I’m sitting on the floor, looking at a picture of Daddy and me when I won my first pro-tournament, when I hear the click-clack of Heisman’s claws on the marble.
“Ari?” Chase calls. I hear the door close and what sounds like a bag thumping on the floor.
“Downstairs,” I shout back.
Heisman beats him to me. Dropping his toy at my feet, he jumps into my lap and licks my face.
“Hey, baby,” I say as I pet his overly excited, wriggling body. “I should have brought you with me today, huh? They wouldn’t have tried anything if you were there.”
He probably would have thought the eggs were balls and would have tried to catch them. Regardless, there would have been less egg on my face.
Chase enters the room a few moments later. As he sits next to me, he gently pushes Heisman away so he can hug me. Undeterred by the rebuff, Heisman tries to slither between us.
“It seems he wasn’t done mauling me,” I say.
“I don’t care. He can get to the back of the line. I need to hold you right now.” Chase pulls me in tighter. “I’ve been out of my mind worried about you. When no one could reach you, Charlie, Spencer, and I spent the last three hours calling every hotel in New York we found on Google, looking for you.”
“With commitment like that, if the whole football thing tanks, you’d make a great paparazzi.” I pull away and look at him. “Kidding aside, that was really sweet. I’m sorry you wasted so much time. I was probably on the plane. Our communication lately sucks.”
“This time it’s on me. I thought I lost my phone in Charlie’s house, but it turns out it was in my car under the seat. I saw you called. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”
I shrug. “I’m here now.”
He pulls me back into a hug. “When I saw the video, I—”
I cringe against his chest. “It’s viral, huh? I assumed that would be the case, but part of me was holding out hope that maybe the internet was on the fritz today and all those people holding their cameras so they could capture my most humiliating moment in glorious HD couldn’t upload.”
“If only…” He’s quiet for a moment.
I revel in the security of his arms around me. The warmth of his body thaws the chill of loneliness I’ve felt all day. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat is soothing, grounding.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
No. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it, but there are so many things I need to tell him, I might as well get it all out on the table now. “You saw the video. I’m not sure I have much more to add. But we do need to talk. There’s so much more than just the egging.”
He furrows his brow in confusion. “What else? What’s going on?”
This is going to tear him apart, but we promised no more secrets. Keeping it from him will do far more damage than telling him. I take a deep breath and spit it out. “Ralph Lauren is suing me for breach of contract.”
His eyes go wide as he gapes at me. “What?”
“Apparently, I’ve been associated with nefarious activities that are contrary to the brand, message, and philosophy of the company. Continuing with the AA line would diminish the company branding and would be detrimental to sales and consumer confidence. Blah, blah, blah. They want me to pay for all the outlaid costs and claim they get to keep all the designs.”
“This is insane! Can they do that?”
“Their lawyers think they can. Wallace joined the meeting via video conference and he and I argued with them for hours and got nowhere. We’re going to court. That’s where I was coming from when I ran into those Denver fans. The funny thing is, Bianca called a car for me, but after that meeting, I didn’t want a damn thing from them, so I said I wanted to walk. Let the fresh air help settle me down. I showed them, huh?”
“Oh, Ari, I—”
I hold up my hand. I need to get this all out before I lose my nerve. “Hold on, just let me finish. There’s more. The Rome Show wasn’t the only reason I went to LA. I was called for an emergency meeting with Discovery. I thought we were going over marketing and promotions, but they had a different agenda. They were going to pull the plug on the documentary.”
“No! How can they—”
I keep talking over him. I feel bad that I’m not letting him get a word in edgewise, but I know his questions are how and why, and he already knows the answers, even if it’s painful to admit.
“They didn’t want to be associated with everything that’s going on. Wallace and I were able talk them into a compromise, so they’re going to move forward with some minor changes.”
“What kind of changes?” he asks in a tone that’s almost a growl.
I look down and fiddle with the small tear in the seam on the cuff of my sweatshirt. “Just a few tweaks, some re-editing.”
“Ari… stop trying to protect me and just tell me.”
This is going to sting. “You and I have to be completely cut out of the film. We cannot claim any connection to the film or project. We can’t say we were ever there. The Aldrich Foundation is to be removed as a partner. Ariko’s foundation is the named philanthropic sponsor.”
He closes his eyes and bites his lip, probably in an attempt not to explode. “Ari,” he says in a voice straining to keep the anger at bay, “why would you agree to that?”
“Because Discovery was going to drop the project. The whole point of having the film crew there was to draw attention to the dire conditions in Zimbabwe and hopefully motivate people to act. If the film dies, then that can’t happen. I don’t care who gets the credit. I just want it out there.”
He puts his hand on my leg and looks me in the eye. “But you worked so hard. People should know what you did.”
“I didn’t do it for the glory. I did it for the kids and the village. I did it to make a difference, and I know I did that.” I point at my chest. “I know it, in here. That’s all that matters.”
He drops his head. “This is all my fault. I’m bringing you down. You need to get out while you still can. Run away from me as fast and as far as possible. Maybe one day when all this settles down—”
I pick up the nearest thing I can reach and fling it at him as hard as I can. He ducks, and Heisman’s chew toy slides along the floor.
“Fuck you!” I scream. “You don’t get to quit on me!”
“I’m not quitting, but I am being a fucking realist. You were attacked! We’re getting death threats! This is insane! I refuse to let you live like this!”
“I’ve been getting death threats my entire life. This is nothing new. And you’re not ‘letting me live’ like anything. None of this was imposed on me. I made choices, fully aware of the risks and consequences. And I’d do it again. I choose you! I choose us! And every damn thing that comes along with it.”
In all the heated screaming, I’m not sure when we got off the floor, but we’re circling each other as we seethe. All the frustration and fury that has been building since that damned press conference has finally hit its boiling point, and we’re taking it out on the one person we love the most.
“Don’t you get it? I can’t protect you and it’s killing me,” he shouts. “Every day the situation gets a little bit worse, with no signs of even the possibility of improving. No one is going to come in with a magic wand and undo all the damage that’s been done. Things are only going to get worse. If you get out now, you still have a chance. Turn it around on me. Condemn me. Let me take all the heat, and you just get out from under this before it crushes you too.”
“You don’t get to throw yourself on your sword,” I sneer. “It’s not noble. It’s cowardly. That’s what you do when you’ve given up. If you haven’t figured this out by now, I don’t give up!”
He slams his hands on his legs. “You have secrets, Ari! We don’t know for sure that Sven’s videos of you were destroyed. What about those other jackasses you were with? They could come forward and jump on the Bash Ari Bandwagon. If
you stay with me, reporters are going to keep pecking at your past. Eventually someone will put the pieces together. They could expose you!”
I throw my hands in the air. “Then I get exposed! At least it will be the truth for a change. I’d gladly stand there and tell the whole world every lurid detail of every stupid thing I’ve ever done if it would take the pressure off of you. Don’t you get that?”
His clenched fists shake with frustration. “But don’t you get that I don’t want that for you? How many times have you lectured me about the importance of your brand? How long and hard you’ve worked to keep your brand pristine? And in one fell swoop, all of that is gone. I refuse to be your downfall. If you stay with me, there is no future for you! No one is going to buy a car from Arianna Brennan, remember?”
“I don’t give a fuck about my brand! When I walked out of Ralph Lauren today, I didn’t want to come home and hug my brand—I wanted you. When I think about my future, I don’t think about where me and my brand will be in ten years—I think about you and me. If I never get another job for the rest of my life, if I go down in history as the evil mastermind behind pay-for-pain, I won’t give a flying fuck as long as I’m by your side. Nothing else matters.”
“I want better for you,” he says, his voice cracking.
“Too bad,” I snap. “Because I want you, whatever the cost.”
Threading his fingers behind his head, he paces away. I run to stand in front of him, blocking his path. His eyes are puffy and rimmed with red. He looks exhausted, as though every last resource in his body has been drained.
I put a hand on each shoulder and look in his eyes. “In life, you have to know when to hold and know when to fold. We’re holding. We’ve got this. I promised you I’d never run again. That means you can’t either.’”
With his chest heaving, he glares at me. I prepare myself for another verbal volley when he starts to laugh. “What is it with you and that song?”
I can’t help but laugh back. “That song holds the keys to life. Kenny Rogers is a prophetic genius. Or maybe I just heard it too many times and it’s burned into my brain.”
“Well, at least this time it worked in my favor.” He puts his arm around me as we continue to laugh tired, bone-weary laughs.
I lean my head on his shoulder. “It’s late. You’re tired. This has been one of the most stressful days of my life. You have to be on a plane in”—I turn and look at the clock on the wall—“four hours. Let’s just call it a night, okay?”
“I think that’s a good idea.” He scoops me up and carries me to bed.
I rest my head against his chest as he carries me, and I fall asleep before we even reach the bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Arianna
Catharsis is good for the soul. Despite only getting a few hours’ sleep, Chase and I both wake up feeling a million times better. We’re still in a giant mess without even a Hail Mary option to get us out of it, but we’re in it together. Adversity will either tear a couple apart or bring them closer together and I feel as though Chase and I are as close as we’ve ever been. The world as we know it may burn down around us, but I’m not worried about us in the least.
After Chase leaves, I call Shelly, who’s been an absolute wreck. She’s watching my career implode and couldn’t even get in touch with me to do anything about it. Ralph Lauren will issue a statement today saying they have decided to discontinue their relationship with me. Thankfully, we’ve both agreed to keep any legal matters quiet.
The announcement will feed the already out-of-control frenzy, but there’s nothing we can do to stop it. Shelly and I talk through the myriad options that could repair my reputation and floundering career. Her suggestion is to release a video statement continuing to demand answers from the NFL. As the governing agency, they have an obligation to respond before this incendiary situation incites more violence.
She also thinks I should do a Barbra Walters special. The thought alone gives me hives. Irresponsible media with no regard for professionalism and boundaries is what got me into this position, and to combat it, I have to expose even more of my private life to the world? That feels like rewarding the system that’s destroying my life.
She reminds me what a little good will would do for Chase, how one interview with me might silence some of the boos he hears every time he takes the field. Without further hesitation, I say yes.
Shelly offers to send over a hair-and-makeup artist and camera crew to film my video message, but I turn her down. With the accusations out there that I’m a pampered princess, I think showing something a little more raw might help shatter that misconception.
I set up my laptop and film an honest response to the egging. I hit upload before I have a chance to think myself out of doing it. Like a fool, I sit and wait to see people’s reactions. While I’m waiting the view counter climb, I get a call from Butch.
“Calling with an update,” she says.
“Please tell me it’s good, I’ve already reached my allotment of bad news for the month.” I close the laptop, knowing I can’t give Butch the attention she deserves if I’m reading the comments on my video.
“We finally found Tate. He’s staying with some cocktail waitress in Oregon. Looks as though he’s going to be a daddy again.”
“Just what the world needs, more Tate-spawn,” I say with a groan.
“Once they head out, my team and I will run in and do our thing. I’ll have the place live in no time, and we’ll get a much better handle on things.”
I have no idea what she means, but I have a feeling the less I know, the better. Plausible deniability is always a good thing. “Sounds great.”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. The more people demand proof, the more pressure will be on Tate to give the NFL what they need. Morons always show their true colors when they’re under pressure.”
“We can only hope that’s the case. I need for this to end yesterday.”
“Yeah, I saw. I’m sorry. Do you want me to put them through facial recognition? I’m sure we can figure out who they are. We could internet-shame them, or maybe I can have my computer boys mess around and get them all on the IRS audit list.”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll pass. I just want to put it behind me.”
Heisman barks frantically at the door. I peek out the window and see a courier service truck. “Butch, I have to go. Let us know when you have more.”
The doorbell rings as I’m walking to the front door. I give Heisman the order to sit, then I open the door. I know what it is the second I see the package. I’m so excited, I practically rip it out of the delivery woman’s hands.
“Sorry,” I say when she stares at me as if I’m an uncivilized lunatic. “I’ve been dying for this to arrive. You’ve really just made my day. Hell, my year.”
She hands me the clipboard. “Sign here.”
Fantastic. I’m sure she’s going to tweet how I attacked her just for doing her job. I sign and smile sweetly. “Have a wonderful day. Thanks again.”
Locking the front door, I rush upstairs to my bedroom. “Sorry, buddy. I need a slobber-free zone. No puppies allowed for this.”
I close the door in the dog’s face. I’m so excited I don’t even feel a twinge of guilt when he whimpers on the other side of the door. I open the box, remove the garment bag, then hang it on the hook on the back of the closet door. Perfection.
Because of my hasty departure from New York yesterday, I didn’t get the opportunity to stop in and pick up my wedding dress. Evette, a seamstress Vera recommended, helped turn my design into a reality. Her work is impeccable, and I couldn’t be happier. We had to make a few changes from the original design along the way, but each of them for the better.
I pull off my clothes and slip into the dress. Standing upright, I look in the mirror and gasp. People always say you’ll know the dress when you see it, and this is the dress. The soft ivory lace works perfectly with my skin tone and hair color. The neckline of t
he sheath gown plunges just enough to highlight my long neck, but not so much that it’s too revealing. The rounded edge of the backless dress comes right to the dimples of my lower back. It’s dramatic, even sexy. Perhaps I made the back dip down a little lower than necessary, but I don’t think it crosses the line. The delicate lace gives the gown an elegance that is everything I ever wanted.
The AA line fiasco may have been an epic failure, but had I not worked on the line and taken those classes at Parsons, I never would have even considered designing my own dress. The failed project may be career killing, but as I look at my dress in the mirror, I know it was absolutely worth it. Silver linings.
I snap a selfie and send it to Bryan, who has been dying to see the dress. He quickly texts back.
B: Forget Polo, you need to design a Bridal line. That dress is breathtaking. I know I’m not supposed to pick favorites but I think you’re going to be my most beautiful bride.
B: Now if we can only get an update from the venue, maybe I can stop panicking. Otherwise, I’m going to have to buy new tuxes for all the holiday parties.
He sends a picture of an empty bag of Reese’s Pieces.
B: Popping RP like xanex is only going to make the buttons on my pants pop
I tell him to put down the candy and hit the treadmill, then I try Ned and Holly one more time. I get voicemail for both of them. It’s so bizarre to go from talking to Holly multiple times a day to not once in two weeks. Texts and emails are going ignored. Something’s up.
I’m sick of playing guessing games. I text Bryan back.
A: I think it’s time for a site check. Want to meet me in Florida?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Arianna
I want to get back on an airplane about as much as I want to pull out my eyelashes one by one with a rusty set of needle-nose pliers, but I’ve been blindsided twice in the past week. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I need to see for myself that everything is kosher at Vespers.
Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3) Page 21