by Rosie Danan
She needed to get over her roommate, and fast. He’d made it crystal clear that anything more than sex between them was off the table after she’d humiliated him at the movies. Too bad her heart couldn’t separate lust from love as easily.
Still, she wished she hadn’t chickened out and had rescued her shoes. Sometime in the last hour, her toes had gone numb.
“The material we gave her wasn’t bold enough.” The longer Clara worked for Toni, the more she admired her. The public servant worked a truly thankless job, trying to fight for equality and justice. Clara noticed that not a single event went by without some old white man coming up to Toni and trying to explain her own job to her.
“Bold makes her nervous.” Jill chucked the coffee into a nearby trash can. “Come on, she’ll want to debrief.” Her aunt led the way to the lobby of the church where the current district attorney glad-handed potential voters.
Toni’s eyes found Jill over the head of an elderly churchgoer, and their client nodded subtly toward the holding room they’d prepped in before the event, a clear signal that Jill and Clara should wait there for her to join them.
Clara’s stomach sank. Toni had the same I’m not mad, just disappointed look as Clara’s mother.
A few minutes later, their client joined them in the room, closing the door behind her and shutting out the din of the crowd. She held a manila folder under her arm.
“Should I get Tricia if we’re going to talk about altering the communications strategy?” Jill asked, referring to the Granger campaign’s chief of staff and rising from the folding chair she’d been sitting in.
“No,” Toni said. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
Clara had spent countless hours observing, asking questions—some more welcome than others—and learning everything she could about her client. She knew that the beautiful slate gray suit Toni wore today used to belong to her mother. And that Toni only wore her current shade of crimson lipstick when she needed courage. She dressed for battle today. Maybe this really is the end.
“Clara, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” The DA’s voice held an unfamiliar rasp.
Clara looked up from her notebook, surprised. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Jill?”
“I’m sure.”
Jill gave Clara a nod of encouragement as she gracefully exited the small room.
“Clara,” Toni began, taking the seat Jill had vacated. “We’ve worked together closely over these past few months. I like you. You’re smart and you’re hardworking and you’re not afraid to ask for help when you don’t know what to do.”
“Thank you,” Clara said, flattered, but something about the way Toni’s voice died off at the end of her last sentence set off a warning signal.
The DA looked out the small window in the room to where friends and families lingered, talking between their cars, unwilling to say good-bye. When her eyes returned to Clara, her gaze was troubled.
“I know my campaign is on its last gasp. I’ve seen the polling numbers. I pay your aunt and everyone else on my campaign team to pretend it’s not that bad, but you’re not so good at hiding it. I can see in your eyes that you know I don’t have a lot of choices left if I want to keep my job. That’s why I wanted to ask you—what would you tell me to do if I found out someone working on my campaign was involved in an activity that could prove inflammatory in the wrong hands?”
Clara thought about Toni’s newly earned razor-thin lead, about that first day at Jill’s office when she’d talked about creating a better, safer city for all. She pictured Josh before she’d met him, before he’d ever made a single adult entertainment video. He’d told her stories about working three jobs so he could afford to pay rent.
She thought about Naomi and Ginger and their stories of harassment on set. The stuff they’d “had to put up with” because it “was part of the biz.” Her heart ached for the countless people who contracted for Black Hat who might wake up one day and find themselves blacklisted because they’d done something that pissed off a corrupt company.
Toni had the power to protect them all. Not to mention all her other constituents. The people Clara rode the bus with in the morning. The mothers with crying babies, the old men with canes. All of them deserved a district attorney who would fight to keep them safe.
Clara knew what to do when faced with a scandal. She’d heard the phrase so many times growing up in the Wheaton household, from various lawyers and consultants advising her family: minimize the damage.
When she spoke, her voice was clear, confident. “I’d tell you to fire them quietly. Distance yourself. Issue a single statement and then don’t rise to the bait when you get calls for comment. It’ll pass soon enough if you starve the news cycle. There’s always another story, new dirt.”
Toni pulled the manila folder out from under her arm and held it out to Clara. When she spoke, she didn’t sound angry, but her words were hard, resigned. “My campaign manager put this on my desk this morning.”
Clara took the folder and flipped it open. Inside were a handful of articles printed out from the Internet. Various gossip sites and entertainment publications she recognized.
One word stood out across the headlines. Shameless. For a moment her chest swelled with pride. We did it. But then her eyes found a name in the print and it wasn’t one she expected to see.
Next to attributions of the property to Josh Darling and Naomi Grant was a third name. Her vision swam for a moment, but it didn’t change the letters printed on the page. They spelled out Clara Wheaton.
Her shaking hands turned page after page. The first article wasn’t an anomaly. Multiple reporters named her as the project’s financial backer and one even heralded her as “Josh Darling and Naomi Grant’s inaugural novice.” Oh no. No. No. She couldn’t get vomit on Toni’s mother’s suit.
“Clara,” Toni said, “I support your right to do whatever you want with your money and your time, but you must know I can’t have my campaign associated with something explicit when my opponent is running on a platform of family values. You’ve been on the ground with me at events. We’ve been photographed together. One of those articles mentions your work at the firm. It’s only a matter of time before someone makes the connection.”
Toni was right, of course. A scandal this late in the campaign was poison. How could Clara have put the campaign, the firm, people she cared about at risk like this? She used to be careful . . . but everything with Shameless had moved so fast. But how . . . She’d made sure her name didn’t appear in any of the site copy or metadata. All the performers had signed the nondisclosure agreement. Her name had been left off the press releases she’d drafted for Josh and Naomi before they’d scheduled any interviews. The only way those reporters could have found out, would even care about a nobody like her, was if one of the site’s famous founders had named her directly.
After everything Naomi had experienced in high school, Clara couldn’t imagine her outing anyone. But that only left . . .
Josh wouldn’t do that. He knew how much her reputation meant to her. But the how didn’t matter so much because no matter what, word was out. Jill and Toni would suffer alongside her. What a spectacular mess.
She mentally shook herself. There would be plenty of time to wallow in self-pity later. Right now she needed to focus on making this right. “The firm had nothing to do with this. My aunt didn’t even know. Please don’t take this out on her.”
Jill was out there somewhere, probably wondering what was going on, drinking more of that terrible coffee to keep her hands busy. Her aunt had been so proud that her firm, most famous for elevating D-list actors and aging musicians, could serve someone like Toni—could have a bigger impact. Losing the Granger campaign account would break her heart, not to mention that it could deter future clients.
Toni rose. “Clara, you’re my PR team. I need you to talk to yo
ur aunt and find a way to make this go away. I’m sorry. I can’t afford to gamble my career on you.”
“I understand.” The words tasted like chalk in her mouth. “I’ll fix this.”
Toni took one last look at Clara, her eyes troubled, and left.
Moments later, Jill came back in with a pen behind one ear and a crumbling mini muffin clutched in her hand. “What the hell happened?”
Clara showed her the folder, unable to speak.
“Wow.” Jill’s eyebrows rose so high they almost kissed her hairline. “You used your trust fund to back a program dedicated to promoting equal-opportunity orgasms at scale?” Her aunt pursed her lips and nodded, impressed. “That’s cool.”
“It’s got naked women masturbating on the landing page.”
Jill choked on a bite of mini muffin, and the room filled with her hacking coughs for a full thirty seconds. Clara had reached an unexpected level of rebellion, even by Jill Wheaton’s generous standards.
Clara might have laughed if her whole world hadn’t been folding in around her. “You have to fire me.” She forced the next words out. “Release a statement denouncing me and the site.”
Jill pounded a fist lightly against her chest, still recovering from her coughing fit. When her throat was clear, she said, “I’m not gonna do that. Clara, you’re my family.”
The last of Clara’s defenses shattered.
Jill’s definition of family, what they did for one another, the way they forgave, defied everything Clara had ever known. But Clara knew too well the destruction a rumor could cause, and the worst part was, this one was true.
“It’s the only way. I put the firm at risk and I probably lost the campaign for Toni. You saw that guy up there. He doesn’t pull his punches. This time tomorrow it’ll be all over the news: Granger Campaign Staffer Peddles Porn. Don’t smile,” she said, reprimanding her aunt.
Didn’t Jill know she should frown and glower, sigh deeply as if Clara’s existence were a trial? That was the only way to let someone know they’d let you down.
Jill wasn’t having it. “There’s gotta be another way to salvage the story here. I need some time to figure it out.”
Clara’s eyes welled with tears. How had she gotten lucky enough to get this woman for not only a family member but a boss, too, even if the latter was short-lived? The rest of the Wheatons didn’t realize what they were missing. A decade ago, Jill had fought for love, and Clara now realized she’d never stopped. “There’s no other way. You know there’s not.”
Jill didn’t answer, but Clara saw agreement in her eyes.
chapter thirty-three
HER KNEES BEGGED for mercy against the hard linoleum floor, but Clara relished the discomfort as she cleaned the kitchen with a diligence and vigor usually reserved for someone covering up a crime scene.
Over the last few hours, she’d had plenty of time to mull over her current situation and work up a healthy cocktail of anger and fear. Scrubbing was the only antidote she knew.
Patsy Cline crooned from a portable speaker perched on the kitchen counter. The soundtrack to pain. Clara had spent her whole life trying to please everyone and somehow wound up pleasing no one. Not even herself.
The Wheaton curse took no prisoners.
Around five o’clock, Josh came in and almost tripped over her, positioned as she was on all fours in front of the doorway to the kitchen. She got to her feet and dusted off her sweat pants.
He wore the dopey grin that made lesser women swoon, but she girded her loins and cut to the chase.
“Did you tell a bunch of reporters that I provided the funding for Shameless?” Clara laced each word with fury.
Josh’s smile fell and his eyebrows drew together. “What?”
Her heart twisted. “Have you seen these?” She handed him the article printouts.
Josh took the documents and began to shake his head, tossing his golden curls. “Naomi totally sidestepped those questions. Wait—what the fuck? Clara. Did you see this quote on page three? ‘Darling’s agent, Bennie Mancusso, says the pair of sizzling stars owes their success to their investor, noted Manhattan socialite Clara Wheaton.’” He swore under his breath.
Clara balked. “How would your agent know my name?”
He thumbed through the pages. “This has Black Hat written all over it. I bet their lawyers can sniff out a paper trail from a mile away. The bank, the website hosting, the rental equipment. It couldn’t be that hard to tie all those expenses back to you if someone was looking hard enough. Bennie and Pruitt probably thought highlighting your background would undermine the website.”
She strangled the sponge in her hands. “How do you sound so calm?”
Josh’s face hardened. “Look, this is bad, I’m not gonna pretend it’s not, but come on. I know you had cold feet before we got started. Before we knew what this project could turn into. But now? Your fingerprints are all over Shameless.” His eyes became guarded. “I thought you were proud of what we built together.”
That was the kicker. She loved every part of their project. The people, the humor, their tiny studio space. Every camera and microphone and monitor. Clara even liked the wild toys with names she could never remember. Why else would she have toiled and gone without sleep or proper nutrition to bring Shameless into the world?
Even if no one else ever used the site, Clara had learned from their creation already. And not just about how to have better sex. It was the first real piece of art she’d ever created.
But now everything she’d sacrificed was corrupted. None of the joy or pride Shameless brought her changed the fact that her public involvement with the property came at a huge cost. Her name. Her real name was compromised.
Clara’s head pounded as chemically engineered citrus wafted up from the newly polished floor and stung her nostrils. She would never be able to sever the link between her identity and explicit sex. “Those articles cost me my job.” The reality hit her again, as fresh and painful as the first time.
She’d failed. More than failed. One day had sent her fledgling career down a trash chute.
“I work in public relations and reputation management for a political campaign,” she said. “This scandal might end Toni’s bid for reelection, and it puts a huge blemish on Jill’s firm’s résumé. I can’t undo this. When you search Clara Wheaton now, do you know what comes up?” She threw her arms in the air. “It’s not my thesis on Renoir. It’s tits and ass.”
Josh moved past her with tight lips and short, choppy strides to pour himself a glass of water.
“I’m sorry,” he finally told her after taking a sip.
Clara saw red. “You don’t sound very sorry.”
Josh lowered his glass to the counter hard enough that the surface of the water quivered. “I’m sorry you lost your job, okay? I really am.” His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry that your dirty little secret got out. I’m sorry that for one day you experienced a tiny piece of the backlash that I’ve faced for the last two years of my life. But I’ve got to tell you, as far as political sex scandals go, this one sounds pretty fucking tame.”
Clara opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Was he actually . . . angry? At her?
He flexed his fingers at his side. “Actually, you know what? No. I’m not sorry. Wasn’t the whole point of Shameless that women shouldn’t be punished for seeking pleasure, and their partners shouldn’t be ashamed about wanting to learn how to give it to them? Wasn’t that your whole sermon? When are you going to stop acting like a hypocrite and start practicing what you preach?”
“I believe in the site as much today as I did yesterday, but believing that doesn’t change who I am. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to leave everything else I love behind. The second my mother hears about this—”
Josh shut his eyes and tipped his head back. “Would you stop hiding behind your family? You’re
a grown woman, Clara. You’re twenty-seven years old, for crying out loud. Who cares if your mom gets mad?”
“I care.” Did he really not see how much this hurt her? How she could barely stand upright long enough to discuss it? “I like making my mother proud. It might be easy for you to write off what everyone else thinks about you, but I’m not like that.”
All the heat went out of him. “I never stood a chance, did I?”
Clara was thrown by the dramatic shift in his tone. “What are you talking about?”
“Why did you sleep with me?” His voice sounded unnaturally thin.
Her gaze sank to his lips and she hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Come on. You did it. At least own up to it.” His eyes burned straight through her skin.
She felt like prey being lured into a honey-sweet trap. “I wanted to. I’m attracted to you. Is that what you want to hear?”
“So it was just sex?” He kept his tone light enough to discuss the weather.
Clara buried the truth in her belly. “Yes.” Just the best sex she’d ever had. Just sex that had turned her whole belief system upside down.
“But you don’t have casual sex,” he said. “You told me that the first night I touched you.”
Clara shivered. How foolish she’d been to trust that she could separate body and mind. Hadn’t she known then that falling for this man would ruin her? “Our situation was different. We both knew that it could never go any further between us.” The sentiment was true. The knowledge hadn’t protected her.