Chapter 7
Social Proof
Fenella
At exactly five p.m., Jessy drops me off in front of Laird’s office building. One hand carries a large bag of Chinese food. Honestly, I have no idea what he likes, so I order the things I’ve seen him order before and a few extra dishes that look tempting on the menu.
I walk into the lobby, crowded with employees pouring out after work. Everyone stares at me like I don’t belong, maybe because I’m the only one walking against the current toward the elevators instead of the exit.
“Hey.” Laird heads my way with a faint smile. Just like he texted, he’s been waiting for me in his office.
“Hi, babe.” I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls back before our lips touch.
“Why?” I frown.
“This is an office,” he mutters, clearing his throat and glancing around.
“Oh.” I glance too, noticing most desks are already empty. A handful of people remain, but clearly he doesn’t want any attention.
“Has your boss left?” I ask.
“Yeah, she was out at three for a client meeting,” he nods, taking the food bag from me.
Relief washes over me. At least Rebecca’s not here, though that doesn’t mean I should stick around too long. The sooner I leave, the better.
We head toward his desk. The new lawyer’s cubicle nearby is empty, his lamp the only light on. “You’re working late alone?” I ask.
“Yup. Nobody wants to help because this one’s pro bono,” he says, peeking into the bag.
“Pro bono?”
“Free legal services. Company’s way of showing social responsibility.”
“Oh.” My mouth pops open in another little O.
“You bought a lot. Planning for me to sleep at the office?” He raises an eyebrow, half-smiling at the bag.
“I figured you’d be here late and not come home with me,” I blink.
“You’re right. I’ve got a ton to prep for tomorrow morning,” he chuckles.
“Let me get plates from the pantry,” I offer, but he holds my arm.
“I’ll eat later when I’m hungry.”
“Oh, I thought we were having dinner here.” My lips part, surprised our plans don’t match.
With Tom, I used to sit through his late nights over takeout. I thought Laird would want the same. Guess I was wrong, and I hate that I even compared them.
“No, I’m still full,” he says, shaking his head.
“Alright then. I’ll head home,” I mutter, swallowing disappointment with pride.
“Not so fast.” He yanks my wrist back, dragging me close. His mouth finds my ear, voice low. “I’ve been losing my mind thinking about you with Alan. Did he touch you?”
My pulse spikes. “That was nothing. This is real.” I kiss him.
This time he kisses me back, rough, desperate. Tongue shoving deep, teeth scraping, his grip bruising my arm. Heat flashes through me, uncontrollable.
He drags me into a side room and locks it. Archive storage. Dark, cramped, shelves pressing close. My back slams the metal. His hands are already under my sweater, yanking my bra up, mouth latching on my nipple so hard I cry out.
“Fuck,” I gasp, arching into him. He sucks like he’s starving, biting, tongue flicking, switching sides without mercy. His hand pinches the nipple he leaves behind, twisting until I choke out a moan.
He shoves my skirt up, panties down, no hesitation. His fingers slam straight between my legs, two shoved inside me before I can even breathe.
“You’re fucking dripping,” he growls against my ear, voice shredded with lust.
“Oh God! Yes!” My leg hooks high around his waist, grinding into his hand as his fingers pump fast, brutal, curling hard against my spot until I see sparks.
He unzips, condom already in his hand, teeth tearing the wrapper like an animal. His cock’s thick and flushed, ready.
“You planned this?” I pant.
“Since the second you said you were coming. I’m gonna fuck him out of you.” He hauls my leg higher and slams into me in one brutal thrust.
“Fuck!” My head smacks the shelf, metal rattling. He pounds me without pause, hips snapping, hand grinding my clit at the same time. My nails claw his back, dragging red lines while he drives deeper and deeper, hitting me where it hurts so good I can’t stop screaming.
He crushes my breast in his hand, tongue wet in my ear, teeth biting hard enough to sting. The shelf rocks with every thrust, loud metal clanging against the wall. Some folders fall to the carpeted floor.
“Did he make you come like this? Tell me,” he snarls.
“No! Never. Only you!” My voice breaks, body convulsing.
“Good.” His pace goes savage, each thrust brutal, his cock swelling inside me, ready to blow.
“I’m gonna come,” I whimper, jerking against him, clit throbbing under his palm.
“Do it. Drain my cock dry,” he growls, teeth bared.
The sound of skin slapping is obscene, mixed with my filthy moans. I break first, pussy clamping down hard around him, shuddering, crying out. He slams deep, grinding into me, and his orgasm rips through him with a vicious grunt.
The shelf nearly tips from the violence before we collapse against it, trembling, sweat-slick, panting like animals.
“You mind the quickie?” he smirks, breath ragged.
“Not if you fuck me like that every damn time,” I whisper, still quaking.
“So, he didn’t touch you?” he pushes again, voice sharp.
“No.” The word rips out of me, raw.
“Good.” He crashes his mouth on mine, claiming, biting, like he owns me.
* * *
“We’re here to voice our rights.” Mallory’s voice echoes through the speakers mounted on either side of the stage.
“The right to protection, to form healthy relationships, to feel secure. We can’t get any of that if we keep shutting ourselves off from the very things that could protect us.
Avoiding the subject because it’s considered taboo only breeds more misunderstanding.
By sharing knowledge, I believe we can actually protect ourselves. ”
“Wow, yes! I’ve always thought sex ed should start as early as possible. I really respect this movement.” The host claps, encouraging the crowd’s applause.
For the past two hours, I’ve been standing on stage with dozens of celebrities, models, and actresses from Mallory’s circle.
We’re all in matching white hoodies with a red ribbon logo on the chest, supporting the HIV/AIDS awareness campaign.
Alan, Jemima, and Oscar stand beside me, wearing the same bracelets.
It’s strange. Mallory’s circle has started to look less like a group of friends and more like a cult, with her at the center like some untouchable figure. They’re all celebrities, while I’m still the total outsider.
I can’t tell if the crowd in Times Square sees it that way or not. To them, these people are idols. They cheer and clap like worshippers after every word that comes out of Mallory’s mouth.
“Alright, here comes the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Please welcome Mr. Alan Schmidt to lead the countdown.”
My whole body tenses as they step up to the center of the stage, moving toward the microphone. My fingers go numb, anxiety crawling through me like it has for days. I push my sunglasses higher on my nose, praying no one recognizes me on the massive screen hanging behind us.
God, the screen is enormous. Every pore, every messy strand of my hair could be magnified for all of Times Square to see. And that damn ad? My hair looks so bad in it.
“Let’s do it! Ten! Nine! Eight!” Mallory and Alan shout, their voices booming as the countdown starts.
Each number pounds against my ribs. The ad was rushed together in two weeks just to meet today’s launch date. Everything is too fast, too exposed. I’m not ready.
“Four! Three! Two!” I force a smile that stiff and fake.
Thick smoke shoots up, lights explode in bursts of color, and the screen goes black before the campaign video rolls. It runs for less than twenty seconds, but after that, the ad with Alan and me is scheduled to play—a full forty seconds.
The product clip ends, and the screen freezes for a few seconds. Sweat trickles down my back even though the December air bites at my skin. And then it happens.
“Hmm…” My face fills the screen, my voice a loud mumble over the speakers.
“Hi, can I help you with something?” The pharmacist’s voice cuts in, clear as day. She’s the same woman now standing off to the side of the stage, watching herself act with me on the giant screen.
* * *
I’m stretched out on the sofa in my apartment. Jessy’s still glued to his phone, fielding questions from reporters and juggling posts on both my personal and office social media accounts.
The condom brand launch is over, and the response is overwhelming. The whole point of the ad was to make buying condoms look as normal as picking up a bottle of vitamin at the pharmacy.
Did it grab attention the way we hoped? Hell yes. The ad goes viral on social media, spreading like fire at a blown-up gas station. Celebrity gossip sites are already crediting Mallory West as the brain behind the idea.
Not everyone takes it the way we intended though, and criticism starts pouring in. The comments section is flooded with condemnation, insults, and full-on bullying. Our supporters are fighting it out with haters, while the controversy itself climbs to the top of the trending list under ‘#condomad.’
“Oh, shit.” Jessy drops onto the sofa next to me.
His shoulders slump and he presses his temples like his skull’s about to crack. He tosses his phone onto the coffee table with a rough thud.
“Is it really that bad?” I ask him.
“They’ve lost their minds. I can’t take this anymore. They’re literally calling for a boycott.”
“Christ.” My voice comes out weak, and I’ve got nothing comforting to add.
“Gimme that.” Jessy holds out a hand for the unopened beer can on the table. I pass it over, he pops it open and chugs, only to start coughing right away.
“Hey, slow down,” I say, grabbing a bottle of warm mineral water from the table and patting his back while he hacks.
He sets the beer down and gulps the water until his throat clears. My body drops back onto the sofa, and I crack open my third can, taking a long pull. The buzz hits me fast, leaving me a little tipsy.
Yeah, being drunk is easier than dealing with all this pressure and madness. The ad’s been out less than twenty-four hours and already people are split, screaming on both sides. There’s nothing I can do about it, so I just keep drinking to numb myself.
Now I’m floating, and I don’t give a damn what happens to that ad anymore. If it gets boycotted, fine—at least no one will watch it. It’ll disappear overnight, buried under threats and moral outrage about public sex talk.
But I don’t say any of that to Jessy. He’s been working his ass off to keep my image intact, and this might be the hardest hit of his career as my agent. His head must already be packed with stress, and I’m not about to push him over the edge.
Most importantly, Laird won’t be able to see it again. He promised me he wouldn’t even go looking.
I glance at the wall clock. It’s already five p.m., he should be done with work by now. Has he caved and seen it anyway? I haven’t had the guts to check my phone since I walked back into the apartment.
At least for tonight, I’m cutting myself off. I’m too burned out after the campaign to deal with anyone else. I pull on a thick blanket and curl up tighter on the sofa, trying to keep warm.
Me:
The ad’s catching heat. I’ll be holed up at the apartment, drinking with Jessy if you want to find me.
That’s the last message I send to Laird.