Chapter 26
I haven’t seen any sign of Amos tonight, and I’m starting to think he bailed on his own party. He wouldn’t do that, would he? I don’t want to ask Ben, that would seem suspicious, but I’m grateful when Sophia does. “Shouldn’t Amos be here? I mean, tonight is kind of all about him.”
She’s been keeping a respectable distance from me since our conversation in the room earlier, but inevitably, it always fails.
My best friend may not like what I did, but that’s because she doesn’t understand it.
She works a safe job. One that doesn’t require taking the same risks I’ve taken to write this article.
Nothing I’ve done is illegal (everything was public information), nothing Troy did was illegal (he just helped me find what I was looking for), and nothing Chase did was illegal (he only helped me understand what I was looking at).
I’m not sure anyone else will see it that way.
Sophia’s reaction seemed mild compared to the one waiting for me if Ben ever finds out.
Still, it’s been hard for her not to revert to my best friend, who isn’t mad at me when she sees some of these EWE legends standing a few feet away—and don’t even get me started on the first time she saw Brody.
I don’t even think she was that nervous the first time she met Isaac.
“He’s around here somewhere. I saw him talking to Theo not long ago. Didn’t look too happy,” Brody says from the other side of the table where we’ve taken up residence.
“If nothing else, you can always count on Theo to add a little spice to the party,” Ben adds.
“Forty-two years old and still acts like a nineteen-year-old frat boy,” Savannah says, rolling her eyes.
Her response shocks me; that’s the most I’ve heard her speak out of turn when it comes to any of the Raffertys.
Does she know the truth? Would Amos trust her and Brooks with such a big secret?
Surely not. Then again, they seem to know almost everything else that happens around here.
It’s a strange dynamic. Why does Amos trust them so much?
Is it because they’re the faces of the company and need to be prepared for anything?
Or maybe they don’t know so much as suspect things.
I was shocked not to find anything about them in the records—not that I wanted to, for Ben’s sake.
They are his best friends, and while Brooks’s wife hasn’t been the most welcoming, Brooks has been.
Rae sighs. “Just because you think he’s a freeloader, doesn’t mean—”
“He is a freeloader,” Savannah interrupts her best friend.
“Maybe now isn’t the time to have this conversation,” Brooks says, and I could almost swear he motions toward me with his eyes.
No, he didn’t…Did he? No, I’m imagining things. He couldn’t possibly know anything. Could he? But if he knows, or thinks he knows, there’s no way he hasn’t shared his concern with Ben, which could explain why things between us have seemed weird.
My throat constricts at the thought, and a heaviness settles in my chest. We have to talk tonight.
I have to come clean and tell him the truth about everything.
Shit, this is happening too fast. I wasn’t ready for this…
not tonight. I try to swallow the lump growing in my throat, but it won’t budge.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward and whisper in Ben’s ear. “I need some air.”
He looks over his shoulder. “You want me to come with you?”
“No, that’s okay. You stay here and rest.” I smirk when his face falls into an unamused glare. Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, I stand from my seat. “I’ll be right back. Will you keep Soph company?”
He captures my wrist. “Don’t be too long, I think the speeches are going to start soon.”
“Five minutes,” I say, and smile when he brings the back of my hand to his lips.
The bag in my hands weighs down every step I take.
I do my best to ignore it, to not think about the ticking time bomb in my hands, but it’s only grown heavier as the night goes on.
My gaze sweeps over the crowd, looking for the man in charge.
Theo stands at the bar talking to a blonde I recognize from NextGen, and Chelsea and Noah are on the stage at the end of the main hall, but there’s no sign of Amos.
Did I miss my opportunity? This is my last chance before I hand this story over to Barry on Monday.
Despite the distance—and crowd—between us, I can feel Bennett’s eyes on me the whole way to the balcony door.
The air is heavy and warm, clinging to everything it touches with desperation.
Even with the immediate layer of perspiration on my skin, the night air feels incredible compared to the staleness inside.
Finally taking a deep breath, I let the humidity coat my throat and my lungs, and each breath wipes away some of my anxiety—only to be replaced when I hear a deep cough from the other end of the balcony.
The glow of a small red circle flares to life. With one final drag on his cigarette, none other than Amos Rafferty picks the cherry off and crushes it beneath his foot.
“Hello, Sloane,” he says, voice hoarse from the smoke.
He kicks the now-extinguished end off the balcony to the ground below.
“I’m glad you could make it this evening.
” A warm smile appears on his face, like he’s genuinely happy that I’m here.
“How is Wolf feeling? I haven’t had a chance to speak with him. ”
“Oh, you know, working it.”
Amos chuckles. “Glad to hear it. Have you been enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, it’s a great party. I was expecting something a little flashier, though, I must say.”
“We’re saving that for the fiftieth,” he says, and I laugh. “What are you doing out here instead of inside?”
“I needed some air,” I say, tightening my grip on my purse.
Its contents seem to press back against my hold.
“And I was hoping to run into you. You see, there’s something I need to tell you.
” I take a deep breath, feeling the glass of champagne I had earlier start to creep its way back up my throat.
I can do this. I have to do this. “Amos, I haven’t been completely honest with you.
I don’t work in public relations, not in the sense you might think.
I’m a journalist for The Boston Baller.”
Amos doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t react at all, at least not like I thought he would.
He chuckles to himself, scratching at the stubble on his jaw, before his smile slips into an easy smirk.
“I have to say, Sloane…I’m not all that surprised.
However, the one thing I can’t figure out is where Wolf fits into all of this. ”
“Bennett doesn’t know. He had nothing to do with this, none of them did.”
“I know,” he says, smirk slipping into a soft smile. “So, why are you telling me all of this? Surely, there’s a reason.” Sliding the folded manila envelope from my purse, I pass it to him.
“Inside are two different stories. The first is the story I was supposed to write, the one my boss expects on his desk on Monday morning. The second is the story he’s getting. I wanted you to be the first one to read them.”
Amos stares down at the envelope in his hands, rapping his knuckles on it. He bites down on his bottom lip and hums softly before lifting his gaze. “Did you get what you came for?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says.
My stomach does a flip. That’s it? He isn’t going to throw me out? Demand I not print any story without his consent?
“I look forward to reading your observations. We should probably get back inside, though. I’m sure Wolf will be wondering where you are, and Chelsea has been on my ass about getting these speeches over with.” Amos motions for me to walk ahead, but my steps falter the moment I turn around.
Ben stands at his full height, completely ignoring the fact that anyone could look outside and see him barely putting any weight on the crutches that hang limply beneath his arms. His eyes are narrowed into thin slits as they look between me, Amos, and the envelope in his hands.
The man next to me clears his throat and folds the envelope, stuffing it into the pocket of his suit jacket.
He glances toward my boyfriend briefly, patting him on the back, and walks inside.
“Ben—”
“What was that?” my boyfriend asks through gritted teeth, taking a step.
“Ben, your storyli—”
“Fuck the storyline, Sloane!” His outburst sends a jolt through my system, and I freeze. “What was that? What was in the envelope you handed Amos?”
A thickness coats my throat as tears flood my peripheral vision. I try to think of a way to explain this, but there’s nothing I can say that will convince him this isn’t what it looks like.
“You lied to me,” he says, calmer this time, and I can see the light reflect off the shine in his eyes. “I asked if you were writing a story about us, and you said no. You fucking lied to me, Sloane.”
“I didn’t lie,” I say firmly. “What I wrote…It—It wasn’t about you or your friends.”
“Writing something about this company inherently makes it about us.”
I shake my head. “None of this has anything to do with you, Ben.”
“You used me, Sloane. Used me to get ahead, used me as your very own Trojan horse to get close to the people who matter here.” Is he really making a gimmick reference right now?
The Trojan horse is actually part of Greek mythology, while the gladiators are Roman, but his point still stands, and I don’t think now is the time to correct him.
“And me, I was nothing more than collateral damage.”
“No! That’s not—”
“When did you get the story?” His question stops me. “Sloane, when did you get assigned the story?”
I glance down at my feet, then at my reflection in the window, then out at the lake—anywhere but at him. I can’t see his face when I say this part out loud. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I close my eyes. “A week before we ran into each other again.”