t given me any indication that he wanted us to end. He’d been nothing but supportive and caring since we started dating; I’d be stupid to doubt him. Right?
By the time I got off the elevator and unlocked my apartment door, I’d successfully pushed Georgia’s taunts to the back of my mind. I couldn’t control how good she was at pushing my buttons, but I could control my reaction to her, and I’d already given her more energy than she deserved.
Forget what she said. Focus on work.
I flipped on the lights and kicked off my shoes. I had a solid hour and a half to work before I had to meet Xavier for dinner. Part of me wanted to ask for a raincheck, but seeing him always made me feel better. I needed him after this shitshow of a day.
Needed.
I’d never needed anyone, and the idea that I needed him sent a little shiver down my spine—from fear or pleasure, I wasn’t sure. I tossed my tote bag on the couch and was about to slip into something more comfortable when I paused. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I looked around.
Something was wrong.
The apartment was still. Too still.
I slowly retrieved the bottle of mace I always kept in my bag while my eyes roved over the TV, the bookshelves, and the door to my bedroom. Everything was as I’d left it that morning, so why…
My gaze snagged on the side table.
The Fish’s aquarium rested there, clean and clear.
In the aquarium, The Fish usually swam at his leisure, his orange scales beaming a hello every time I walked through the door.
Not anymore.
The Fish floated upside down in the tank, his eyes sunken, the pupils cloudy.
My mace clattered to the ground, the sound muted beneath the sudden roar of blood in my ears, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick it up.
Dead. He was dead. He was dead.
I didn’t understand the wellspring of grief that sprang from my chest or the tremble weakening my knees. I had no proper explanation for the burn in my eyes or the sudden, overwhelming sense of emptiness that invaded the apartment.
I wasn’t prepared for any of those things because The Fish wasn’t a cute, cuddly pet I’d bought for myself. He was my pet by default, abandoned by a stranger and housed here temporarily while I waited for the right time to rehome him. He’d never laid his head across my lap when I was sad or brought me a toy to play fetch with because he was a fucking fish.
But I’d lived with him for five years, and for five years, in this sterile apartment, we were all each other had.
I sank onto the couch and willed myself to cry, to expel the pressure mounting in my chest.
Once. I wanted that relief just once, but as always, I didn’t get it. And an eternity later, when the pressure became unbearable and my will to fight eroded to nothing, I simply curled up on the couch, squeezed my eyes shut against the pain, and pretended I was someone, somewhere else because that was the only thing I’d ever been able to do.
