Chapter 45 Asher/Ella #2
“Oh, no. I don’t want to go public with this very private matter.
I can if I need to, though. And if I do, I’ll make sure to drag RTZ through the mud as hard as I can.
I’ll make sure you’re known as the media outlet who hails DV abusers and thieves; who puts them on a pedestal and gives them a platform.
I have the Washington Post on standby to publish my side of the story.
Who will the people take more seriously?
RTZ the trash celebrity gossip site, or the heralded Washington Post? ”
“How do I know you’re not lying without proof?”
“Call the NYPD. Cases are public record.”
“You won’t provide it?”
“No. I won’t hand myself over like that.
Not unless I’m forced to. And as I said, if I’m forced to, I’ll bring everything I have.
My specialty is marketing and PR, and I’m very fucking successful at it.
I know how to hit back, and I have some of the most powerful allies on the planet.
If I’m forced to become the face of domestic abuse because of this article, I’ll make you pay in spades.
I’ll do everything I can to dismantle RTZ.
I have the editors of every top magazine in the world messaging me daily, begging me for interviews.
I’m the shiny new celebrity that everyone is talking about, and I can use that spotlight to eviscerate RTZ if I so choose.
Heaven knows the high-brow magazines would love to help me do it, they absolutely abhor media outlets like yourself.
So, you can bury this story, or I’ll bury you. ”
I sound so much like Asher I almost laugh to myself.
Almost. Actually, I’m sweating and shaking and doing everything I can to sound like an uncompromising asshole, when really, I feel like I’m about to pee my pants.
Hopefully my bravado is working, because unfortunately, that’s the language these types of people understand.
The man is silent for a moment. “I can’t bury it for nothing. What else can you give me?”
Okay . . . I can work with this. I didn’t expect him to give up too easily.
“We’re set to go to the Hamptons for Memorial Day. I can give you a copy of our itinerary and make sure you get some shots. Beach photos, those always sell.”
“What else? I need something more salacious than some beach photos.”
Dammit.
“What about engagement rumors?” I’m grasping at straws, but if it clears this up . . .
“Are there plans for an engagement?”
“Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know. I’ll give you the first photo of the ring.”
“How can you guarantee that?”
“Send a contract, if it’s legitimate, I’ll sign it.”
“And what if you don’t make it to an engagement?”
“We will.” We won’t. But I infuse all the faux confidence I have into my words. “We’re already getting close.”
“After two months of dating?” His words are laced with insinuation, and I know he’s referring to the second, and potentially more problematic part of the story—the timeline.
Asher and I have been “dating” for almost two months according to our official timeline.
In reality we’ve known each other for about six weeks, but RTZ was speculating that we’ve been dating for months now.
“When you know, you know. It has very much been a whirlwind romance.” That at least isn’t a lie.
“And can I quote this information from a ‘source’ close to you? If I can couple that with photos of the two of you looking very much in love on the beach and headed for a wedding soon, that will get me the traffic I need.”
“Done.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Hale.”
He hangs up, and I let out a long breath of relief.
I did it.
I have no doubts that snippets of my troubles with Kyle will hit the press at some point, with the spotlight I’m now in I know I can’t keep those troubles completely private, but at least this way the press will only have access to the case information with the NYPD, and not my personal texts and videos about it.
If I were to release anything personally, the story would blow up and become a much bigger thing than if I were to stay quiet and let it run its course with the limited information they can access from the case.
I still don’t love that, but I can live with that.
What I can’t stomach is voluntarily throwing myself into the fire, and now I don’t have to. My game of chicken worked.
I pick up the hotel phone to order dinner and some celebratory champagne for myself when the fire alarm in my room goes off. Seconds later I hear the alarms all over the rest of the floor. I open my door and see others poking their heads out into the hallway.
Shit. This is the last thing I need. I grab my suitcase since I haven’t opened it and pack my laptop and purse back up and join the others in the hallway heading for the staircases.
A staff member stands at the end of the hallway directing us.
People pelt him with questions, but he simply keeps telling us to go down the stairs where we’ll be directed out of the building and to a meeting point.
Fuck my life.
I’m out of breath and shaking by the time we reach the bottom.
Lugging my suitcase down fifteen floors was monumentally stupid.
If this isn’t a real fire, I’m an idiot for putting myself through that for no reason.
Hell, even if it is a real fire, I should have left my suitcase behind to burn, that would be preferable to the aching in my arms and legs.
“Ms. Hale,” one of the staff members calls out to me as I follow the crowd toward the exit. He waves me over. I make my way out of the crowd toward him. “I’m glad I caught you. Your boyfriend is here and he’s quite worried about you.”
I sigh. Of course. Of course Asher tracked me down, and now he’s going to be even more upset about the situation because of the fire and emergency exiting of the hotel.
“This way please,” the staffer insists, pointing to a different part of the hotel, away from the crowd.
I want to dig in my heels and say no, but a few people are starting to stare.
I don’t think anyone noticed who I was until the staffer said my name, but that caught their attention and now my anonymity is dwindling by the second.
“Fine,” I groan. I should probably get this over with anyway.
At least I can inform Asher that he doesn’t need to worry about the story breaking tomorrow.
He and his board will be happy about that.
But as for the rest of it, I’m not ready to talk about it tonight.
I don’t know where we stand. Part of it is my own doing.
I stupidly started to fall for him while knowing this was an arrangement.
But he’s made it pretty damn hard to not fall when he has eclipsed my life and brought me so intimately into his own.
There are almost no boundaries and walls left between us, and so I was starting to feel comfortable—safe.
But he proved to me in full force why that was so stupid.
When it came down to it, Asher chose his business, his reputation, and his needs over mine.
I can’t blame him for it; that’s what employers do. But I won’t be blindsided by it again.
“He’s just in here, ma’am,” the staffer says, opening a door.
But the man standing inside the small room isn’t Asher.
It’s Kyle.