Emily
I bounce out to the waiting limo and see trusty Alan standing beside it. He opens the door. “Good morning, Alan.”
He nods. “Morning.”
I frown and get in. He’s not in a very good mood today. The door closes behind me, and I look around for the paper.
Hmm . . . Jameson must have taken it with him this morning. I’m still sleepy and lethargic. There’s a lot to be said for morning exercise-it definitely wakes you up for the day. I put my head back and close my eyes as we roll through the traffic.
What feels like ten minutes later, the car comes to a halt and switches off. I glance up. We are out in front of my apartment building. Huh?
Alan opens the door.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Mr. Miles instructed me to drop you here this morning.”
“What . . . why?”
“He suggested that you have the day off.” He gestures with his hand for me to get out of the car.
“Huh?” I frown. “What’s going on, Alan?”
“I’m not sure, but Mr. Miles said that he didn’t want you to come into the office and that he will be in touch.”
I screw up my face. “Be in touch-what does that mean? Why can’t I go to the office? I’m confused.”
“You need to get out of the car, Emily,” he asserts.
“What?”
He gestures again with his hand, and I get out in a huff.
“Has something happened?” I stammer as I brush past him. “Is Jameson all right?”
“You need to speak to him, Emily.”
“Fine, I will,” I snap as I take out my phone and dial his number.
“Goodbye, Emily,” Alan says before getting into the limo and quickly pulling out.
Jameson’s phone rings out. I call again . . . it goes straight to voice mail. He’s switched it off.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, annoyed.
I go to call Sammia, his PA, but then realize that it’s only eight o’clock-she isn’t even at work yet.
What the hell is going on? I cross the street and half walk, half run to the corner paper stall. I see the front page of the Gazette, and the blood drains from my face as I see a half-page picture of Jake and me kissing.
“Dear God,” I whisper. I read the story.
Jameson Miles-Media Guru’s Fall from Grace
In what appears to be the final nail in Jameson Miles’s media coffin, his fiancée, Emily Foster, has been having a secret affair. The two have been spotted in various locations and were snapped holidaying in Italy two months ago. Leaked bank statements released today prove that Jameson Miles has been embezzling money and transferring it to an offshore account. The board is expected to fire him as CEO of Miles Media today, and criminal charges will be laid. Looks like Emily Foster jumped ship just in time.
What?
My hand goes over my mouth in horror.
Oh my God, poor Jameson. “I’m not his fiancée, you fucking idiots,” I sneer. “How many things can you possibly fuck up in one story?”
I turn and begin to storm back to my apartment as I redial his number with a sense of urgency.
“Hey,” the paper man calls out to me. “You didn’t pay for that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize as I rush back to pay. “I was distracted. Thank you.”
Jameson’s phone goes straight to voice mail once more.
What do I do? What do I do? My shoulder slams into a man as he walks past.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” he calls.
“Sorry,” I stammer.
I dial Tristan’s number.
“Hi, Em.”
“Tristan, what the hell is going on?” I cry.
“We’re in meetings; I’ll call you later.”
“What?”
He hangs up.
“Ahhh,” I cry. My eyes fill with tears of frustration.
He wouldn’t believe it. Surely, he knows it’s not true . . . but there’s a photo as evidence.
I dial Molly’s number.
“Hey, chick, do you want a coffee?” she asks chirpily.
“Molly,” I cry in relief that someone answers their damn phone. “Oh my God, it’s all lies.” I stop on the spot on the busy sidewalk and move to the side up against the building to talk.
“What’s wrong?”
“The Gazette,” I stammer. “Google the Gazette. There’s an image on the front page of me kissing Jake, and it says we are having an affair.”
“What?”
“Somebody must have been following me, or . . .” I shake my head as I try and think of a logical explanation. “What the fucking hell is going on?” I whisper angrily.
“Holy shit.” She pauses. “I see it. Wait . . . when the fuck did you kiss Jake?”
“He kissed me last night,” I stammer. “I didn’t kiss him back, for fuck’s sake. Do you-”
“Hang on; I’m reading,” she interrupts me.
I put my hand over my face as I wait for her to read.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
“Alan brought me back to my apartment and told me not to come into work today.”
“What?”
“He said that Mr. Miles will contact me later.”
“Well, what did Jameson say?” she asks.
“He won’t answer his phone. I called Tristan, but he said they are in meetings, and he’ll call me later.”
“Holy . . . fucking . . . shit. This is bad.”
“You think?” I cry.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. What do I do?”
“Well, if Jameson told you to stay home, maybe you should.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t need more attention; it says here he’s been accused of theft.”
My eyes widen as I imagine the media storm that’s going to come from this.
“But what if he believes this?” I stammer. “I’ve never been with Jake. This is complete bullshit. I love him.”
“He said he will be in touch . . . he will be.”
I listen as my mind runs at a million miles an hour.
“You’re just going to have to wait.”
I screw up my face in tears. “You don’t think I should come in?”
“God, no. He doesn’t have time to worry about you too.”
“But I didn’t do this,” I whisper.
“I know. I’ll go up and see him in his office and tell him everything.”
“You will?” I whisper hopefully.
“If you come in, Em, the whole building is going to attack you.”
I put my hands over my face in horror as I imagine everyone waking up to this story this morning. I’m going to be Miles Media’s public enemy number one.
“I’m going to get into work and find out what the hell is going on, and I’ll call you back, okay?” she says.
I nod, my eyes filled with tears. I can’t believe this is happening. “Okay.”
“Go back to your apartment and wait. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” I whisper as I wait on the line. “Wait, what are you going to say to Jameson?”
“I’m just going to tell him the truth. I’ll call you back in half an hour.”
My shoulders slump. “Okay, thanks.” I hang up.
I walk from my kitchen and back to the living area. I turn and walk back the same route. It’s been forty minutes.
Jameson still isn’t answering his phone, and Molly hasn’t called me back.
What the fucking hell is going on over there?
I text Jameson a message.
Jay
I don’t know what the hell is going on.
That photo is a setup.
You know I love you and would
never do that.
Call me back, please.
I’m freaking out!!!
I throw my phone onto the lounge and continue my pacing. Why isn’t anyone calling me back?
I wait twenty minutes and then text Jameson again. My phone rings, and I scramble to answer it. It’s Molly.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t get in to see him; he was in a meeting with the solicitors,” she whispers. “He’s got bigger things to worry about at the moment, Em. He could go to prison.”
I frown. What? “Oh my God.”