Chapter 37
Riggs
With the clarity of not drinking since yesterday, I decide to take the first step in winning back my wife. I’m going to contact the tabloid and find out who leaked those photos. Once I know for sure it wasn’t someone in my inner circle, I can focus on convincing Zoe to come home.
It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to Jazz, other than brief social encounters, but she still answers my call on the first ring. “Riggs? Why on earth are you calling me?” Judging from her gloating tone, she knows exactly why.
“Cut the crap, Jazz. I need you to tell me who sold you those photos of me and my wife.”
She chuckles. “You know I can’t expose my sources.”
“Did you forget we dated? With the right attorney, you sharing naked photos of me could fall under the category of revenge porn.” I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m hoping Jazz doesn’t either.
“There’s no way anyone would prosecute me for that.” Her voice waivers, telling me she’s not as confident as she pretends to be.
“Jazz,” I warn.
“Fine. It was your ex-wife.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Gretchen?”
“Yep. If anyone is getting charged here, it’s her.”
I sigh. This information complicates things. “Thanks, Jazz. I appreciate you telling me it was her.”
“I know you think I take pleasure in sharing stories about you and your friends, but I don’t when it comes to stuff like this.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“It’s my job, Riggs. Until a big-time news source comes calling, I have to make a living somehow.” If I didn’t know how much Jazz likes gossip, I’d almost believe her.
“Maybe give my personal life a break for a while, yeah?”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she says, which is code for she’ll do no such thing.
“Bye.” I end the call, dreading what has to be done next. I have to confront Gretchen.
Gretchen’s neighborhood is exactly where you’d expect a money hungry woman and her neurosurgeon husband to live. Every house is more outrageous than the last as I drive to the end of the cul-de-sac where Gretchen lives. Her home is directly in the center and looks like it belongs in Architectural Digest, the castle edition.
Jazz must have given Gretchen a head’s up because she meets me at the door. “Riggs,” she says, her bright red lips turned down into a frown.
“I take it you know why I’m here?” I work my jaw, hating how we can’t even stand the sight of one another. No matter how hard I’ve tried to remain on good terms with Gretchen for Calla’s sake, it simply can’t be done. My ex-wife is a witch.
“What do you want me to say?” The way she asks makes it seem like she thinks naked photos of me and my wife somehow just happened to her. It’s as if she feels like she’s the victim here.
“I’ll make this quick. If you so much as breathe another word about Zoe and me to the press, I’ll sue you.”
She scoffs. “On what grounds?”
“You sold naked photos of your ex-husband and his new wife to the tabloids. I’m pretty sure I could easily make a case of how that caused Zoe and me emotional distress. While I’m at it, maybe I’ll press charges. There are all kinds of laws these days regarding revenge porn.”
Gretchen pales. “You wouldn’t.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I would,” I say flatly. “In fact, when it comes to Zoe or Calla, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to protect them.”
“Please, don’t do something rash. I admit it was wrong. I was angry that you cut off my credit card. I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t tell Calla I did this.” She sniffles, and if I didn’t know how good she was at faking tears, I’d feel bad.
“You live in a mansion. You don’t need my money.”
“Griffin only gives me $500 a week,” she whines.
I snort. “I guess you will be learning how to budget right along with our daughter.”
“You’re not going to tell her I sold those photos, are you?”
“I’m not. It would crush her to find out her mother did something so horrible to her father,” I say, giving her a pointed look.
“I promise I’ll never do anything like that ever again.”
“You’d better not. Next time, I won’t be nearly as forgiving.” I turn to leave, but stop. “One more thing. How did you get those photos?”
“Mitch.”
Son of a bitch! Looks like I’m in the market for a new personal chef.