Chapter 35
thirty-five
. . .
Jess
I can’t think straight in the office, not with the documentary cameras hovering and certainly not with the weight of Logan Carmichael’s transgressions sitting in a manila folder on my desk.
“I’m heading out,” I announce, gathering my notes and laptop.
Back at my apartment, I spread the evidence across my dining table. I have employment records, text messages, and sworn statements from Vanessa and two other former staffers. The picture they paint is damning but not entirely surprising.
Logan Carmichael, it seems, has a pattern of pursuing women who work for him—not aggressively enough to trigger immediate outrage, but persistently enough to make them uncomfortable.
Suggestive comments. Lingering touches. Private meetings that could be explained away as professional, if not for the context.
And when they don’t respond to his advances? Gradual sidelining. Projects are reassigned. Eventually, reasons are found for them to move on.
It’s not Hollywood-casting-couch-level harassment. It’s more insidious, the kind of behavior powerful men have gotten away with for decades because it exists in gray areas. Because victims fear not being believed or losing careers they’ve worked hard to build.
I glance at my phone, feeling the guilt from the text I sent earlier.
JESS
Home late tonight. Working on a story.
And his supportive, understanding reply.
LUCAS
No problem. I’ve got work, too.
I need perspective.
JESS
Emergency girls’ night at my place. Wine and moral dilemmas. ASAP.
BLAIR
There in 30. Wrapping up Sophia’s new contract.
STELLA
On my way! Need snacks?
An hour later, my living room is transformed into the war room I desperately need. Blair pours wine while Stella arranges an impressive charcuterie board on my coffee table.
“Ok, spill,” Blair demands, handing me a generously filled glass. “What’s the emergency?”
I take a fortifying sip. “I have a story about Lucas’s father.”
Their expressions shift from curiosity to concern.
“What kind of story?” Stella asks, settling onto the couch.
“Sexual harassment allegations from former staffers,” I explain, gesturing to the documents now neatly stacked on my dining table. “Three women, similar patterns, credible evidence.”
“And Lucas doesn’t know,” Blair guesses.
“Not yet.” I run a hand through my hair. “I promised him in the Hamptons that I wouldn’t dig into his father’s affairs.”
“But this came to you,” Stella points out.
“Exactly what Dylan said,” I mutter.
“Is he filming all this for the documentary?” Blair asks.
“Some of it.” I grimace. “He caught my initial reaction when the story landed on my desk.”
“Well, if anyone can handle this kind of sensitive content with integrity, it’s Dylan,” Blair says confidently.
“True,” Stella agrees. “But what are you going to do?”
I let out the deep breath I’ve been holding. “This is a legitimate story I can’t ignore. Senator Carmichael is announcing his gubernatorial run next month. Voters deserve to know who they’re electing.”
“But…” Stella prompts.
“But Lucas will be hurt. And he’ll feel betrayed that I didn’t tell him immediately.” I sink deeper into my chair. “I’ve been verifying facts before bringing it to him, but the more I confirm, the worse it looks.”
“How bad are we talking?” Blair asks, shifting into the protective mode she uses with her clients. “Criminal? Civil? PR nightmare?”
“Mostly the latter,” I explain, reaching for the summary I’ve prepared. “Based on what I’ve found, Logan Carmichael has a pattern of making advances toward female staffers and then retaliating professionally when rejected. Not physical assault, but definite harassment and abuse of power.”
“And you’ve confirmed this?” Blair’s tone is careful, measured.
“Employment records show the pattern. All three women were rising stars who suddenly departed under vague circumstances. I have text messages that, while not explicitly sexual, show inappropriate personal interest. And their stories align perfectly despite them never having communicated with each other.”
Blair nods, processing. “Credible but not catastrophic. A good PR team could manage the fallout.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Stella asks softly.
I stare into my wine glass like it might contain answers, but all it reflects is my own hesitation.
I’ve built my life around exposing these kinds of stories.
I know how this works. I know the patterns, the power imbalances, and the careful silencing.
But this one feels different. It’s not just a headline.
It’s Lucas. It’s his family. And the thought of him finding out this way, of me being the one to break it, twists something in my chest.
“If I tell him now,” I murmur, “he might try to spin it. Bury it. Not because he’s like them, but because he’s loyal.
Because it’s his family. And if I publish without warning…
” There’s a chance our marriage might not survive.
And I don’t want that. I’m not ready for it to end.
Not even close. I know it was pretend, temporary, but now the idea of it ending feels like losing something real.
“He cares about you,” Stella says gently. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
I hope so, because the thought of hurting him makes my stomach turn, and that scares me more than the story itself.
“I just need to be sure,” I say finally, setting the glass down. “About what I have. About how I bring it to him. About everything.”
Blair suddenly pales, and her hand flies to her mouth. “Excuse me,” she mumbles, bolting toward the bathroom.
Stella and I exchange concerned glances as retching sounds echo down the hallway.
“Food poisoning?” I wonder, eyeing the charcuterie board suspiciously.
Stella’s eyes widen. “Or something else. She’s been looking tired lately. And she skipped wine at a premiere party last week.”
Blair emerges from the bathroom looking slightly green. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Are you pregnant?” Stella blurts out, subtlety abandoned.
Blair freezes, her expression cycling rapidly through shock, denial, and then dawning realization. “I’m late. But I’ve been so busy with Sophia’s streaming deal that I didn’t even notice…” She sits heavily on the couch. “Oh, my God.”
“When was your last period?” I ask.
“Six…no, seven weeks ago?” Blair looks dazed. “Wyatt and I have been talking about starting a family, but not until next year…”
“Well,” Stella says brightly, pulling out her phone, “looks like your timeline got accelerated. DoorDash has pregnancy tests, right?”
Twenty minutes and one very generous tip to a bewildered delivery driver later, Blair emerges from the bathroom clutching a plastic stick, her expression unreadable.
“Well?” Stella and I demand in unison.
A smile breaks across Blair’s face as tears well in her eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
The next few minutes are a blur of excited squeals, hugs, and happy tears. Blair pulls out her phone, her hands shaking. “I need to call Wyatt.”
“Go!” I urge her. “Go tell him now, in person. This isn’t phone news.”
Blair hesitates. “But your crisis—”
“Will still be here tomorrow,” I assure her. “Go tell your husband he’s going to be a dad.”
As Blair gathers her things, practically vibrating with excitement, she pauses to give me a quick hug. “For what it’s worth, Jess,” she says quietly, “trust Lucas with the truth. All of it.”
After Blair leaves, Stella stays to help clean up, both of us still buzzing with the happy news.
“You’ll tell him soon?” Stella asks, gathering wine glasses.
“Yes,” I promise.
When they’re both gone, I take the coward’s way out and decide to spend the night at my place. I scroll to see if I missed any texts from Lucas before sending my own.
JESS
Staying at my apartment tonight. Blair and Stella came by with some good news to celebrate. Will fill you in tomorrow.
His response comes a moment later.
LUCAS
Sure. See you tomorrow.
Brief. To the point. Not the usual warmth I’ve grown accustomed to. But it’s been a long day for both of us, and I’m probably reading too much into it.
As I get ready for bed in the apartment that no longer quite feels like home, I replay Blair’s parting advice: Trust Lucas with the truth.
The irony doesn’t escape me that what started as a convenient arrangement has somehow become the most real relationship I’ve ever had.
And now I’m risking it all for my commitment to the truth.