Page 8 of Falling Into Forever
I was wrong.
“How does the rest of your family feel about the smut you write?”
My balled-up fists ache, and the blood pooling in my palm burns like acid. I’ve hit my wall, and this bitch is going down.
“I’m no more ashamed of what I write than you are to admit you got this job because of Daddy. Must be nice having the backing of Will Malimar. I’m sure he opened many doors for you. But to answer your question, because you’re a desperate woman willing to sabotage another to accomplish your own selfish goals, Miss Henshaw, I’ll tell you this.”
I lean in like I’m about to give her some juicy gossip, then stare straight into the camera and say, “Go grab a ten-inch dildo, the kind with suction cups on the balls, and then stick it to Daddy’s desk. That’s the only kind of fucking over either of you are getting from me. This interview is over.”
* * *
“You toldthe daughter of Will Malimar, owner of Malimar Media, to sit on a ten-inch dildo, live, while promoting children’s literacy. Now they’ve spliced the video so it looks like you’re talking about children with dildos. This is exactly what they wanted. They will bury you, Sassy. What the hell were you thinking?”
What wasIthinking? I told her this was a bad idea. I scan my small bookstore that always calms my chaos, or at least wrestles it into submission enough that I can focus.
Ainsley squints her eyes into slits next to me as she watches her computer screen. My big sister, by a whole two minutes, is as gentle as they come, except when it comes to me. She’s always been a worrier, but losing our entire family by the time we were twenty-two has made her obsessive about my safety.
When we were younger, I swear I could hear her unspoken words in my head, but not anymore. It’s a side effect of shutting down and spending my days actively trying to avoid emotions. But sometimes, like now, I miss that connection.
I catch a glimpse of the views over Ainsley’s shoulder. They’re pouring in on Rebecca’s interview. One thousand. Ten thousand. A million.
And rising.
How much is Malimar spending on advertising this shit?
Ainsley’s pale face is a sickly gray color.
“You’ve gone viral, Sassy—viral for the wrong reasons,” Kate says with slightly less bitterness. “We knew Malimar wanted to make an example of you for daring to leave his company, and you handed it to him on a silver platter. Now he’s…”
We’ve all heard how he punishes those who go against him, and Kate was right. He’s waging a war against me to set an example for anyone else who dares to even think about leaving him. He’s taking it as a personal affront and has the means to make this spiral until I won’t be able to show my face anywhere.
Thank God for Grady Reid Esq. and his uncanny ability to tear apart a contract everyone thought was ironclad. Hopefully, all his hard work won’t be for nothing, but it’s not helping to secure my future.
“I’m heading to your godforsaken town in the morning,” she grumbles. “Do not talk to anyone until I get there. Do not make any public statements. And for once in your life, put a fucking lid on the sass and do as you’re fucking told.”
“No. You don’t have to—”
“Sassy, so help me God. Close the store and sit tight. You’re in desperate need of an image rehab, and there’s only one person with enough magic in his arsenal to fix this shit. Just, please.” Her tone is softer than I’ve ever heard from her. “I’ll be there soon.”
My scalp tingles like a bad omen—I’m in over my head here.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” Ainsley says, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I instantly go stiff. Hugging gives the sensation of spiders crawling under my skin, not because I don’t like to be touched, but because it’s a prelude to feelings, and I can’t allow those emotions to penetrate my armor. I spend every moment of every day trying to lock those suckers away—it’s the only way to keep myself safe. And if I don’t outwardly share what’s happening in my heart and mind, it’ll hurt less when I fail.
Ainsley and I couldn’t be more different. She has the patience and grace I’ve never been able to hold on to. She’s soft to my hard, loving to my cold heart, empathetic to a fault, and I—well, it’s better for everyone if I keep all my feelings to myself. I love her dearly, but we are not the same.
Maybe she should have done the interview in my place.
“Won’t be so bad?” I choke out before I can grab the anger that’s become my security blanket. Anger is safe. Anger keeps people at bay, allowing safe harbor in my home and bookstore. “How can you say that? Malimar is turning the world against me, so even if I can write something, and Holiday House buys it, no reader will touch it.”
The cold hands of fear embrace me like the grim reaper.
“Without readers…” A gulp jerks my chin to my chest. “Holiday won’t take a chance on me. If this snowballs, I could lose my bookstore, Ains.”
My throat closes as I scan the little store that’s always been my dream. It’s the one thing that gives me hope. “This is my entire life—the only place I fit in. If I lose it…”
“Sass.” She turns the screen my way. Shoulder to shoulder, we watch as the comments roll in under Rebecca’s post.
Ainsley clicks another button, and TMZ pops up with interview clips. Another browser, another site. The combination of my overnight success five years ago, my reclusive nature, and the ridiculous popularity of Rebecca’s show has catapulted me into the spotlight. It also doesn’t help that Malimar’s vendetta means filtering it out through all his media outlets on a loop.
