by Nikki Chase
As Heath strides briskly back to the porch that we just left, I blow on my hands, trying to keep them warm. I press the button to unlock Heath’s car doors, then I start to walk toward the black sedan, the top up now that it’s winter.
When I take my step, I realize something’s wrong. There’s no friction. My foot slips further, past the point where I can regain my balance. With my pregnant belly changing my center of gravity, it’s hard to correct my stance.
Just like in slow motion, I fall toward the ground. The grey cement slabs are covered by a thin veneer of slippery ice. I let out a shriek. From the corner of my eyes, I can see Heath looking my way.
And then, I hit the cold, hard ground. My whole body hurts. But what’s worse than that is, as the sound of Heath’s shoes pounding the sidewalk echo in the background, I feel something warm leak out of me and I see blood staining the crotch of my pants.
Kat
“Bed rest?” Jane asks from the other end of the line.
“That’s what I said.” I wrap my hand around the cup of warm, caffeine-free tea and raise it to my lips. I take a sip.
“Jesus, as if you weren’t already getting enough rest. You were already stuck in that apartment all day,” Jane says. “What about me? I work, like, sixty hours a week. I need a doctor’s note so I can skip work and lie around in bed all day.”
“You think I want this? Jesus, I swear I’m dying of restlessness. I can’t even do laundry or go to the store,” I complain. “I read somewhere that bed rests aren’t even a good idea in a lot of cases. It could cause blood clots and reduce bone mass.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I researched it and found this scientific study. I showed Heath. I even saw another OB/GYN to get a second opinion. He said bed rest doesn’t have any proven benefits.” I let out an irritated sigh. “But Heath wouldn’t listen. He actually wants me to be horizontal 24/7, except for maybe about fifteen minutes a day.”
“You know, if you’d said that a few months ago, it would’ve sounded sexy. But now, with you practically incapacitated… I don’t know.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’m not getting any either.”
“Damn.”
“I know. At least I can still write.”
“That’s really sweet of him, though, to insist on the bed rest and do everything for you. I never would’ve thought the ruthless Heath Anders to be such a softie.”
I giggle. “He’s only aggressive when it comes to his investments. With me and his parents? He’s super sweet. He wasn’t even mean when I was his personal assistant—just kind of distant.”
“I’m really happy this worked out for you, Kat. When you told me you were starting to catch the feels for him, I thought it was going to end in a disaster.”
“Yeah. You were all doom and gloom,” I say.
“You can’t blame me for that. You two had an agreement—a legal contract—detailing the rules of your relationship. You were supposed to be a service provider, and he was supposed to be a customer. It wasn’t meant to develop into a real relationship. I didn’t expect the two of you to get married and ride off into the sunset.”
“That’s true. But then again, what is marriage, if not just another legal contract?”
“That’s also true,” Jane admits. “So now that the two of you are a legit couple and you’re having a baby together, are you getting married, too?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about it. But it just feels like a lot of things happening quickly, all at once. Maybe we should take it slow.”
“Says the pregnant woman, about her relationship with the unborn baby’s father.”
I laugh. What can I say? Jane has a point. Besides, if not for her phone calls, I’d have lost all contact with the outside world.
The days go by in a blissful blur.
Despite the bed rest, life doesn’t suck. And I can thank Heath for that. He’s been nice enough to handle all the chores, errands, and meals—he doesn’t do those things himself because he has to work, but he hires people to make sure I don’t have to lift a finger.
And even though one of the reasons I cited for moving in here was to be able to have sex during the horny months of my pregnancy, that’s not happening either. Heath is too scared of hurting me.
Or, in his own words, “I don’t want to put a dent in our baby’s head.”
Yep. Charming, I know.
I feel conflicted.
On one hand, Heath’s attentive care makes me feel loved. He treats me like I’m something precious, and I’ve never had that before.
On the other hand, I want to scream because I know all this fuss is not necessary. And I feel like one of those prime-cut cows who get fed premium grass and receive regular massages, just so it will taste good when they finally take it to the slaughterhouse.
Wait. Maybe that came out wrong.
Heath isn’t taking me to any slaughterhouse, of course. He wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. But it sometimes feels like he’s doing all those things not because he cares about me, but because he cares about the baby.
I know it’s stupid, but a part of me is still afraid that Heath’s only staying with me because I’m carrying his baby, that he’s going to leave me once this is all over. Which is dumb, of course. He’s taken me to see his family and everything. And I can feel the sincerity in his every word, in every little touch.
Then, I get the phone call. Jane calls me and I stupidly think we’re just about to have another easy chat together, when in fact bad news can come from anywhere.
“Where are you?” Jane asks.
“At the skate park, doing back flips.” I laugh. “Hello? Bed rest? Remem—”
“You need to turn on your TV. Channel Two. Now.” She sounds urgent. She doesn’t even let me finish my sentence or laugh at my joke. Sure, it’s not my best joke, but it’s not that bad.
“Wow, you’re bossy today. PMS?” I ask as I lean forward in the couch and reach for the remote control on the coffee table. It sounds easy, but with a baby bump the size of a beach ball… it’s a feat of willpower and determination.
“What have you been doing today, that you don’t know about this?” Jane asks.
“About what? I’ve been writing. Didn’t I tell you, that’s the one thing I can still do?” I ask as I press the red button to turn on the TV. “Heath doesn’t even like it when I laze around on the couch like I’m doing right now, because he wants me to be in bed instead.”
Channel Two shows up on the TV and my jaw drops. “What the hell…?”
“I take it you’re watching it right now?” Jane asks.
“What is he doing?” I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“Looks like he’s leaving,” Jane says. “That’s smart. I don’t think this is a good time for him to make a statement.”
“A statement about what?” I watch, dumbfounded, as I watch Heath make his way through the crowd of reporters on the TV screen. This looks like like big news.
“About you, and the baby,” Jane says, sympathy in her voice.
Heath
“Raunchy Account of Seduction in the Workplace by Heath Anders’ Ex-Assistant.”
I run my fingers through my hair as I stare at the title of the blog post on my big computer monitor—all the better to see my problem with.
The Internet is abuzz with activity, and TV stations, too. Soon, the magazines will catch up when they release their latest editions.
I just wonder what their headlines will be. How bad will they get?
The winner for the worst title ever goes to Exposé, a celebrity gossip TV show. The winning title: “Sexual Harassment Alive and Well in Wall Street.”
Yeah, I know it’s not as stupid as some of the other ones. It sounds serious and shit. That’s exactly why it’s the worst.
If a gossip show can come up with a title like that, I’m screwed as soon as mainstream newspapers get a sniff of this.
“Heath, we need to make a decision,” Ang
ela says. She’s a veteran PR executive, who has handled multiple crises before. She looks tense, which is probably not a good sign. “If we stay quiet, it’ll be taken as an admission of guilt. It’ll look like you have something to hide.”
“I don’t know what else these people have on me, Angela. I swear I’m innocent, but they may have some dirt on me that they can use to hurt my reputation and credibility.”
Normally, I like my office. But today it feels like the walls are closing in on me, even though this place is just the same as ever.
“If you’re innocent, it’s best to come clean,” she says, across the desk from me. “Be honest and just put a positive spin on things. Have the girl make a statement that there’s no sexual harassment going on, and everything will go back to normal.”
“No,” I say swiftly. “I’m not having her make any statement, or show up in any way on the media.”
“Why? Because she may have a different story than you?” Angela asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Jesus, Angela.” I can’t believe this. “How long have you been working for me? Have you ever seen me make someone do something against their will?”
“So you’re saying it’s all consensual?” Angela asks. “If it is, you have nothing to worry about. But like I said, the girl will have to make an appearance. Because otherwise, you’ll only have your own words to back you up. And in my experience? The words of men accused of sexual crimes don’t mean anything to the public.”
I see her point.
On the other hand, she’s asking the impossible of me. I can’t parade Kat in front of the cameras just so strangers won’t blame me for any crime they imagine to have taken place.
Firstly, she’s on bed rest.
And secondly, I promised to maintain her anonymity in our contract. Things are dramatically different now that we’re together for real, but I want to do that for her.
I want her to remain in the shadows, at least until after she publishes her first book and it becomes wildly successful—which I have no doubt will happen. I know how important it is to her that she’s not just known as my girlfriend, or even the mother of my child.
No, she doesn’t want people reading her book and guessing which aspects of the story have been taken from her real life. She wants her story to stand on its own merit. She wants people to pick up her book and judge it by its artistic value—not its association with public figures.
“Heath,” Angela says, reminding me again that I need to make a decision, “the clock is ticking. The longer it takes for us to issue a statement, the more suspicious it looks.”
I clasp my hands together and turn to look at Angela. “Tell them to mind their own fucking business. I’m not making her face the media for me.”
“Okay. So we can say something like… we request them to honor your privacy. Maybe also mention the fact that these rumors stem from hearsay. All they have is whatever Jeff’s telling them.”
My blood boils at the sound of that name. “I swear, if I ever see that guy again—”
“And this is why I’ll be facing the media on my own,” Angela says. “You need to stay calm, Heath. You’re usually good at that.”
That’s probably because my problems usually don’t involve Kat.
Even on days when I’ve made multi-million-dollar mistakes, it doesn’t touch me—not really. I already have more than enough money to last me the rest of my life. Losses like that don’t bother me.
But if anyone hurts Kat, I’ll use everything in my power to make that person’s life a living hell.
Something buzzes on my desk, and I sit bolt upright as the screen of my high-priority phone lights up.
It’s Kat. She wouldn’t have called this number if this weren’t important.
She fucking knows.
“Excuse me,” I say to Angela before I pick up the phone. “Hello.”
“Heath, what’s going on?” Kat asks in a panicked voice.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I say gently. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“Do you?” Kat asks. “It doesn’t look like it. I saw you trying to get through the crowd on TV.”
“That was a normal after-lunch crowd for me,” I lie. I only get that kind of attention when something big happens.
“Yeah, right. I used to be your personal assistant, Heath. Tell me the truth.”
“Everything’s under control, Kat. That’s the truth.”
Kat remains quiet for a few seconds before she says, “I should say something.”
“What?”
“Not to you. I mean I should say something to the media.”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “You’re on bed rest.”
I notice movements in my peripheral vision, and I realize Angela has been waving her arms, trying to get my attention. She’s pointing urgently at the TV screen across the room from us. Jeff’s saying something.
“But Heath—”
“If that’s all, I need to go so I can actually handle this crisis,” I say. “Sorry, kitten. I’ll see you at home. Just turn off the TV and take a nap, okay?”
I hang up the phone, then I watch helplessly as Jeff tells them everything—Kat’s full name, as well as the contract. Yes, that contract. The one with all the sordid details of our arrangement, including how much sex is involved.
Everybody’s going to see this and know Kat’s name. My mind flies back to that day when Jeff went berserk in my office. He said he was going to save Kat from my evil clutches, and now I guess he’s decided her safety is more important than her anonymity.
And worse than that, my parents will see this and think Kat and I have been trying to deceive them.
“Fuck,” I say, almost at the same time as Angela.
Kat
“Hi, Angela,” I say into the phone as my heart thumps in my chest. I know I’m not supposed to do this.
I mean, it’s not illegal or anything, but Heath won’t be happy.
Well, too bad, because I’m doing it anyway.
“Kat?” Angela asks in a hushed voice.
We’ve seen each other and spoken a few times at the office, of course. But we’re not close and we both know we’re only talking because there’s an emergency going on, and we may be able to help each other. That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway.
And we both know we can’t talk in front of Heath.
“Is it safe to talk?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m back at my desk.” Something rattles on Angela’s end of the line. “Actually, I’m leaving my desk now. It’s probably best if I go outside to speak to you.”
As Angela’s heels click-clack against the tiled floor of the office, I ask her, “What’s really going on?”
“Jeff’s gone rogue. He’s gone to the media and told them how Heath’s apparently committing sexual harassment and assault. He even showed them your contract,” Angela says.
I know that much from the TV, but that’s not what I’m asking. I bite my cheek as I pace the floor. The marble tiles feel freezing underfoot, like my blood. Beads of cold sweat form on my temples.
I hear the sound of a door opening and closing, and I know she’s probably standing in the balcony where people usually smoke.
“Yeah, I know.” I swallow and ask, “Is everything under control?”
Angela laughs. “No, Kat. Everything’s fucked up.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean we don’t have a plan. Nada.” Angela takes a deep breath. “Heath wants to just tell them to respect his privacy, or something like that. I haven’t thought of the right wording yet. But I don’t think there are enough words in the dictionary to make his statement sound good. People want answers, and Heath’s basically doubling down on his no-comment policy.”
I wince. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it’s not good at all. He’s treating it like he used to treat his sex scandals—you know, from before he got married?”
My chest tightens
, but I manage a short “yeah.” This is not the time for jealousy.
“Yeah,” Angela says. “This is completely different, though. Those girls didn’t work for him, and they were obviously professional gold diggers—or socialites, as they prefer to be called.” Angela’s eye-roll is almost audible.
“How is it different this time?” I ask.
“It’s different because this concerns the company,” Angela says. “This could end up hurting our reputation and credibility, especially because Heath’s trading style is to go after unethical companies. We have enemies, and we need to keep our image squeaky clean if we want to maintain our brand as ethical investors.
“Our clients, they don’t only choose us because we grow their money, but also because we do it in a way that allows them to sleep at night. And now, Heath’s being painted as a monster, who preys on his innocent, young assistant. How are our clients going to make peace with the thought of their wealth going toward supporting someone like that?”
“They aren’t going to,” I blurt out as realization dawns on me. “They’re just going to switch to another company.”
“Exactly.” Angela pauses. “We’ve already been quiet for far too long. The news broke in the morning and it’s past lunch time now, so it’s been almost four hours of silence.”
Angela huffs a wry laugh. “God, I can’t believe I just said that. But it’s true. After Twitter, people expect answers within minutes. It didn’t use to be this way in the good old days. We could take a breath and carefully formulate a response back then.”
Angela is in her forties, which means that she didn’t grow up with Twitter. It also means that she’s been doing PR for about two decades, and she knows her shit. If she says things are fucked up, she’s probably right.
“Is there anything we can do to fix things?” I ask as my heart pounds. I’d do anything to contain this situation.
Angela goes quiet. “Is that a serious question?”
“Yes, of course.” Why wouldn’t it be?
“Well…” Angela lets her voice hang in the air, intensifying the suspense. “I can’t fix this mess… but you can.”
“Me?” I frown.
I’ve never dealt with the media before. And now that things are so bad even Angela can’t fix them, I’m supposed to be the knight riding into battle to save everyone?