Chapter 28

Becka

I pulled open the blinds and my mouth dropped. “What the fuck,” I said, more to myself than to Lisa, though she stood right beside me. “What are all of those people doing down there?”

“They’re reporters,” she said gently. “Look, there are news vans all along the perimeter.” I looked. Every major news station in town was there. Radio stations, too. They were all milling around, talking to each other, their iPads out, some speaking into cameras, it looked like a complete mob scene. They were all standing what I’m sure they’d been told was the closest they were allowed to the front door of my building.

“Oh my God,” I said.

“What have you gotten us into here, Becka?” she asked. “This is more than just doing some casual research into the company you work for. It’s more than just you dating a billionaire—or two—” she couldn’t resist. “This is, like, major celebrity paparazzi or something. What haven’t you told me?”

I was still absolutely stunned as I looked out the window. Someone shouted “She’s there!” and a flutter went through the crowd, there had to be a hundred, maybe more, reporters on the ground, all looking up at the same time, cameras flashing. I dropped the blinds as quickly as I could and stepped away from the window, pulling Lisa with me, as if they could still see me through the blinds.

I had told Lisa the truth about everything earlier, about how Oliver and Ethan were brothers, and about how Neurotova was under investigation for animal cruelty, about how Oliver was at risk. But, I hadn’t mentioned much about Ethan when we talked before. Now, I filled her in on his piece of it. Not just that they were brothers, but that I had no choice but to suspect them equally of everything that was happening. That when she had dropped me off at Oliver’s house the other night, I had been greeted by Ethan, not Oliver, and that I had spent the evening being certain that Ethan had killed Oliver, or hurt him in some way, until he was able to convince me otherwise.

“You’re living in a fucking spy novel,” Lisa said, shaking her head. She hugged me. “I’m so sorry. But why was Oliver even back in the house? What happened?”

“When I got home from his house, I opened the door and thought he was you. I have no idea how he got into the house, but I had no idea how Ethan had gotten into Oliver’s house either. Apparently these two are magicians or something. He explained everything, that he had needed to leave the country to get away from the press,” I gestured out the window, “something that makes a whole lot more sense now, and he hadn’t contacted me because he hadn’t wanted me involved.

All of that sounded very plausible and I was on board with forgiving him, again, until this morning when I woke up and both he and my research were gone!”

I smacked my forehead with my palm. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

There was a knock at the door. Both Lisa and I looked at it as if we’d never heard such a sound before. Lisa shushed me and stealthily walked across the living room. She looked through the peephole. She turned back.

“It’s a reporter,” she mouthed. I shook my head and collapsed on the couch. We were surrounded. “Go away!” she yelled through the door. “No comment, or whatever! We’re not talking to anyone. Get away from our door!”

“Lisa, stop,” I said, “don’t even give them that much.” I could tell Lisa was getting pissed, and I didn’t blame her. She wasn’t involved in any of this, and yet here she was, trapped like a rat in her own home, unable to go to work or even look out the window.

She stalked past me and opened the blinds, slid open the window. Like an amoeba, the entire mass of reporters moved as one, cameras and faces angled upwards and the sound of clicks was deafening, the flash of light blinding.

“Fuck off!” she yelled. “All of you, fuck off! Go away and leave me and my roommate alone. Go find some Ponzi schemer or some serial killer and leave us alone. Go find some real news!” And, she slammed the screen shut and dropped the blinds again.

I smiled in spite of myself, in spite of the look of pure rage in her eyes.

“Go find a serial killer?” I asked.

“Well,” she paused, searching for something more to say, coming up with nothing. “Yes! I mean, fucking fuck! We’re two grad students. Surely there’s more interesting news out there.”

“Actually,” I said, “unfortunately I might be part of the most interesting news in a while.”

“Well, whatever,” she grumbled. “I mean, now I’m fucking blind from their stupid camera flashes.” She rubbed her eyes dramatically and, though I knew she was overdoing it a bit, I also knew that the black patches of light burns in both of our eyes were very real.

“Let’s do something to take our mind off of the vultures outside,” I suggested. “We used to want to have a day like this all the time, where we could hang out in our pajamas, watch movies, eat junk food all day, have some drinks, let’s just do that.”

Lisa hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, we don’t have a ton of food since today is grocery shopping day, but we’ve got enough crap to make it a good movie day. What do you want to watch? See what we just got from Netflix. Or we can always plug something in from Amazon.”

While Lisa went to get food and drinks from the fridge, I grabbed blankets from my bedroom and hers, along with a bunch of pillows. I was starting to feel at least a little better—as long as the reporters stayed outside and we stayed inside, I could pretend, at least for the time being, that they weren’t there.

I dropped all of the bedding and turned on the tv, not happy with the three Netflix discs we had on the coffee table. I thought we should watch something funny, some Will Ferrell something or other. I felt absolutely numb about both Oliver and Ethan.

It would be good for me to take my mind out of the crazy world I’d been existing in for some time. I realized as I set up our fort on the couch how completely out of touch I’d fallen with my old, normal life. It might have been a little on the boring side, but there was nothing wrong with it.

The words on the television hit me before the picture even turned on. I heard my name. Lisa and I both gazed as the picture came into focus on our too old television. The scene was complete chaos, with the words “Breaking News” in huge type across the bottom.

A blond newscaster with enormous breasts was standing on the sidewalk outside my apartment. In a small picture in picture in the top right corner was a photograph of Oliver. In another small picture in picture in the top left corner was the moving image of Lisa, a moment ago, shutting the blinds. I sat on the couch and stared.

“We have just discovered that Rebecka Jasper, reported girlfriend and unconfirmed fiancée of billionaire Oliver Weeks, is, in fact, hiding out inside her fifth floor apartment. We have confirmation from people who know her that the shadow who closed the blinds was Ms. Jasper.” At this, they showed a full screen rewind of Lisa closing the blinds.

“Dammit!” I swore at the screen. “That’s not even me!” I glared at Lisa. “And Oliver and I are not engaged! Not even close!”

“I love that they caught me saying they should go hunt a serial killer,” she giggled. “I’m sorry, but that’s hilarious.”

“Yeah, they cut that part out, though, so it looks like it was me in the frame, not you. Now, shh, I want to hear what they’re saying.”

The newscaster had been going on about whatever the breaking news element was. “This reporter has received an anonymous tip that, not only is Becka Jasper one of the ringleaders in Weeks’ criminal escapades, but also that there is a rift beginning between them.”

The blond woman leaned into the camera as if she was sharing a juicy secret that she had just learned and couldn’t wait to clue in her best friends. All millions of them. “We have confirmation that Becka has been working overtime trying to discredit Oliver Weeks and Neurotova because of no other reason that the world’s oldest conflict between lovers: plain and simple jealousy.”

“What is that bitch even talking about?” I said. “She’s not making sense.”

“It’s been known for a long time that Oliver Weeks is a playboy, always being seen with a different woman on his arm. No one is sure how long Ms. Jasper has been in the picture, but it must have made her very angry when Mr. Weeks continued to date other women and take them out to his more important public function.”

She pouted as if she was thinking poor Rebecka, poor Becka with no friends who thinks her boyfriend likes her. Then, as if out of nowhere, she held up a document and my chin dropped. It was a file of my research.

“Not only that,” she continued. “It appears as though Ms. Jasper has been secretly gathering materials that will lead to the downfall of Neurotova. We have boxes of documents such as this,” she said, dropping her voice as if keeping it secret from the crowd around her that was still gathering.

These were dropped off at KSTFN early this morning by our source. I must say, there are some very juicy details in these files, and there’s enough information, financial and otherwise, that could bring ruin to a lot of the higher up at Neurotova, to Oliver Weeks, and, of course, to the woman causing it all, Rebecka Jasper.

And, we must say, if Rebecka Jasper is taking the ultimate revenge as a woman scorned, even though she may well get implicated and arrested herself in the process, well played, Ms. Jasper. Well played.” The newscaster smiled her fake newscaster smile and began a slow clap, her microphone tucked under her arm.

“Shut this shit off,” I said. I stood up and went to the kitchen. I got a bottle of wine from the cabinet and opened it, pouring a glass. I downed the first glass and then poured another. I heard Lisa behind me.

“Not gonna drink alone, are you?” she asked, her hand on my arm. I shook my head.

“What the fuck is happening around here? If Oliver stole the research, why on earth would he turn it over to the media? It’ll ruin him. And jealousy? I don’t even know what the hell is going on anymore!” I yelled in complete frustration and threw my glass across the wall. It shattered, and, at the same time, the doorbell rang and a loud knock sounded on the door at the same time.

“Who the fuck is that?” I yelled, not to answer the door, but to Lisa, though she was standing right beside me.

“Don’t worry about it; I’ll take care of it.” Lisa ran to the door and looked through the peep hole. “Fucking Jesus,” she muttered. Then, in a louder voice, she yelled, “Get away from our door, you vultures! This is private property! I’ll call the police on you! You have exactly ten seconds to get your cameras and your goons and get the fuck off of our doorstep!”

She turned to me. “We need to call the cops,” she said; this is ridiculous.

I grabbed my phone and flipped it open. I was ready to dial 911 when my phone lit up.

“Well what the fuck,” I said as I answered the phone.