by Fiona Riley
Emerson gave her a small smile. “Your piece was great, Hay.” Her voice was tentative. “It was perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a more honest and sincere depiction of myself. You don’t need to sweet-talk me, Hay. You already won me over.”
Hayley stepped a little closer. “Oh, yeah? And when did I do that?”
Emerson’s eyes flicked down to her lips, so she licked them for good measure. “Somewhere between LA and Maine.”
“You can’t get much farther in the US from LA than Maine.” Hayley thought of their time together at the lake house daily. She revisited it when she needed to remember the bigger picture. The relationship she had formed with Emerson was the bigger picture.
“I want to kiss you right now,” Emerson said. Emerson was close enough to touch her, but she didn’t. Hayley figured that was because they were in public…or because she was second-guessing asking Hayley to be her guest tonight.
She frowned. “The feeling is mutual. But something tells me you haven’t because—”
“I’m sorry.” Emerson shook her head and looked around them. When she looked back at her, Hayley could see a sadness that wasn’t there a moment ago. And just like that, the elation she had felt mere minutes before was gone.
Hayley took a step back in preparation for what she expected would be rejection. She’d seen that look on Emerson’s face the other night. It was one of regret and remorse. Hayley hated that look.
Emerson said in a near whisper, “I found out who’s behind the pictures.”
Hayley froze. “Who is it?”
“It was James Drake.” Emerson lip curled, her anger palpable.
Hayley looked around. Just hearing his name made her skin crawl. His attacks on her had escalated to the point that she had seriously entertained the idea of quitting the Sun after the release of Emerson’s piece. His reach was far and wide, and his fans were as unscrupulous as he was. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Emerson replied.
Hayley wasn’t sure she’d ever hated someone as much as she hated Drake in that moment. “I’ll kill him.”
Emerson gave her a sad smile. “That’s not how it works in this town, Hay. Plus, I’m pretty sure that slime isn’t killable. He’ll get his, I’ll make sure of it.”
“How?” Hayley hoped it involved sharp pins and electric shocks to his genitals, but she kept that to herself.
Tremont jogged to them and gave Hayley a smile. “You clean up nice, Velma.”
“Gee, thanks, Montie.”
He smiled in response, but it was short-lived. He turned to Emerson and frowned before looking back to her. “I’m glad you’re here, Hayley. We need to talk. There’s been a development.”
“What kind of development?” Emerson looked a little unnerved.
He looked back at Hayley but didn’t say anything at first. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it directly to her. “I’m so sorry, Hayley. The pictures are live. And there’s more of them.”
“Oh my God.” Hayley took the phone and nearly dropped it. On the screen in front of her were the three photos Emerson had shown her the other night. But the real stomach punch came when she scrolled a little farther, and the next image showed her hand in Emerson’s robe, while her mouth was on Emerson’s neck. She had sort of half-heartedly rehearsed a defense speech in case she got fired for the kissing pictures, but this was something else. There was no talking her way out of this one. She didn’t dare scroll any farther, not in public anyway.
“Fuck.” Emerson’s voice was a harsh whisper over her shoulder. She glanced up in time to catch the panicked expression on Emerson’s face, and her knees nearly buckled as a wave of nausea swept over her.
“Hayley.” Emerson grabbed her elbow and steadied her, but just as the room stopped spinning, Hayley noticed the people standing around her were all staring. At her. Some were pointing, all were whispering, and that devastating feeling of violation was present again, this time a thousandfold.
“We need to go. We have to get her out of here.” Emerson’s voice sounded distant, but Hayley was aware of her hand still guiding her elbow.
“The car’s outside waiting,” Tremont replied. She vaguely heard him get on the phone with someone and tell them that Emerson wouldn’t be at the Q and A, but she missed his reasoning. They were moving quickly, and she was doing her best to keep up, but her head felt foggy and like it wasn’t attached to her body.
They flew down the stairs to the first floor and slipped down another near empty corridor toward the rear exit of the building. Tremont jogged ahead and ushered people out of the way, but for the most part the halls were empty. The distant sounds of laughing and clapping could be heard behind them. It was business as usual for everyone else.
“The car’s out here.” Tremont was out of breath by the time they reached the back door. He pushed it open with a grunt.
A heavy rain fell outside the doors and blanketed the back lot of the auditorium in sheets of water. Steam rose from the hot LA pavement as the rain pelted the ground and splashed back into the air. This would have been a fantastic image—the rain and the darkness with the rising mist—if this was a movie and not real life. But it was very, very real. And so was James Drake, standing there with a film crew and a microphone, blocking their way out.
* * *
Emerson took one look at Drake and reeled. That fucking bloodsucker. She made eye contact with Tremont and he used his bag to shield Hayley’s face as he ushered her into the waiting car. With the two of them safely stowed away, Emerson was free to handle this. And oh, how she would enjoy it.
She charged forward, catching Drake off guard. “Looking to get the inside scoop, Drake?”
“Emerson. What do you have to say about the pictures of you hooking up with Hayley Carpenter of the Sun?” Drake held up his phone and one of the images that had arrived in that envelope filled the screen.
“I suppose you’re the person to ask about that, Drake.” The rain beat down on her shoulders, but she barely felt it. Her hair and makeup were probably way past ruined, but she didn’t care.
“I don’t follow,” he called out.
“Oh, but you do. You do follow, don’t you?” Emerson turned to the camera and spoke directly to it. “James Drake hired a freelance photographer to follow me and take pictures for the purpose of promoting a smear campaign he’s been carrying out against Hayley Carpenter. A campaign that he has freely championed in his daily, weekly, and monthly contributing columns, blogs, and vlogs through his paid work through the Hollywood Daily Mail.” She turned back to Drake. “What do you think the people at the Mail are going to say when they find out you were stalking the very people you are supposed to report on? While using their contacts and their resources? Haven’t you already been slapped with a restraining order? I bet this type of activity violates the terms, but I’m no lawyer. Perhaps some of your fans are. Care to weigh in, America?”
“You have no proof of these accusations, Ms. Sterling. This is grounds for a lawsuit.” Drake sneered back at her.
“Is that so?” Emerson stepped into his space and Drake backed up, nearly knocking the cameraman off his feet. “And you think you’re the only one who can hire someone to take pictures of people? What would you say if I told you I have evidence of you exchanging money and information with a Gerard Foreman? That name ring a bell? I hear he does some contractor work through TMZ and Celebrity Dish Network, among other places. What do you think they’ll do with that information? Look into it a bit? Or blackball you? Sounds like there might be a lot of angry people out there, Drake.”
Drake’s smug expression faded, and he motioned for the filming to stop. The light from the camera flicked off and they were in near total darkness as the storm raged on.
“Stay away from me and my family, Drake. All of them. Ms. Carpenter included. Or we’re not done here.” Emerson strode toward the waiting car and got inside. What was done was done. There was no going back now.
* * *
By the time they’d gotten onto the 105 it was late and Hayley hadn’t spoken a word to her. Emerson had tried—unsuccessfully—to talk to her, but Hayley just gave her a blank stare until they were near the exit for her house. She banged on the dividing glass and asked the driver to take her home first.
“Hayley, are you okay?” Emerson kept her voice low, because something told her that if she used her usual volume, Hayley would spook. Because she already looked spooked. Emerson couldn’t imagine what kinds of things might be going through her head right now, but she didn’t think she should be alone with those thoughts. “Come home with me tonight. It’s late. We should talk—”
“I just…” Hayley looked at Emerson before looking past her, looking through her. “I think I just need to be alone right now.”
Hayley looked out the window and banged on the divider glass again. This time she told the driver to stop and let her out. “This is close enough.”
“It’s pouring, Hayley. At least let me take you to your door,” Emerson pleaded. She didn’t want Hayley to go. Not like this.
“You know, I didn’t believe you when you said you brought a dark cloud into my life. I thought you were being overly dramatic and that you’d been through storms in the past that made you feel nervous or insecure or whatever, but I thought we could weather any storm that came our way, together.” The car stopped, and Hayley opened the door. She motioned to the monsoon outside as she said, “But maybe you were right all along. Maybe I’m not cut out for these kinds of conditions. I just…I just need a little space right now.”
“Wait. Hayley.”
“Good-bye, Emerson.” And with that, Hayley stepped out into the torrential downpour that was her life.
Chapter Thirty-one
Hayley was grateful the premiere was over the weekend because it gave her a few days to stay home and recover—or cry—about how things had turned out. Alison had been sweet and stopped by with some food, but Hayley had no interest in eating. Or in anything, really.
The media was abuzz with praise for Willow Path and Hayley’s name came up often. Some of it was in reference to her months-long research with Emerson and the completion of their article, but most of it circled back to the photos of them in the trailer. There were two more that were much the same as the one she had seen on Tremont’s phone, the series of which were now being called the “Hands-On Reporting.” So far nothing else had come out. She had a feeling if there was anything worse, it’d be headline news by now.
Her Monday morning was filled with avoiding the stares of her coworkers and not answering any phone calls or emails. People from all over the world were calling for her comments on the photographs or asking to interview her about her time with Emerson. She was too numb from this weekend’s disaster to be of use to anyone. She barely remembered her commute to work today. There was no way she could string coherent words together. She was a shell of a person today and she knew it.
An ad for Willow Path played on the edge of her Facebook wall, and she sighed. She’d replayed the events about a million times over the weekend. The high from her article release was what motivated her to take a chance and attend the premiere, in hopes of reconnecting with Emerson. And the opportunity to chat with Kate and Paige had made an already unbelievable night hit interstellar levels of amazing. And the movie. Sigh. Seeing the completed film—something she and Emerson had spend literally hundreds of hours discussing—was such a magical experience for her. She’d seen the work that went into the behind-the-scenes stuff that made the movie possible. She’d gained a new appreciation for all the moving parts required to bring the final product to fruition, and yet it was her time with Emerson that had been the most significant.
Emerson. It always came back to Emerson.
She closed the web browser and stared at the wallpaper on her laptop screen. It was a view of the lake in Maine from the cabin’s back deck. The weather would be warm enough soon that you could swim in the lake every day. All day. Even into the night. Night swimming was one of her favorite things. That was something she hadn’t been able to try with Emerson; the water had been too cold when they were there. They, she lamented. As if there was ever a they.
Hayley felt her eyes fill with tears as she considered what could have been with Emerson. All of it had felt so real to her. She loved Emerson. She loved her deep and fierce and her heart ached at the way things had played out. She was beyond sad, but also angry. Though she was proud of the way she’d handled the Rory situation, she was angry because she’d put her concerns for Emerson’s well-being ahead of her own. She was angry because Rachel warned her, much like Emerson had, that there were consequences to her relationship with Emerson, but she didn’t heed those warnings. Maybe she had been too blinded by love to see what was right in front of her face all along, that she had put herself in real danger. And that made her angry, too.
Her office phone rang, and she startled. She could tell by the caller ID that it was Jonathan.
“Hayley. My office.” His voice was flat. She’d been waiting for this.
She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no use putting off the inevitable.
Jonathan didn’t stand when she entered the room. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he motioned for her to close the door.
She sat and waited.
“Hayley, your article has gotten a lot of great feedback.” He made eye contact with her and a fatigued expression looked back at her.
“Thanks, Jonathan.”
He sighed. “We need to talk about the pictures.”
“I figured.” Hayley shifted in her chair. Discussing this with him made her uncomfortable.
Jonathan stood and walked to the front of his desk. He leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you remember what we talked about when you first took the assignment to work with Emerson Sterling?”
“I do.”
“Then you remember me telling you that if there was any way you might be compromised or found to be colluding with Emerson or her team, I wouldn’t be able to help you, right?”
Hayley set her jaw. “I didn’t collude with anyone. But to answer your question—yes, I recall you mentioning something about throwing me to the wolves.”
Jonathan bristled. “What happened? Tell me what happened and help me understand.”
Hayley shrugged. She couldn’t answer that for herself, let alone for her boss. “Nothing and everything. I don’t know. I did the job I was asked to do. I got to the bottom of the story and reported my findings to the best of my ability.”
“And at some point along the way you fell onto Sterling’s lips and compromised the entire project, is that what you’re saying?” Jonathan looked none too thrilled.
Hayley sighed. “They’re just photographs, Jonathan. You have no idea the context of what was occurring before, after, or during that photograph.”
He laughed. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Hayley. A picture is worth a thousand words. I don’t care if you were choking and she saved your life, with or without her tongue. I also don’t care if she was having a heart attack and your hand inside her robe was there to check to see if her heart was still beating. Those pictures depict you two in an intimate exchange. You crossed the line with her, Hayley. And the other media outlets are crying foul.”
“Let them.” Hayley stood and mirrored his position, her arms crossed in defiance. “Drake crossed the line by hiring someone to stalk me, but no one seems to be concerned about that.”
Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Not the best example, Hayley. Drake’s been fired and there’s murmurings of legal action.”
This was news to Hayley. “Oh.”
Jonathan nodded and frowned. “Hayley, I’m sorry. This is causing too much negative attention. I’ve been putting out fires since Friday night. We can’t continue like this.”
“What are you trying to say?” Hayley knew what he was saying, but sh
e wanted to make him say it.
“You’re fired.”
And just like that, a bad few days turned into the worst week of her life.
Chapter Thirty-two
Emerson nervously tapped the steering wheel of her rental car. She’d tried listening to music, but she couldn’t find a station that didn’t keep cutting out on her. So she was driving in silence, which gave her too much time to think. She would have used her phone to cue up Pandora, but she’d foolishly left her charger at home and she was afraid of running out of battery. A battery she desperately needed to keep her GPS going, not that that seemed to be much help. The little car on the GPS app occasionally spun in circles.
She sighed. Tremont would have a field day if she told him she forgot something as important as a cell phone charger. She was grateful that was all she’d forgotten. This was the first time she’d packed anything for herself—without any help from him or his snide-ass Post-it reminders—in as long as she could remember. But this was a trip she wanted to take on her own. She’d even taken the flight by herself, which took a lot more mental preparedness than packing. But she’d survived it. If she survived that, she could survive anything, right?
The little GPS car did a do-si-do, and Emerson tried not to panic. Was she supposed to turn here? She relaxed her hands when her knuckles started to throb. She hadn’t realized she was clutching the wheel so tightly. This looked familiar. Well, everything looked the same, but this looked more familiar than the other green trees and unpaved roads. Or was she about to drive off into the woods and never be found with no way to charge her cell phone or call for help? That was also a possibility. Fuck it. Take the turn, Emerson.
She eased onto the path and tried not to overthink it. She’d chosen a modest rental car, but the agent at the car center was more interested in taking a selfie with her than helping her choose the right vehicle, something that was suddenly very important to her when she saw the grooved mud tracks from what appeared to be a recent storm. She doubted this car had all-wheel drive, not that she’d know how to engage it if it wasn’t automatic anyway. She vowed to learn to be more independent if she survived this trek.