I stared down at the headlines irritated, angry, and frustrated. I hadn't seen them before and unlike the others... these were based on real facts about my life. They weren't lies. They were true. And somehow that was so much worse. I could fight lies... but how could I deny something that was a part of who I was? A part of my story?
"Where did you get these?" My voice sounded dangerous. Sharp enough to cut through steel. A tone that meant I was one breath away from doing something reckless.
Laurence Royal blinked, seeming confused by my question. "I know someone who works there. The next set of articles that they have planned for you are quite... colorful." He waved his hand and scoffed. "Obviously untrue."
I felt off-balance. Laurence's attitude didn't match the picture in my mind. He wasn't playing the villain card properly. He was a terrible blackmailer. It matched his terrible taste in socks.
He's lying... he has to be. Why does he assume that there is no truth in the headlines?
"Tabloids try to make everything dramatic," Laurence added.
I scanned the words in my hands, fingers pressing against the ink, willing them to vanish in a cloud of smoke. To become an illusion, etched in ugly neon pink words. Anger warred for control inside me, circling my sanity like a dragon wrapping itself around its hoard of gold and squeezing tight. Anger was easier than being hurt. Hurt implied I could be touched. It implied I gave someone the power to hurt me.
Why are people so mean when they cannot see the person on the other side? Why are people so cruel when they can hide behind a screen? Why are people so eager to pluck up a dagger formed from fire and words, and plunge it deep into a strangers heart like a sport to be proud of? What drives people to be so brave in their cruelty when their faces are masked by screens?
I stopped reading and moved on to the second article against my better judgment. I needed to know what I was up against, even if the result was having the words tattooed to the tapestry that had carved its way into my heart.
My heart dropped. The idea of anyone seeing these words... of Tate seeing them was horrific. I had worked so hard to keep my past a secret and the idea that someone was going to show pieces of my private life as a virtual college was almost vomit-inducing. Tate knew pieces of my life. He knew I had gone to juvie. But the article dove deeper, pulling at seems of my past and unraveling them in a pool of pain at my feet.
Delle was there for my past mistakes... but my younger sister Misty had been kept in the dark.
How will others treat her? How will she feel finding out this way? I don't want her to see this. I need to keep her from seeing this.
"They won't run them," Laurence said after a long moment of silence. "I've made sure of it."
"So long as I sell my life's work right?" I dropped the papers like they had burned my fingers. I could feel my future burning. My life going up in smoke. He was trapping me in a corner with two painful options.
Laurence looked momentarily amused. "You make it sound like I am going to steal your virtue. You don't have to sign anythingâ"
I snorted. SUUUUUURE. Like I have much of a choice.
"âBut this is how much you would make on the deal." Laurence held out a piece of paper.
Why do movies do that thing where they never show how much the price of a deal is? They just have the characters pass pieces of paper back and forth like kids passing notes in class. What is so scary about numbers?
I didn't touch the piece of paper immediately. I didn't want to know how much my entire life's work was worth.
I finally peeked at the price and snorted. "Ten thousand dollars? That's insulting." I could have used ten thousand dollars. Most people could use ten thousand dollars. But my life's work was worth FAAAAR more than ten thousand dollars.
He glanced down at the future gossip columns. "It would be if these weren't a potential issue. It could ruin your brand Ms. Winters. I'm just trying to protect a future investment. Your company will be worthless if the world finds out about your supposed past."
He glanced back down at the headlines. "You are already being called the Unhinged Fashionista. Just imagine how they will react to lies of this magnitude. People prefer drama over the truth. The truth doesn't sell. Drama does. And they are hell-bent on making your life a dramatic affair."
He looked back at me with a determined expression. "Sell to me and none of that will come out. I can protect you."
I stood up, fueled by rage. It took effort to keep my hands from shaking from the blood that was boiling in my veins. "I refused to be blackmailed Mr. Royal. To be forced into a decision without getting a chance to consider things objectively." My voice rose, ringing throughout his expansive office, and bouncing back to attack him from every direction. "I will not be backed against a wall, or be cornered!"
Laurence stood up to his full height, no longer leaning against his desk. He towered over me, casting a shadow across my face as he blocked out the sun like a set of clouds rolling in signaling a coming storm. "Ms. Wintersâ"
I continued, determined to make myself clear. "You are a bully Mr. Royal, with terrible taste in clothes!" I finished with a poke against his chest with my finger.
Laurence looked from me to his chest where I had poked him, his face unreadable. "I am not trying to blackmail you."
I crossed my arms to stop myself from slapping him in the face. "Oh right. You are just trying to protect an investment. It's just business right?"
Laurence took a step towards me, anger clouding his deep brown eyes. "Those articles are yours to keep. No strings attached. They won't run."
"Why don't I believe you," I replied dryly.
Laurence raised a brow. "Because you don't trust people?" he guessed. "Which doesn't surprise me."
"Why because you and your company have been sabotaging mine for months?" I snapped. I was infuriated that he was acting like any kind of business deal was possible. How thick-headed is this man?
He looked confused. "Because when you try to build something of your own, it's hard to know who to trust. Believe meâ" I shook my head, tired of his lies.
He paused, reading my expression. "I feel like I am missing something."
"Then let me explain. YOU plucked my models right out from under me."
He nodded, looking genuinely frustrated. "I found out about that after we finished the shoot. They didn't tell me they were already hired. They saw the number I offered and kept quiet." He worked a muscle in his jaw. "But you can't claim the high horse. You copy every design Royal Fashion comes up with!"
My mouth fell open, too shocked to follow my brain's lead to look unflappable. "Are you serious?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Don't deny it. I've seen my team's designs. They come up with beautiful pieces and you have been swooping in and taking them for a while now."
I laughed. There was nothing else I seemed capable of doing. He had to be joking. This entire situation was ridiculous. "Why on earth would I need to steal from you?" I doubled over, laughing louder. "Your ideas are utter garbage. Your lack of attention to detail is proof of that."
"I said I would change out my socks," he said through gritted teeth.
I took a deep breath, calming down and enjoying the furrow of Laurence's brow. He was irritated. Good. Let's fan that flame. "Every idea Winters uses comes from me and my team. Which is more than I can say for yours," I added.
"I have paper trails a mile long. I look over every piece and I can track where each one draws inspiration. And I can guarantee that each one comes from something I love." I crossed my arms. "Can you really say the same? Do you have your team do a copyright check? Or do you run it like a wild animal show, standing there with a camera letting all sorts of chaos happen?"
He covered his mouth again, trying to keep another expression from working itself across his face. It almost looked like an amused grin but it was gone so fast that I was convinced it was just a trick of the light. Why would he find it funny?
Then he paused, thinking.
"Exactly," I finished with a glare, letting his silence speak for him.
I stared him down, trying to read the sudden unreadable look on his face. I wish Delle was with me. She'd be able to tell if he is lying. "My office was ransacked, my assistant's house was broken into and photoshoot pictures were stolen. So forgive my lack of trust. I supposed you had nothing to do with that either?"
This time, I could see the truth all over his face. He looked shocked. Utterly alarmed. "What?!?"
I dug through my bag, "And this was left behind." I pulled out the business card that I found at Susan's house and dropped it on the coffee table. "Recognize it?"
Laurence looked down at the business card, then back up to my face, his own pale. "That's my business cardâ"
"At least you can admit to the obvious lies you are caught in." I turned to leave, hair whipping out behind me as I spun, heels clacking loudly as I moved towards the elevator. "Run what you want. I don't give a damn. I don't want to work with someone who steals, sabotages, and blackmails. Keep your ten thousand dollars." I was halfway to the elevator when he spoke again.
"Why would I want to take you down when I am trying to work with you? Did it ever occur to you that I was framed? That someone else is trying to destroy you?" he asked.
I hit the elevator button and walked inside, eyes rolling. "Sure thing White Socks."
We stared at each other until the elevator doors closed between us, leaving me with more questions than answers.
...
I was distracted. Laurence's surprise-filled face bubbled up in my thoughts as Tate drove me to the mechanic. What game was Laurence playing? Was he truly oblivious to the happenings in his own company? What kind of idiot doesn't know!?!
"We're here," Tate said into the silence, pulling up the parking brake as he pulled into a spot in the lot.
I was so far down in a spiral of images and thoughts that I had spent my entire last ride with Tate glaring out the window and contemplating murder.
I blinked, feeling sudden panic. This was it. I no longer had any excuses to see him again in a work capacity. In a way that threw us together because we had to be. And it left me feeling frozen. Paralyzed.
My hand hovered over the door handle but I forced myself to stay seated for a beat. Trying to think of a proper way to say 'thank you,' and 'I'm sorry,' all in one go.
Why am I so bad with words? Why can't I figure out how to make things less weird?
"Um..." I began with no plan for words to follow.
Have you ever started a sentence with no idea how you were going to finish it, but hope you find your words along the way? Well when it came to important moments involving emotions, I was a game of scrabble that couldn't get its act together. I couldn't organize the letters into words to share them with others. It was just a jumble of incoherent vowels and consonants that wouldn't go together.
And like the classic Knight in Shinning armor that Tate always was, even when I tried to shove him off the metaphorical horse, he came to my verbal rescue. "I know we got off on the wrong foot, Allie," he said, mind moving back to our first meeting where I had screamed at him, drenched in fire hydrant water like a sewer rat.
He turned to look at me, turning on that thousand-watt smile that threatened to make me go blind with its brightness level. "But I have really enjoyed having fun with you."
Fun. I wasn't known for being a fun person. And the idea that he saw me as one made me smile against my will. "You liked getting into a brawl in a ramen shop?" I asked with a surprised laugh.
Tate shrugged, dimples flashing. "New experience."
Those dimples threatened to melt my insides. I wiped my hands on my pants, trying to wipe away the warm feeling that threatened to yank me away from sanity. Those dimples are illegal and beautiful and I hate them.
"Well... I have enjoyed having fun with you too," I said to the floor. "You are..." Kind. Warm. Sweet. Wonderful. Too good for the likes of meâ "Thanks..."
"Allie." The sound of my name on his lips was filled with promise again. Terrifying and wonderful and I was frozen all over again. I couldn't give him a different answer. I wasn't ready to dive into anything with him.
"Thanks for the ride Convertable Guy," I managed, climbing out of the car like a coward. Then Tate was gone, no longer my driver.
...
My office was busy, back to its normal hustle and bustle when I walked in. It made me feel grounded, forcing my head on straight. I had a Masquerade Fashion Show to prepare for, and had to look over all of the pieces that were going out to stores in a few weeks. The ones that Tate and I had worn in the photoshoot. The image of Tate wearing the clothes I designed created a wanted and unwanted slideshow in my mind. The entire shoot felt like a lifetime ago.
Susan had settled into the design team, beaming as she huddled over sketches with her fellow designers. It made my heart swell with pride. I walked into my office and suddenly remembered something else I needed to add to my list. An assistant. Because someone was sitting on one of my guest chairs like it was a waiting room, their back to me.
"Um... Can I help you?" I asked, trying not to sound irritated.
The person stood up and turned around, gold hair glistening, offering me an awkward wave. "Hi. Sorry, there wasn't anyone at the desk outside and everyone seemed busy..." she trailed off tugging on a strand of her hair. "I'mâ"
"Laliana," I finished. "What are you doing here?" I asked before mentally kicking myself when she looked suddenly nervous at my accusatory tone.
"Let me rewind..." I said with a sigh. "I'm VERY bad at first impressions."
She laughed, rocking back in her heels, seeming relieved that she wasn't going to be forced into awkward small talk. "Well, I'm bad at them too."
Clearing my throat I tried again. "How can I help you Laliana?"
She smiled, her face lighting up brightly as she shoved her hands into her dress pockets. "I was wondering... if you wanted... Well... if you weren't too busy... maybe you'd..."
Laliana paused, wrinkling her nose at herself. "My gosh, I sound like a first draft. Let me edit. I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch?"
"Lunch..." I repeated, confused.
A slow mischievous smile crossed her face. "You have a paparazzi problem and I think I can help."
---
Thank you for reading chapter thirty-four! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes! Add this story to your reading list to know when the next chapter drops!
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What do you think of Laurence Royal now?
Is Laurence Royal telling the truth? Or is he just a big liar?
What do you think Laliana has planned? Will she and Allie get along? Perhaps potential friendship in the making?
What will happen next?
CHAPTER QUESTION - Have you ever gotten angry at someone and then realized you didn't have the whole story? Were you able to patch things up?