I scanned the article. There were snippets from the interview I’d done with Paige, but most of the piece was about the club and what went on in my room. There were also the obligatory quotes from a source that revealed my deepest, darkest carnal needs.
More screen grabs showed Santa screwing Rudolph and subs chained to the bar, but thankfully faces were pixelated out, and no one else was named. Why hadn’t I deleted the video the second I discovered her phone?
I had broken my own code and had kissed her. I had trusted her. I had let her in. How fucking foolish could I be?
Paige’s name popped up on my phone, but I declined the call and then blocked her. Talking to her wasn’t something I was ready to do. I didn’t know when or if that time would ever come. And I had no idea why she was calling after she had screwed me and every other club member over to this degree.
I picked up my desk phone and put a call into The Reporter.
“Alec Williams.”
“Pull the article now.”
My temper was near breaking point, and my voice reflected my fury.
“Or what, Master. You’ll spank me for being a naughty boy? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you screw me over.”
“You’ll hear from my legal team about this.” I ended the call and threw my phone onto the desk.
I had to give it to Paige; she was one hell of an actress. How long had her sting operation taken to plan?
Everything she’d said to me was a lie. If her pussy hadn’t been so fucking tight, I would have said she’d lied about being a virgin, too. She certainly gotten the story to kickstart her career, but she’d also made enemies she didn’t want to have.
And I had thought Vivian was a piece of work. Vivian had nothing on Paige Matthews.
Chapter 17 – Paige Matthews
Rage like I’d never experienced fired through my veins. I strode through the newsroom and planted my feet in front of Alec’s coffee cup covered desk.
“What the fuck did you do? You had no right to go snoop around my computer and search my files.”
He leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers behind his head. A smug, unapologetic smile stretched his pale lips.
“It’s not your computer, sweetheart. It belongs to The Reporter. And anything, including on your computer, including anything on the Cloud that can be accessed by that computer, belongs to The Reporter, too. Nice video.”
I closed my eyes and gripped the back of a chair to stop myself keeling over.
“Shame the video was so grainy,” he continued, “but I heard enough to know you like being spanked. If you ever give up journalism, which I recommend, there’s a career in porn for you.”
I lunged over his desk and punched his booze-thickened nose.
He jumped up and glowered, his fingers curling into fists. “Do you want me to hit you? Is that what you want? Huh? Little sluts like you welcome pain, don’t you?”
Showing the bravado I didn’t feel, I stood tall and glared at him. “If you touch me, I’ll have you arrested for assault.”
“Back at ya, kid,” he said and pointed to his nose.
“Who’s your source?” I demanded. “You didn’t get half of that stuff from my computer or my interview.”
He sneered. “What is this— amateur hour? You think I’m going to reveal my sources?” You’re not a journalist. Deal with it.”
“I’m a better journalist than you’ll ever be. What you did was underhanded and cruel. You have no heart, and you have no shame.” My voice cracked, and I took a second to compose myself. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Awww, did you and Mr. Money Bags have a lover’s tiff? Isn’t this what you wanted? A front-page story?”
“Not like this. Pull it and print a retraction.”
He shrugged. “Even if I did pull it, it’s already out there. If you want to play in the big leagues, it’s time to put on your big girl pants. But from what I’ve seen, you don’t like wearing pants. If I’d known you were that kind of girl—”
“I’m going to talk to Henry about this right now.”
“Good luck with that; he’s somewhere over the Atlantic on his way to Europe for the holidays. I’m acting editor till he gets back.”
“What you’ve posted is trash, but that’s all hacks are good for. Why don’t you go work for The National Enquirer or TMZ?”
“Maybe next time your boyfriend will take my phone calls.”
“Is all this because you didn’t get to interview him? Seriously?”
“The pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Fuck you. I quit.”
Without stopping to clean out my desk, I marched out of the office. I didn’t even care that everyone stared as I passed.
Outside a blizzard blew, muffling my body-wrenching sobs. Why was this happening? Wyatt thought the story was my doing. He’d blocked my number, and my emails kept bouncing back.
I felt violated and exposed. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the world to swallow me up and erase my existence. There was nothing I could do to make him understand I had nothing to do with the story. I didn’t betray him. I wouldn’t. I’d promised.
He said we were to tell each other the truth, and I had.
Fuck the Cloud and fuck backing up my phone. I had done it once I’d gotten my phone back, in case I lost it again, but now I regretted doing it.
I jumped in a cab and called Jessica, but my words came out as gulping nonsensical sobs.
“Breathe, Paige. What happened? Talk to me.”
“My life is over.”
I explained what Alec had done, and Jessica offered to jump on a plane and come home. But I said not to because there was no point in ruining both of our Christmases. After I’d cried myself out, I told her I’d see her in the New Year, and I would tell her everything that had happened in the past four days. Four days that had stunned me. More had happened to me in the past ninety-six hours than had happened to me in the past twenty-two years.
Exhaustion weighed me down, and when I got into my apartment, I climbed into bed fully clothed. I didn’t want to face life right now. I would think I was being over dramatic, but this was by far the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Worse, I couldn’t believe I had contemplated doing it to other people, just to catch my own big break.
I had decided against it, but that didn’t matter. Perhaps my karma was to have it happen to me, just because I’d thought about doing it.
I hugged the pillow. I wondered if everything would ever be okay, ever again. Wyatt’s musky cologne clung to the fabric, and I began to sob all over again.
Chapter 18 – Wyatt Palmer
My Christmas Eve pity party for one was in full swing. Everyone else in the apartment building was upstairs in the penthouse celebrating, but I’d rather stick my hard dick in a toaster and set it to high than be social tonight.
Not even the fourth glass of Macallan in my hand numbed the ache in my heart or head. The last day and a half had been a fucking nightmare. One I needed to wake up from.
The owners of the club dragged me over the coals, but they didn’t revoke my membership. They had, however, suspended me for three months.
My lawyers forced The Reporter to print an apology and a retraction. But that didn’t matter. Once something was posted online, it never died.
A minute hadn’t passed without Paige’s face pushing its way to the front of my thoughts. How could I have gotten her so wrong? And to think, I’d kissed her. I’d given part of myself to her I hadn’t given to a woman in years.
For the next week, I planned to drown my sorrows and then in the New Year throw myself into work. To stop myself from calling Paige— every Goddamned second— I set the screen grab from The Reporter as my screen saver, so I’d see it when my fingers threatened to betray me. The photo was a constant reminder of what she’d done.
Part of me wanted to give her a chance to explain, but the bigger part of me, the furious part of me, didn’t wa
nt to hear any of her excuses. Once I cut someone out of my life, they were out for good.
“Mr. Palmer,” George’s voice crackled over the in-house intercom. “Sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor. Shall I send her up?”
My cock hardened. The traitorous bastard appendage ached to see her. Tough.
“Throw her out,” I send, my voice strained and slurred.
“I asked her to leave, but she’s insistent,” George replied.
My anger was a long way from dissipating, but an angry fuck might not be so bad. If anything, it would release some of the frustration building up inside me.
“Fine. Send her up.”
After a few minutes, there was a knock on my door. I tunneled my hands through my hair and got up from the sofa.
I didn’t care I hadn’t shaved or wore a threadbare T-shirt and wrinkled jeans. She’d have to take me as I was. I pulled the door open.
Vivian!
My cock deflated and my disappointment felt like a serrated knife wound.
I stood in shocked silence and the seconds dragged by until I finally said, “What are you doing here? I thought I made my feelings very clear.”
She bowed her head, and a single tear slid down her cheek, but I wasn’t buying it.
“I heard what happened, and I wanted to make you feel better, Master.”
She peeled off her coat and dropped it to the floor. Beneath she wore peekaboo leather shorts and a matching bra with chains instead of straps. If she’d come to my apartment dressed like that a few weeks ago, I would have screwed her senseless, but now I was numb to her presence. She had a beautiful, voluptuous body, but I was no longer aroused by her and found her a complete turn off.
I picked up her coat and handed it to her. “I’m not interested.”
Her eyes snapped up and confusion spread across her face. She fell to her knees on the checkerboard tiles. “I’m sorry, Master. I thought after the story came out and you saw her for what she was, you’d take me back and realize I was the one for you. I told Alec—”
“You told Alec what?” I gripped her arms and pulled her to standing. “What did you do?”
Blinking, she gave me a sickly sweet smile, and said, “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything. I just meant I knew you would get bored with her fast and you have. I haven’t seen her around here in a few days.”
“What do you mean you haven’t seen her around here in a few days? Have you been watching my apartment?”
Her eyes flitted around the foyer, focusing everywhere but on me. “I think I’ll leave.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you’ve done.”
“I might have glanced at your diary when I was over last week and saw you had an interview with Alec Williams from The Reporter.”
“You might have looked at my diary, or you did?”
“Um,” she said stalling, “I didn’t purposefully look, your diary was open. But I didn’t see him come into the building to interview you; I saw her.”
“You’ve been stalking me?”
“No,” she said shaking her head. “It wasn’t like that. I missed you.”
“Why did you talk to Alec? What was in it for you?”
Bewilderment filled her eyes, and she hugged her coat to her stomach. “You, of course, Master.”
Her use of the word Master grated on my nerves.
“After some badgering, Mike told me who he sold my invitation to. I tracked her down and followed her. The night she went to the party with my invitation, I watched her go in. I thought you’d throw her out as soon as you saw it wasn’t me. She was in there for over an hour. The next day, I hung around outside your apartment waiting for Alec so I could offer him some insight into you, but then I saw her and put two and two together, and—”
“Made five and tried to destroy my trust in Paige. You failed.”
Her jaw dropped for a second, but then thunder filled her eyes. “No, I fucked Alec and told him a few things, like the girl he’d sent to interview you went into your room on the third floor of Expose.”
“You’re finished in the New York scene.” I did my best to keep my temper under control and my voice steady before I spoke again. “No Dom will ever want you again. Leave now.”
Red splotches stained her cheeks and tears filled her eyes, but they didn’t move me. I was only thinking of one thing.
How was I going to make this up to Paige?
Chapter 19 – Paige Matthews
Christmas Eve had been a complete and utter shit show of a day.
The Reporter removed the article and printed a retraction— Wyatt’s money really could work miracles; as could some threats from the expensive lawyers his money was able to buy— but it still showed up in Google search, courtesy of an Internet archive site. One can’t simply erase things from the Internet, no matter how much money one has.
My name would be forever linked to Expose Club and its sexcapades. Great way to kickstart my career. Although, now that I’d quit the silly job I’d had writing the advice column at The Reporter, I didn’t have much of a career to speak of.
Earlier, I’d attempted to get back into the newsroom to clean out my desk, but HR had already deactivated my keycard and security wouldn’t let me set foot inside the building. Not that I expected to find anything if they had let me in, because I was sure Alec had already thrown all of my stuff in the trash.
To console myself, I’d bundled up and climbed onto my fire escape with a cup of hot chocolate teeming with marshmallows and a shot of my grandma’s brandy. But even that didn’t do the trick, because the taste reminded me that I should have just found out what the surprise hot chocolate was about that day, instead of getting further entangled with Wyatt Palmer.
Without warning, tears slid down my cheeks. This would be my first Christmas alone. A vision of my tiny, white-haired grandma floated in front of my eyes. Damn, I missed her. If she were here, she would have kicked me into next week and said I’d brought this on myself. And she would have been right. If you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned. She would also have said Wyatt didn’t deserve me, and she would have been right about that, too.
Jessica called and had invited me to Jamaica so I could spend Christmas with her and her family, but I’d declined. I wanted to be on my own, preferably for the rest of my life. And besides, who wanted to spend Christmas Day looking at my depressing face?
In the space of a week, I’d gone undercover in a sex club, was fingered to orgasm by a masked man, spanked and flogged, had interviewed a billionaire, fallen in love with the billionaire, found out the billionaire was the masked man who had fingered me to orgasm, had my name on a front-page story, and then I’d lost the billionaire and my job. Eat your heart out Bridget Jones. Merry fucking Christmas to me.
I drained my cup and climbed through my bedroom window into my apartment. I yawned. ‘Twas the night before Christmas and I was ready to go to bed at eight, and if I had my way, I’d sleep right through until December 26th.
***
Sleep didn’t come, so after tossing and turning fruitlessly for far too long, at five am I finally gave up and rolled out of bed. I dragged my duvet into the sitting room and switched on the TV. Typical, The Office Christmas special was on. The thought of watching it made me queasy, even though I used to love, just like everything else about that show. Now it would be forever tainted by bad memories.
Why did I have to go and ruin my favorite TV show along with everything else about my life? I switched the TV off and tossed my remote to the floor.
To pass the time, I tortured myself by Googling photos off Wyatt. Smiling Wyatt with his arms around kids at a charity event. Serious Wyatt wearing glasses and a suit. Animated Wyatt on stage in front of thousands. Relaxed Wyatt on a beach with a surfboard under his arm.
An hour and three mugs of hot chocolate later, I shut down my laptop.
A knock rattled my front door. It was probably Jean and Fred, my neighbors across the hal
l, coming to wish me a Merry Christmas before they went to early morning church. Since my grandma passed, they liked to check in on me to make sure I was eating, plus they worried about me spending the holiday alone.
I wrapped my duvet around my body and shuffled towards the door. I plastered a smile on my face and opened up, but there was no one there. What was there was a snow-white envelope wrapped in a gold bow.
I picked it up, and after I’d removed the bow, I tore the envelope open. Inside was a note that read: Dress warmly and come downstairs. Please forgive me, W.
My heart threatened to melt and need rolled through me, but I shoved both away and crumpled the note. How could I hate someone so much and want them so much at the same time?
He wouldn’t even take my phone calls, and he’d blocked my emails. He’d treated me like I was a contagious disease he didn’t want to catch, so why should I forgive him?
I glanced back at my empty apartment and contemplated staying at home and stuffing my face with holiday candy. That’s what my mind wanted, but my heart and body wanted something entirely different.
Screw it, since I’d already lost everything, I had nothing else to lose by hearing him out.
***
I didn’t make too much of an effort with my appearance. Skinny jeans and a flannel shirt weren’t very festive, but my desire to celebrate vanished when Alec published the interview with my name on the byline.
I’d fixed my hair in a messy top knot and misted my skin with perfume. The bruised circles around my eyes showed I needed three straight days of sleep. I wished Jessica were home to work her magic, or at least make me look less zombie-esque.
Hoping I didn’t look too horrible, I quickly left my apartment. A fresh blanket of snow covered the pavements, but thanks to the sanitation department, the roads were already clear.
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