Page 85 of Just the Tipsy
Mom shifts gears and starts telling me about their latest vacation and some event that she went to that had a bunch of drama. It’s nice to just listen to her talk about something that isn’t related to Jepsen or my life at all.
“We’ve got dinner reservations, so I have to go get ready,” Mom says eventually. “But tell us when you’re moving. We have a few things planned and we want to make sure we’re there when you need us.”
I don’t need the pressure to figure out when I’m leaving, but I know Mom means well. “Okay, I will.”
We say our goodbyes and I hang up. Sadie is lightly snoring on my chest, which soothes the bits of nerves left over. I’m not sure what kind of magic my mom does to make everything seem like it’s going to be okay, but Ialmostfeel like I’ll be able to sort all of this out and mend my shattered heart.
I turn on the TV and let it play some show I don’t have to pay too much attention to. It’s a good distraction until Mom’sPR company’s name pops up on my phone. My stomach leaps up into my chest.
“Hi, Bianca?” Flo says. Her grave tone makes my stomach flip upside down.
“Yes, hi.”
“Do you have a second?” Flo asks.
“Yep. I’m guessing it’s bad, so feel free to just drop it on me,” I say.
“Some personal photos of you and less than flattering texts have been leaked online. The source isn’t clear, yet, though.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose. I expect a rush of tears coming to my eyes, but I just feel empty.
“Can you send them over?” I ask, even though there’s only one person who could have leaked them. “I can pin down the source based on that.”
“Sure, just a second.” I hear her typing on her end. “Check your inbox. The photos aren’t more than what you’d wear on a swimsuit shoot, to be honest. The texts are more damning.
I grab my laptop and open my email. The photos attached are exactly the ones that I knew they’d be — the ones I’d sent to Kyler and wished I’d never sent, even though they aren’t too racy. Somewhere deep in my gut I knew that he’d probably try to use this against me, no matter how tame they are in comparison to my normal modeling photos.
The texts, which I sent right after those pics, are a whole lot worse, though.
I remember the day I sent them — Kyler had texted yet another girl that I “didn’t need to worry about,” some up and coming model. In a jet-lagged, crabby state, I let it rip on her, dragging her and calling her everything I could think of before laying into Kyler. I don’t even want to read them.
It wasn’t my finest moment, but knowing the context at least makes it make some sense. But still. It’s not a good look, and attaching the photos with the texts make it hard to deny it’s me.
“I jinxed it, Sadie. Of course Kyler wouldn’t leave me alone.” I blow out a breath and she puts her paws on my chest, licking my chin. “He literally said that he’d fuck me over, didn’t here?”
Sadie just curls up against me and sighs, like she’s tired too.
Maybe this is something that could blow over, but if Kyler is on a revenge kick, he could blow it up more. It’s not the way I wanted to start my time in New York, but it might have to be.
TWENTY-EIGHT
WAYLON
The one upside towork being slammed is that I barely have time to think about Bianca. I still do, of course, but I need to focus most of the time.
Shit gets darker whenever I go home. There’s only so much working out and organizing and studying I can do. I’ve slept like shit since then because my thoughts keep spinning until I just pass out.
Today has been a little slower, with routine appointments and treatments all day. It’s given me more time to think than I’d like. But my last two appointments seem more involved than the ones I’ve had all day without the issues the pets are facing being life-threatening. At least there’s that to look forward to.
“Your last two appointments rescheduled,” Marisol says about fifteen minutes before my second to last appointment.
“Oh.” Great. I run my hands through my hair and check my watch. I don’t want to spend even more time at home. “I can stay until close for emergency walk-ins, if you need me to.”
“Okay, sure.” Marisol shrugs and doesn’t ask anymore questions.
I work on my paperwork and prepare for tomorrow, snagging one of the rescue kittens to cuddle while I do. I’m just twentyminutes away from wrapping up when Marisol pops her head into the back.
“Dr. Stryker, we have a last minute appointment,” she says, glancing between me and the lobby down the hall. “It’s Catherine and Buttons.”
