Chapter Twenty-Five

Chastity

Only a few hours had passed, and already someone had spoken to the press. My blood was boiling as I read about my pregnancy in the tabloids. Read about it before I’d fully come to grasps with it myself or decided who got to have that information.

“A trusted source,” I muttered to myself. “Trusted by whom? Son of a bitch. I cannot believe this.”

Only a few people knew about the pregnancy, and since I hadn’t started to show yet, it didn’t leave many options about the culprit. It was a pretty narrow suspect list. Of course, the doctor’s office could have spoken to the press, but the reason I chose them was because they apparently worked with famous clients and never, ever spilled the beans to the press. They were trusted to be discreet by some of the biggest names in New York City and had never, to my knowledge, broken confidence – and that wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

That left only one other possible explanation.

I stepped out of my office and saw that Patrick was out. Glancing at the clock, I realized that it was his normal lunch time. Which was good for me. I sat down at his desk and glanced around. He kept everything neat and tidy – no loose papers, nothing personal on his desk except a photo of the two of us with my ex, Charles, at New York Fashion Week a few years back.

I cringed at the photo every time I saw it, and asked him why he hadn’t taken it down. Patrick insisted that even though Charles was in the past, he still looked amazing in the photo and it brought back good memories for him. When he explained it to me, I really couldn’t fault him for that. Or at least I didn’t think I could.

But now, I was suspicious there was more to it than that. A whole lot more.

I opened the top drawer of his desk and found a phone. My work phone. The phone I usually kept in my desk. I picked it up, and double checked it, making sure it was actually mine and that I wasn’t just jumping to conclusions. It was on, so I used my passcode and got right in.

It was odd, but not damning in and of itself. Patrick sometimes borrowed my phone to send texts for me when I needed some help. But, the last time I’d seen the phone, it had been in my desk. I couldn’t recall giving it to him for any reason, but I couldn’t say that I hadn’t, either. I’d been a bit unfocused and scatterbrained lately – something I attribute to everything going on in my world. Everything pulling me in a thousand different directions.

I called up the menu and looked at all the calls made – nothing in the last few days. Nothing I couldn’t account for, anyway.

Next, I opened the text messages, expecting it to be empty too. But, I was surprised when I opened it and saw a familiar number. The name was J.A, but I knew Jordan’s number by heart. Opening up the message, I read the texts that had been sent – apparently, from me – and dropped the phone on the floor as I realized why Jordan was at the Barclay and why he was naked in the pics.

He’d been set up.

I hurried and bent down, picking the phone back up, and typed out a quick message to Jessa – whose numbers had also been saved in the phone.

It’s Patrick. Come by the office ASAP. We need to talk.

I waited, with bated breath, to see if she’d respond to Patrick – or this number. A rage started building within me, seeing that it only took her a second before she responded.

Everything okay? I’ll be there in five minutes, I’m nearby.

I told her everything was fine, then waited. I glanced up at the clock again, and estimated that Patrick would be out for at least twenty more minutes. If Jessa was really nearby, I could get my answer before Patrick got back. Then I could fire both their asses while they were standing in front of me.

*

Jessa waltzed through the front door, a smile on her face like she didn’t have a care in the world. She had a few bags with her from nearby boutiques and she was grinning from ear-to-ear. When she saw me sitting at Patrick’s desk, however, her expression fell. She looked around, seemingly lost, trying to find the quickest route out of the building.

A few moments later though, she sighed in resignation and looked like she’d just smelled something awful. She tried to calm herself though and cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and looked down her nose at me, trying to regain that air of confidence and an almost regal nature.

“Is Patrick out?” she asked.

“He’s at lunch,” I said, standing up. “But how about we chat for a few minutes, Jessa? Mind coming into my office?”

Her eyes were suddenly wide and she looked scared, but she nodded and followed me into my office. I closed the door behind us and then walked over toward my desk before turning around and staring at her. Smoothing down my skirt as I sat down in the chair behind my desk, I forced myself to remain calm.

“Is this about Jordan and me at the Barclay?” Jessa said. “Because if so, I’m sorry – I thought y’all were just friends or something, I had no idea –”

“Oh shut up, Jessa,” I said, rolling my eyes. I crossed my arms in front of my chest as I let my gaze bore into her. “I know you two really didn’t hook up that night after the gala – or any night since. And I know for a fact that this little bout of melodrama was a trap. I know that you set Jordan up.”

Her mouth snapped shut, as if she’d sealed it, likely afraid to say anything else that might incriminate her.

“I found this,” I said, dropping my work phone on the desk. “I know you’ve been pretty popular since the news broke. I heard that you even managed to get a few new gigs. All thanks to the free publicity. What do you think would happen if I showed the media what really went on? How many jobs would you get then?

“I didn’t – I mean, it wasn’t my doing,” she stammered. “I didn’t really have a choice. Please, you have to believe me.”

I knew I had her. Or rather, I had Patrick. I stared at her, remaining quiet to make it even more uncomfortable. Oftentimes, the silence is enough to get people talking, just to avoid the awkwardness. And in doing so, they incriminate themselves.

And Jessa, the poor, simple, sweet girl she was, fell right into my hands.

“It was Patrick’s idea. I had no idea what was happening, I swear,” she said, throwing her hands up in surrender. “He paid me to do it. I didn’t want to and feel like total shit right now for going along with it, but I needed the cash and didn’t have a whole lot of other options.”

“He paid you?”

“Well, he didn’t – but someone else did,” she said. “Please, Chastity, whatever you do – I can’t lose these gigs. I can’t lose my career.”

“Maybe you should think about your career more before you climb into bed with somebody to do some evil shit,” I said. “Somebody else paid you? Who? And did they mention why they wanted to do any of this?”

She shrugged. “I guess they wanted to ruin your reputation.”

“They?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, him and Charles Mackenzie,” she said. “Of C. Mac –”

“I know who he is,” I spat.

Hearing my ex’s name in conjunction with Patrick’s confirmed my fears. It wasn’t just paranoia – Patrick actually was working with my ex to undermine and destroy me. As I sat there, taking it all in and turning it over in my mind, I realized that it all made sense.

I heard the front office door open and close, and I had a feeling I knew who it was.