I grab my laptop and plug in the memory stick. You know what they say, a watched laptop never starts up – or maybe that’s just my laptop because there’s so much rubbish on it.
‘Do you want me to leave you to watch this alone?’ Luke asks.
‘Nothing happened!’ I protest, hopefully for the final time. ‘Stay. Share in my moment of victory.’
Scott was telling the truth, I recognise that beautiful room. The video is in black and white, and the date on the screen matches up with the night it all kicked off. He must have edited the video for me (or, most likely, to preserve the anonymity of the person who planted it) because almost straight away I see Dylan throw himself onto the bed. Then there’s me, stumbling towards the mini-bar, emptying it and dumping the contents on the bed. I wasn’t expecting to be embarrassed, but I can feel my cheeks flushing. Sitting down on the bed next to Dylan, I try and work the control for the TV as he breaks open a packet of biscuits.
‘Can we make this go a bit faster?’ I ask Luke, and he obliges.
The rest of the video shows me and Dylan eating almost everything from the mini-bar before starting on the little bottles of booze. We eat, we drink, we laugh at the TV, but we don’t lay a finger on each other. Eventually Dylan rolls off the bed and onto the floor, and I lie back and pull the covers over myself. Neither of us moves until the morning, when I get up, go to the bathroom, say goodbye and leave.
‘Nicole, this is amazing. It proves that nothing happened, and if nothing happened then people will start to question the rest of it. You owe this Scott guy.’
‘He was such an arsehole to me.’
‘From that letter, it sounds like he still is an arsehole. But an arsehole that needs you to get revenge on Vicky.’
I can’t believe Scott has decided to help me – whatever his reasons are. It’s true what they say: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
‘Get Frank on the phone, and get him over here,’ I tell Luke as I jump out of bed. ‘I’m off to get myself tarted up, and then we’re off to clear my name.’
‘So you’re staying?’ Luke asks.
‘It looks like I am.’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The Meeting
‘I always believed you,’ Frank assures me as we sit in the reception at the Daily Scoop.
‘Sure you did,’ I say, fairly sure that he didn’t believe me, but I don’t think he cared either way. Guilty or innocent, he would have represented me anyway.
I feel like a child waiting to see the dentist – actually, I’m still scared of the dentist, so really I just feel like I’m waiting for a filling. Sure, you’re seeing the dentist for your own good, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be pleasant.
There’s plenty of reading material laid out, but only copies of the Daily Scoop, or the supplements you get with it. It’s strange seeing my face on a few of the covers, they’ve sure got their money’s worth out of me.
I am so relieved, although I feel even sicker than I did when I thought I was screwed. Just imagine if Scott Hale hadn’t decided to help me, I’d be packing my bags for France right now. It would have been nice to see my family for Christmas, but I’ve got to clear this mess up while I still can.
‘Mr Boyes will see you now,’ a pretty young blonde with an iPad in her hand informs us.
‘Here we go.’ I take a deep breath and follow the iPad lady. This is it.
As I step into Mr Boyes’ office, I am immediately overwhelmed by the view from the huge windows. It certainly puts my little office to shame. The second thing that catches my attention is just how gorgeous Mr Boyes himself actually is. He’s probably in his late-forties, but very fanciable for someone double my age. I don’t entertain the thought for more than ten seconds though, because this is the bastard who has been making my life miserable.
‘Miss Wilde,’ he shakes my hand. ‘And Frank, long time, no see. Take a seat please.’
I sit down. I probably shouldn’t feel this uncomfortable in what I’d imagine is a really expensive chair. I can feel my hands getting sweaty as I clutch my envelope of evidence even tighter, just in case he grabs it off me and throws it out of the window or something.
‘What can I do for you, Miss Wilde?’ Mr Boyes asks with a huge grin on his face.
‘Mr Boyes-’
‘Johnny. Call me Johnny,’ he insists. Whatever.
‘Johnny. You’ve been running quite a few stories about me, some of which I know you have entirely made up.’ I can’t resist slipping that in. There might have been a few incriminating-looking photos, but an awful lot of what they printed was pure fiction.
‘Now, now, Miss Wilde. We’re very careful about what we print. If we printed lies it wouldn’t be the news, would it? We are a newspaper, after all.’ If it’s even possible, his smile grows even bigger.
I look at Frank for help, who gives me the nod to go ahead.
‘Let’s start at the top,’ I say calmly, fidgeting with my envelope to try and find the USB stick. ‘Nothing happened between me and Dylan.’
‘Well I have it on pretty good authority that it did,’ he says, still smiling, but in a way that seems far less friendly.
‘Erm, I have it on pretty good authority that it didn’t, what with me being there and all.’
‘I’m a very busy man.’ Boyes stands up. ‘So if you’re only here to waste my time—’
‘I have a video that proves nothing happened,’ I cut him off. ‘Your employee, Vicky Mason, has been trying to sabotage me for weeks, and whatever line she spun you with that first photo she sold to you – it’s bullshit.’
For the first time since we entered the room, Johnny Boyes isn’t smiling or talking.
‘And you’re willing to show me this video?’ he eventually asks.
‘Yes. Can I use your computer?’ I waggle my USB stick at him. I made sure that I backed the video up on my laptop before we left, just in case.
‘Go ahead.’
‘You’ll find the correct date and time in the file info,’ Frank tells him while I’m loading up the video.
‘You can’t fake these things you know,’ Johnny warns us. As if we’d try and pull a fast one and land ourselves in even bigger shit.
‘Well you’re welcome to run the relevant tests, whatever you need to do to be confident it’s legit,’ Frank assures him.
‘Here we go.’ I hit play on the video. ‘Feel free to skip through it,’ I tell Johnny, and then take a step back.
Johnny remains silent as he watches. I glance at Frank nervously, and he gives me a confident wink.
‘Take a seat, Nicole,’ Johnny orders. ‘Right, what’s the deal?’
‘Right.’ Frank snaps into action, rubbing his hands. ‘No one will see the video. It won’t be going on the website, and screen grabs won’t be going in the paper. You have seen it, that’s all you need to run a story on it.’
‘Right. OK.’ Johnny sound almost defeated. ‘I’ll have the video checked and show it to our reporters—’
‘One of your reporters,’ Frank corrects him.
‘One of our reporters,’ Johnny says back to him. ‘We’ll do that while you’re here, you can take the video back with you. I’ll have the story written up and I’ll email you a draft to approve, Frank.’
‘I want to write it myself,’ I say, interrupting the grown-ups talking.
‘You do?’ Frank asks me.
‘I do. I’ve had enough of other people writing about me, I want to do this one myself. I am a writer you know.’
Johnny thinks about it for a moment. ‘OK, you can write it. I’ll set you up on a desk downstairs, you can do it while you’re here.’
‘Then we have a deal,’ Frank claps his hands. ‘And we’ll reconsider taking legal action, perhaps it won’t be necessary now.’
‘I’m sure there’s no need for that.’ Johnny starts grinning again.
‘Karen,’ he says to his phone and iPad lady enters the room seconds later.
‘Can yo
u take Miss Wilde to Jasper and tell him to set her up on a computer, she’ll be writing a story for us.’
Chapter Sixty-Nine
The Daily Planet
The newsroom reminds me of the local paper where I did my work experience – only on a huge scale, and with less people getting excited about vandalised bus shelters. I’ll say one thing for local news though, as boring as it is, at least it’s honest.
Karen shows me into a side office and introduces me to Jasper, who looks exactly like a journalist is supposed to look. Only one name springs to mind: Clark Kent. Thick dark hair, a strong, manly jaw and even the thick-rimmed, black-framed glasses: check, check, check. He’s wearing a suit and tie, slightly loosened, and I find myself unsubtly peeping down his shirt to check for signs of blue spandex.
The pair leave me in the private office and stand just outside the door in the busy newsroom. I can see them talking about me through the big glass window, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Karen is obviously explaining the situation and I see Jasper raise his eyebrows in response to something.
‘Yes, I’m familiar with Miss Wilde,’ he says, loud enough for me to hear as he walks back into the room. Karen gives him a knowing nod and wanders off.
‘Right then,’ Jasper runs a hand through his Clark Kent hair. ‘Let’s get you set up so you can tell your story.’
Standing behind my chair, he leans over the desk with one arm on either side of me, trapping me in place.
‘So you click here to get started,’ he starts explaining the software to me. We just input the content straight into the website at Starstruck, but they have some fancy programme here. I’m trying to pay attention, but with Jasper standing so close to me, I’m feeling kind of distracted. It’s impossible not to notice how amazing his aftershave smells. I take a subtle but sharp sniff, wondering what it is that he is wearing.
‘Bleu de Chanel,’ he tells me.
‘Excuse me?’ I ask. Can he read my mind? Is he Superman?
‘My aftershave, it’s Bleu de Chanel. You sniffed me,’ he laughs.
‘I didn’t sniff you.’ I try to laugh it off. Not quite as subtle as you think, are you, Nicole?
‘So, what do you do here?’ I ask, changing the subject from me sniffing him.
‘Showbiz,’ he replies. I turn to face him, an accusing look on my face. ‘And no, I didn’t write any of the stories about you,’ he insists.
I pull a face. I’ll be checking that for myself later.
‘You don’t look the showbiz type,’ I tell him.
‘Right, this is where you type the body of your article, when you’re done I’ll help you format it,’ he says, back on topic.
‘Mr Boyes says he wants it ready to go today – can you believe he’s bossing me around?’
‘Boyes will be Boyes,’ he quips.
‘Are you sure you didn’t have a hand in the articles about me?’ I tease after hearing that brilliant pun.
‘Maybe just the headlines. So, if I don’t look the showbiz type, what do I look like?’ he asks, his face inches from mine and his arms still either side of me.
‘I don’t know, serious stuff. I had you down as a bit of a Clark Kent,’ I confess. ‘Exposing bad guys, corrupt politicians, that sort of thing.’
‘You think I’m Superman.’ His smile beams.
‘What happens if I take those glasses off?’ I ask, tilting my head and twirling a piece of my hair in my fingers. A sniff of Chanel, and I’m anyone’s.
‘If you take these glasses off,’ he pauses for effect, ‘I won’t be able to see.’
I laugh briefly, and we stare at each other for a few seconds. I am snapped out of the trance this blatant superhero has me in by a tap on the glass. The desk on the other side of the glass I am sitting next to belongs to none other than Vicky Mason, and there she is, sandwich in hand, waving at me with a smug look on her face. She obviously doesn’t know why I am here – yet. I don’t think Johnny Boyes is going to let her bad behaviour slide, in fact, I think they’re going to make her the fall girl.
I escape Jasper’s clutches and put my face to the glass, breathing hard to steam it up. Before it can clear again, I use my finger to write ‘fuck you’ on the glass – backwards, obviously – so that Vicky can read it. She doesn’t even have time to react before Mr Boyes and a security guard are at her desk, and yet again I cannot hear what is being said, but I imagine it’s a polite version of what I just wrote on the window. Vicky gives me evil eyes as she collects her personal possessions from her desk, before being ushered towards the exit.
‘Aww, what a shame,’ I say to Jasper, without an ounce of sincerity in my voice.
‘Remind me not to mess with you,’ Jasper says, sounding almost impressed. He gets straight back to showing me how to use the computer – possibly because he’s too scared to flirt with me now – and before I know it, he’s back at his desk and I’m writing my story. It’s a weird feeling, writing about myself. I’ll start small, and try to think of an appropriate headline.
‘Nicole’s not so Wilde,’ I say to myself quietly. I giggle, safe in the knowledge my headline will be a hit with these guys. With the article itself, it’s hard to know where to begin. I don’t want to sound smug, but at the same time I want to yell an extra loud ‘I told you so’ at all the people who didn’t believe me.
I start typing, and hope that the right words will find their way to my fingers.
‘My name is Nicole Wilde,’ I type, ‘and this is my story.’
Chapter Seventy
The Ex
Not even my hangover can get me down this morning. I’ve only been awake for a few minutes, but there’s that familiar headache, trying to bang its way out of my skull.
Last night was crazy – but in the best possible way. I finished up my story at the Scoop and had Jasper check it over for me. He was impressed. Not only did Mr Boyes agree to print it the following day (today!) if I could have it ready, but he also said it was going on the front page. By the time I left the office, it was me who was feeling bad, Boyes couldn’t apologise enough for what had happened. Frank wants to sue them, but I could see the pound signs in his eyes as he suggested this. As far as I’m concerned, Boyes and his team have made amends for everything they did by simply letting me tell the truth.
The best part of the day was afterwards, when we all went out to celebrate. I invited hot Jasper (yes, I have developed a bit of a crush on him even though he isn’t in a band – turns out I like superheroes as well as rockstars) to party with us. He went to speak to his boss and came back to reveal he had got us into one of the hottest clubs in London, and that the Daily Scoop would be paying for all of our drinks. Do you see what I mean about them making amends? Consider me truly placated. Frank didn’t want to celebrate with us ‘young ’uns’ as he so wonderfully put it in his fantastic accent, but I invited the Two For The Road boys, as well as my new BFF Kelly Parker. I must have consumed a lot of alcohol because my memory fails me – but that’s the sign of a good night, isn’t it? At least I am in my own bed and alone.
Glancing at my phone, I realise it is 1 p.m., and that I have lots of messages and missed calls. I didn’t even wake up early to buy a copy of the newspaper with my story on the front page. We got in so late last night, I probably could have picked up a copy on my way home if I had been thinking straight, although I doubt I was even walking straight.
It’s a battle, but I pull myself upright and eventually climb out of bed, throwing on my dressing gown for now. A quick glance in the mirror confirms my worst fears, I look terrible. My circa ’86 Bon Jovi hair has made a comeback, and I clearly didn’t waste any time taking my make-up off before bed because I have black smudges all over my face.
As I walk towards the door, I can’t help but laugh at how much things have changed. Just a few short months ago there was no way I’d let Luke see me looking like this, but look at me now, strolling around in my dressing gown in front of him, looking like Alice Cooper and smellin
g like a sweaty brewery worker.
‘Morning,’ I sing brightly, surprised to see Luke out of bed before me. ‘You’re up first – again – I’m in shock.’
From behind the breakfast counter he brings out a huge bunch of roses and hands them to me.
‘Oh, Luke, you shouldn’t have—’
‘They’re not from me,’ he interrupts me bluntly. ‘Frank brought them over, they arrived at his office for you.’
Setting them down on the coffee table, I take the card and read it to myself.
‘I’m sorry. Call me if you’ll give me the chance to explain. Charles x’
‘They’re from Charles,’ I tell Luke, to which he rolls his eyes. ‘He wants me to call him, so he can explain.’
‘And you’re going to?’ he asks, giving me a seriously unimpressed look.
I think for a second. Am I interested in what he has to say? I reach into my dressing gown pocket for my phone.
‘I’ll go for a shower, give you some privacy,’ Luke says, leaving the room.
Before I have chance to think about what I’m doing, I dial his number.
‘Charles Pace,’ he answers almost straight away, in his usual business-like manner.
‘It’s Nicole.’
‘Nicole. I didn’t think you’d call. How are things?’
I laugh. ‘What do you want, Charles?’
‘Did you like the roses?’
‘They stink of guilt. But thank you,’ I add, my manners kicking in.
He ignores my comment. ‘Meet me. I want to explain, and I want to apologise.’
I think for a second. ‘As it happens, I’ve got to pop out to pick up a newspaper.’
‘Text me where you are, we’ll meet for coffee.’
‘Fine.’ I soften slightly and give in. Hearing his voice only reminds me of how good things were between us before all this happened, and I can’t help but miss him a little.
How Not to Be Starstruck Page 29