Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Jess
“No comment means no comment, Harvey. I don’t care what TMZ is offering.”
I end the call and toss my phone onto my desk, where it lands with a clatter among the organized chaos of notes, empty energy drink cans, and recording equipment.
The glass-walled studio of On the Red Carpet normally feels like my sanctuary, the place where I’m in control, where I’m the one to ask the questions and shape the narrative.
Not today.
Today, I’m the story. And I hate it.
The door swings open without a knock, and Blair marches in, her designer bag swinging from her arm, her expression a mix of concern and barely contained excitement.
“Two days,” she announces, dropping into the chair across from my desk. “Two days of unanswered texts and calls. I had to find out about your wedding from Instagram, Jessica Lexington. Instagram.”
I cringe. “I’m sorry. It’s been a bit chaotic.”
“Oh, I bet it has.” Blair leans forward, her eyes gleaming. “Now, spill it. What the hell is going on?”
“There’s not much to tell,” I say, fidgeting with my pen. “It was a mistake. A drunken Vegas mistake that’s being handled.”
“A mistake?” Blair arches a perfect eyebrow. “The photos Dylan posted look pretty convincing for a mistake.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “That’s the professional lighting in the chapel. And probably the eight glasses of champagne.”
“Honey, that wasn’t champagne lighting. That was lust lighting. I’ve known you since our Boston U days, and I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at Lucas in those photos.”
I groan, dropping my head into my hands, but not before a flicker of those images flashes behind my eyelids. His hand curled around my waist. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. The way my smile—God, I was smiling—wasn’t forced.
No. Nope. Champagne. Lighting. Chaos. All of it.
It’s just physical. That’s all. Lucas is objectively attractive in the most annoying way possible, all angles and confidence and that stupid knowing smirk.
It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t even like him.
I can barely tolerate him. So what if he smells like woodsy cologne and expensive decisions?
So what if he has forearms that could break the internet?
It doesn’t mean I want him.
“I mean, can you believe this happened?” I mumble into my hands. “Me? Married? To Lucas Carmichael, of all people? The guy whose entire job is spinning stories I’m trying to uncover?”
Blair studies me for a moment, clearly not buying it. “You know, you mention him an awful lot for someone you supposedly can’t stand.”
“Because he’s constantly in my way!” I protest, perhaps too quickly. “Every time I’m working on a story about Wonderland, there he is with his perfect jawline and his media training, deflecting my questions and protecting the studio machine.”
“Mm-hmm. His perfect jawline. Terrible.”
I throw a pen at her, which she dodges effortlessly. “Stop it. This is serious. I’m meeting my attorney in two hours to figure out how to end this nightmare.”
“How’s your family taking the news? I assume Austin is thrilled that his former teammate is now his brother-in-law.”
I roll my eyes. “Everyone’s thrilled. Dad’s so excited he’s already planning a post-wedding reception at the stadium, never mind that he’s never actually met Lucas—at least, as my boyfriend—and I’ve spent the last year telling him I’m not dating anyone.”
“Your dad loves you.”
“I know. He just wants me to be happy, and in his mind, marriage equals happiness.” I sigh.
“My older brother, Garrett, sent me this congratulatory text that somehow still managed to convey his judgment about my ‘life choices.’ As if choosing not to join the family business wasn’t bad enough, now I’ve gone and married someone on a whim. ”
“And Austin?”
“Way too happy. Called me yesterday, going on about how great it is that his teammate and his sister finally ‘stopped dancing around each other’ and how he’s looking forward to having a friend at family holidays.
” I twist a strand of hair around my finger.
“He did say he’s going to kick Lucas’s ass for hitting on his sister without his blessing, though. ”
Blair laughs. “At least that’s appropriately brotherly.”
“The point is,” I continue, “everyone thinks this is some grand romance that’s been brewing for years. My father, who usually spends his time worrying about bullpen stats, has suddenly taken an interest in my love life. It’s…weird.”
“So, what’s the plan? Besides the annulment.”
I straighten, shifting into problem-solving mode. “I’m meeting with my attorney at four. We’ll file an annulment, issue a joint statement explaining that it was a mutual error in judgment, emphasize our continued professional respect for each other, and politely request privacy as we move forward.”
“Very PR. Lucas would be proud.”
I shoot her a glare.
“And the documentary?” Blair asks. “Dylan’s been promoting it nonstop.”
“We’ll have to back out. Pay a penalty if necessary. I can’t be followed around by cameras while pretending to be in love with Lucas Carmichael.”
“Why not? You’re both good actors—apparently good enough to convince an entire Vegas bar you’ve been together for six months.”
“Because I’m a journalist, Blair. My credibility is everything. How can I maintain objectivity if I’m playing house with the head of communications at a major studio?”
Blair shrugs. “People have managed worse conflicts of interest in this town.”
“Not me.” I stand, gathering my notes and laptop. “I’ve worked too hard to be taken seriously. I’m not going to throw it away for some ridiculous reality show spectacle.”
“Where are you meeting the attorney?”
“Wexler’s office on Sunset. Lucas is meeting me there.” I check my watch. “I’ve got a couple of things to knock out first, so I should get moving.”
“Call me right after,” Blair says, standing to give me a quick hug.
Lucas is waiting outside the building when I arrive, leaning against a concrete pillar in his signature navy blazer over a crisp white shirt, dark jeans, and those designer sneakers he’s so precious about.
His hair is impeccably styled, and sunglasses hide his eyes, the very picture of California professional casual.
My heart does an annoying little skip that I immediately attribute to anxiety about the meeting.
“We need to file the annulment today,” I say without preamble, approaching in a rush of words.
“I’ve already drafted a joint statement emphasizing mutual respect and requesting privacy.
We’ll need to contact Dylan about backing out of the documentary.
I’m happy to handle that call if you prefer.
I think that if we move quickly, this whole thing will blow over in a week, two max. ”
Lucas removes his sunglasses slowly and looks at me with an unreadable expression. “Hello to you, too, wife.”
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, glancing around for potential eavesdroppers.
Still, the word zings through me, quick and warm. The worst part? I kind of like how it sounds coming from him.
“Right.” His voice is oddly flat. “Let’s get this over with.”
Something about his demeanor unsettles me. He’s usually more combative, but I don’t have time to analyze it as we enter the building and take the elevator to the top floor in silence.
Victoria Wexler, my attorney, greets us warmly in her corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. She’s handled my contract negotiations and set up the paperwork to start my podcast, but I’ve never seen her look quite so intrigued.
“Jessica, Lucas, please have a seat.” She gestures to the chairs across from her desk. “I’ve reviewed your case, and I have some important information to share before we proceed.”
“We’d like to file for an annulment as soon as possible,” I say, settling into my chair. “On whatever grounds will end this immediately.”
“Yes, you mentioned that on the phone.” Victoria opens a folder. “However, there’s a complication I need to discuss with you first.”
Lucas shifts beside me. “What kind of complication?”
Victoria looks at me. “Jessica, your marriage has triggered a trust provision established by your mother before she passed away.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your mother set up a trust for you as part of her estate planning. It contains a significant inheritance from her personal investment portfolio and a board seat on the Reynolds Foundation for Journalism Ethics.”
My mind reels. Mom has been gone for almost seventeen years.
She was always passionate about the truth.
The Reynolds Foundation is one of the most respected organizations supporting investigative reporting and ethics in media, and one of Mom’s proudest moments was when she started serving on the board.
“I didn’t know about any trust,” I say slowly.
“Your parents kept it confidential. According to the documentation, they didn’t want it to influence your life choices.
” Victoria smiles gently. “Your mother specifically noted that she didn’t want you feeling pressured to marry for financial reasons, nor did she want potential partners pursuing you for the inheritance. ”
“So, what’s the issue?” Lucas asks.
Victoria turns a document toward us. “The trust was structured to release when Jessica either married or turned thirty-five, whichever came first. Your Vegas wedding has activated the release clause.”
I frown. “But if we annul—”
“If you annul or divorce within six months, the assets revert to a charitable foundation your mother established,” Victoria explains. “You would still receive a modest distribution, but the bulk, approximately twelve million dollars in current valuation, would go to the foundation.”
The room seems to tilt slightly.
“Twelve million dollars?” I repeat, my voice thinner than I want it to be.