The game continues and half-time comes and goes without incident. Ibila had an incredible show that entertained the crowd. But there is an eerie calm over the fans and I can feel the tension in the box building. I get the feeling that everyone in the box had expected some dramatic announcement that I would do the interview during half-time. Mr. Hirsch even asked if I wanted to make a quick trip to the locker room. I refused. I’m standing my ground. I’m also trying to ignore the angry stares in the box by watching the game on one of the televisions hanging on a wall next to me. At half-time, the Blazers were leading by seven, but since they’ve taken the field again, the Crusaders have been gaining on them. They are now tied.

Anne has been playing on her phone and looking out into the field. She’s been silent for some time along with everyone else. She turns to me, “Hal has texted me. Brett is busting his ass out there for you. You might think he’s in this for his career, but Hal tells me you’re his real motivation. He couldn’t get his game together in practice after the video. The whole interview thing with you was a ruse to get Brett on top of his game, Lexi. This scandal seems to have hurt Brett so much. I don’t know, but I’m starting to believe he didn’t leak those videos.”

“Tsk. I’m sure Hal is ready to text you anything to help Brett’s career. Besides, it doesn’t matter if he didn’t leak the videos. He still cheated on me with that tart, Izzy Avery.”

“It’s been a rough time,” Clarissa agrees. “I don’t blame you, Lexi. But I got to ask, the night you did it in the art gallery, was that during my show or after my show?”

I furrow my brow, “Clarissa, what on earth are you talking about?”

Clarissa turns scarlet. “Forgive me. But once I heard all the websites were taking it down, I had to watch.” Anne purses her lips. “Not so much for you,” says Clarissa quickly, noticing my and Anne’s expressions. “But come on. When will I see that cock in action again?”

I burst out laughing, so does Anne. “Okay,” Anne says. “I watched it, too. That thing in the booth was in the art gallery?” Anne asks Clarissa.

“Yeah, I just wanted to know if they had the audacity to do it during my show.” Clarissa chuckles.

“Wait a sec, wait a sec,” I begin, flustered. “Brett never recorded us in the back of the gallery. What the hell was on that video?”

“Two scenes,” says Clarissa. “One with you two in the booth. The other one is his bedroom. You haven’t watched it yet?”

“No.” The wheels in my mind turn at a frantic pace. “I thought there was something else on the video.”

“What do you mean?” Clarissa asks.

“There was a night we had in the back of a limo,” I mutter, thinking of the first time Brett and I were together. I had it in my mind that a graphic video of my cooch was out there for all the world to see. “There were just those two scenes?”

“Yeah.” Anne chuckles. “I don’t know what everyone’s making a fuss about. You can’t see much of the two of you anyway. The one video in the bedroom is too dark and the one in the art gallery booth is too wobbly.”

My lips press together in a gash of anger. “The reason why that video is wobbly is because Brett and I didn’t tape that. Someone else did.”

Anne and Clarissa look at me, “What?” they say in unison.

“I’m betting that whoever did is the asshole that released all the video.” I scowl. “Before Brett and I left that night, we found a gold chain with a horseshoe charm on it in the room we were in.”

“Who else was there that night that would do that?” Clarissa asks. “There weren’t any paps there. It was an exclusive event. Tickets were bought in advance.”

I sigh in frustration. “Jade Stolt was there that night. I ran into her in the art gallery’s bathroom. We had a bit of a confrontation. She confessed that she had been giving sexual favors to some of the bigwigs at the network.”

“Ew.” Anne sticks out her tongue. “Some of those guys are ancient.”

“Icky,” Clarissa says, shivering, “sucking and fucking old balls.”

“Yeah, this situation is all sorts of wrong,” I say angrily, my fists clenching.

“Oh my god!” Clarissa squeals pointing to one of the flat screens.

I turn to see a clip of Jade doing an interview with Tristan Huckle, during Media Week. “Ugh, that douchebag. I can’t believe Jade gave him airtime.” I roll my eyes as I hear Tristan talk about his ‘beautiful wife.’

“No,” Anne says, eyes bulging, “look at what she’s wearing!”

I turn to the screen again and see that Jade is wearing a gold chain with a horseshoe charm. That bitch!

“But that means Jade would have managed to break into Brett’s apartment,” Anne says confused. “How would she have known you and Brett were videotaping yourselves? How would she have known where to look?”

I’m puzzled. Why would Jade go to Brett’s apartment and not mine? Did she know where Brett lived?

“Hey. Wait!” Clarissa jumps up from the couch. “I got it! Izzy Avery dated Brett, right?”

“Yeah, they were on and off for a while it seems.” I shrug.

“Don’t you remember what Hannah Fray said the night we went to that fashion show, Lexi? She said that Izzy had ‘all the keys to New York.’ Hannah meant it literally. Jade and Izzy were both in on this. I’ve seen them together at clubs. They’re good friends.”

I sit, my face frozen in shock. It makes sense. Izzy and Jade do know each other. Who else could get inside Brett’s apartment? After having dated a year, it would be logical that she had a key … or possibly made an extra copy. It also explains why no video from the phone was ever made public. When Brett replaced his phone, the service may have erased the data from his old phone.

Then another thought crosses my mind. I snap my fingers. “That all makes sense. The night the Blazers played in Chicago! After the game, I waited outside the locker room for Brett, Jade came out acting weird. Almost nervous. She took Brett’s phone. She had planned this for months.”

Anne says, throwing her hands up in the air, “That’s it. I’m texting Hal. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m going to ask him where the hell Brett was after he left Times Square. Izzy may have been in Brett’s apartment, but I don’t think he was.” Anne pulls out her phone and begins texting at a feverish pace. A minute later, she has a response. “Interesting,” says Anne as she reads it. “Hal says that Brett spent much of the night waiting outside of your apartment, Lexi. After that, he went to Hal’s place to spend the night to stay away from the paparazzi.”

“Hm.” I pull out my phone. “If he did, I’m sure he would have texted me.” I unblock him and scroll through the countless messages he’s left me. I search all the way back to New Year’s Eve. There are several messages after midnight. Some of which were written around the time I tried to see him. Anne and Clarissa watch me intently, waiting. Some I had already seen. But then there are more explaining that he’s waiting outside my apartment and not to go to his apartment. Later, he tells me he has gone to Hals and has given Hal’s address, asking me to stop by there.

“This is insanity and Izzy and Jade are behind all of it.” I squeeze my phone tightly, stomping my foot on the ground.

“You’re the best in sports journalism and Jade wants to be,” Anne says. “She can’t win any awards or have her pick of interviews with you around, Lexi.”

“Yeah, and Izzy seems like the crazy-jealous type,” Clarissa says.

I get up from the couch and approach the window, still holding my phone. My eyes narrow on the section of the stadium reserved for the media. Jade’s in there somewhere. During Media Week, she did all the interviews with the big-name players of Crusaders, knowing her stunt had cost the Blazers their interviews. “That bitch.” I seethe. “If she wants to play dirty, I can do that.” I watch Brett as he fails to pass and is taken down by some Crusaders. Shit.

“Brett Brock seems a little off since half-time,” I hear an announcer say on one of the televisions nearby. “I hope that Lexi Driver is going to give him that interview he so sorely wants.”

I glance over to another television on the wall next to us. I’m on television. I can see the profile of my face as I stare up at the screens. I slowly turn my neck and face the camera. I smile and slowly lift my phone to my mouth. “Hello, Brett Brock,” I say to my phone—it’s not a mic, but I’m sure they get the idea.

“LEXI DRIVER HAS DECIDED TO DO THE INTERVIEW!” I hear several announcers say on all the flat screens surrounding us. I look back at Eddie Hirsch, an expression of relief falls on his face.

“’Bout damn time,” Anne says, teasing.

Eddie looks about the room and points to two large bodyguards that stand by the door. “Mr. Byron, Mr. Christie, will you please escort Miss Driver down to the Blazers’ locker rooms?” The two men stand on either side of me, “This way, Miss Driver,” Mr. Byron says, and the three of us leave the box. Though I can’t see them, the audience sounds fanatical. There’s lots of screaming and the walls that surround us are beating with the noise.

“Amazing what kind of impact a woman with a mic can have.” Mr. Christie chortles.

“Yeah.” Mr. Byron snickers. “And to think, all those athletes busted themselves for years to play in a Super Bowl where the biggest highlight wasn’t their plays, but a journalist deciding to do an interview.”

When I reach the locker room, Mike and Jax are there with the camera and the boom. Steve is standing next to them. “Lexi,” he begins sympathetically. “We are so sorry.”

I give him a stern expression, “Yes, I got your email, Steve. But I didn’t reply. Guess why I didn’t?”

“What’s it going to take?” he asks me.

“Two things; a raise, and fire Jade Stolt. She’s behind the leaked videos. I don’t want her to do another interview for the rest of this Super Bowl, Steve. Shonda Washington can take her place.”

Steve lips form a hard line, momentarily. “Done. I’ll find Jade now.”

“Wow.” Mike grins. “Don’t mess with Lexi Driver.”

“Damn right,” I say, feeling a burst of adrenaline pumping through me. But as Jax hands me my mic, it occurs to me that I have nothing prepared; I want to talk to Brett. I want to tell him I understand what happened wasn’t his fault and that he never spent the night with Izzy. But I’m sure the audience will want more than that. I panic. “Crap. I got to get some questions together.”

I use my phone and take a picture of myself with my mic with my jaw dropped. I scramble on to my online accounts and publish the picture to each one with the caption “What should I ask?!”

Within moments, my accounts are flooded with questions and I have to turn off my ringer and vibrate function. I scroll through them, frantically searching something interesting. Unfortunately, nothing stands out. Most of them are questions about how Brock feels about me. But I don’t want to make the interview about our personal lives. There are several questions asking about how he felt going into the game today. Not the most exciting, but it’s better than nothing.

Steve comes back into the locker room with Hal at his side. Hal runs up to me. “Lord, am I glad you changed your mind, Lexi. But did you have to hold out this long?”

“Sorry, Hal. I suppose I can be fickle.”

“Steve and I talked to Dietrick. He’s going to pull Brett out into the sidelines. You all right with that?”

“So long as he is.” As Hal leaves to organize the interview, I continue to look down at my phone and all the comments on my WeTweet. I see a question from Bizzymama16. Wait. That’s familiar. Who is that? I pause for a moment.

“That’s Dana!” I yell out.

“What?” says Steve. “Who’s Dana?”

“Uh, um, no one,” I stammer. “Just looking through some questions.”

“You need to get out there, Lexi. They are going to call Brett in. It’s got to be a quick interview, though. This is the Super Bowl. It’s not often interviews are given during the game with players.”

“I know, Steve. I’ll make it quick.” I run through the large entrance tunnel, looking down at the question Dana has posted onto my WeTweet.