Sloane
After 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.
