Chapter Eighteen
“What in the hell is going on over there?” Joan’s voice made my pounding head throb even more. “I have ten messages from that rat bastard, Lucas, from LH Ink.”
Joan and Lucas Hirsch III, the CEO and the current LH in LH Ink, kind of had a romantic history but they despised each other now.
I sat on the hardwood floor of my office leaning against the wall in a state of shock. I didn’t want to move or talk to anyone. All I wanted to do was stare at my things. My things. Things that someone touched and photographed without my consent. I couldn’t muster the energy to cry or rage, though a hurricane stirred inside me. All I could allow myself to feel in that moment were the burns on my legs and my punctured foot that had been carefully wrapped by my husband, whose raised voice I could hear in the other room. Never once had I heard him raise his voice. It didn’t even sound like him. Nothing in that moment felt real.
“Delanie, are you there?”
“No.”
“Shake out of it, kid, we’ve got a mess to deal with. I need you to focus.”
My eyes drifted toward my red, angry legs. Peter had missed some of the blueberries when he cleaned them off. I thought of the perfect blueberry bake splattered all over my floor. Of course, the one time I made anything worth eating, the universe was thrown into disarray. A nonsensical laugh bubbled up and escaped.
“Del, are you okay?”
No, I wasn’t, but if I could bake, I could get through this. My laughter allowed for the tears to flow.
“Don’t crack up on me.”
“What’s a rat bastard?” I sniffled.
“There’s my girl. You keep that sense of humor; you’re going to need it. Now tell me what happened.”
I guess I would have to look up later what made the “rat” variety different from a run of the mill kind. “Here’s some advice you can take to the bank. Don’t ever tell your mother-in-law that you keep nude photos of yourself and her son locked in the attic. She might have sneaky little wenches for friends who’ve watched one too many episodes of Murder She Wrote and can pick locks with their hairpins.”
“They broke into your office?”
“Yes, and rifled through all my boxes and took pictures of everything Autumn Moone. Then posted them publicly and now they’re going viral.”
Joan was deathly quiet, which meant she was seething and probably formulating our strategy.
“Is LH Ink going to sue me for breach of contract?” Besides my privacy being obliterated, this was my biggest fear.
“Not if I have anything to say about it. You let me handle Lucas. Don’t talk to anyone from LH Ink. Not Fiona or Chad. Actually, don’t talk to anyone until we get a handle on this.”
“Okay, but the texts and messages have already been nonstop.” I’d heard at least thirty buzzes while I was on the phone.
“I’m afraid that’s going to be your life for the foreseeable future. We need to get you a new phone and make sure it’s unlisted.”
“Joan . . .”
“I know, kid, but we always knew this was a possibility.”
“I didn’t see myself being taken down by the Nancy Drew club.”
“I need their names.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re suing them for invasion of privacy.”
“Can we?”
“We can, and we will.”
“Money won’t replace what they’ve taken from me.”
“It’s not about the money. You can sue them for a dollar; I don’t care. It’s going to cost them a fortune and their good names to face me in court. What they did was wrong and illegal.”
“I’m going to have to think about it. As much as I hate my mother-in-law and her friends, I don’t need the headlines, and they are sure to come.”
“More than you know. Sorry, Del, this is going to be a whole new world for you. That’s why I need those names. At the very least we need to send them an order to cease and desist sharing those photos. With it will come a nasty letter from me telling them if they profit monetarily or otherwise from those photos they will wish they would have stuck to knitting.”
Tears streamed down my face.
“I can fly to Chicago this week if you need me to,” she offered.
“I appreciate that, but I need you in New York putting out the flames there.”
“Don’t worry your gorgeous head. It’s going to be nothing more than an ember by the time I’m done with that weasel, Lucas. I’ve been saving some dirt I have on him for a time like this. But, kid, you better write the best book of your life.”
Easier said than done. I’d never written well under pressure, and I had a feeling the pressure to come was going to be enough to squeeze all the creative juices out of me.
“Thanks, Joan.”
“Don’t thank me—do you know how much I charge when I work on the weekends?” She laughed.
“Go take a drive in your new Porsche.”
“You needed to put a little more edge into that, honey.”
“It’s all I have right now.” I let out a heavy breath.
“Del, I’m not going to lie to you and tell you this is going to be a cakewalk. It’s going to be more like a hell hole with no cake, not even a finger lick of frosting, but if anyone can get through it, it’s you and Peter.”
We did make a good team.
“Just remember, don’t do anything until you hear from me except send me those Mata Haris’ names.”
“You know Mata Hari was more than likely innocent?”
“You watch too many documentaries.”
That was probably true.
“Hang in there, kid, and tell your husband to say some prayers.”
If Joan thought God needed to be involved, it wasn’t good. She was more skeptical than me about his existence.
I hung up, not feeling any better, and with even more of a desire to stay in the attic away from what awaited me. I couldn’t bring myself to look online or to respond to Sam and Avery, who had each left several messages and texts. Hopefully they didn’t hate me for keeping this from them. I turned off my phone and set it next to me, clinging to the small vestiges I had left of my privacy.
Peter was still on the phone, and by his curt tone, it wasn’t hard to guess that he was still talking to his mother. Hate bubbled up in me.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Peter asked her exactly what I wanted to except I would have used some not so nice words. “We opened our home to you out of the kindness of our hearts, but for you it was a ploy.”
Did she ever play us for fools. She was a world class actress, making us believe she wanted to get to know me. All she cared about was getting into our attic. And for what? Did she really believe Peter would be married to someone involved in illegal activity? Maybe we should have lied and told them I had a trust fund from my deceased grandparents. Or maybe I shouldn’t have taunted her with the fake boudoir photos. But who could have guessed she would have gone this far to get what she wanted? I hoped she was satisfied now that she’d gotten what she wanted. Now that Peter and I were left to deal with the aftermath.
“I can’t say that I blame Dad for not speaking to you.”
That made me feel better. I was worried Joseph was in on it too.
“No, I won’t talk to him for you.”
She had a lot of nerve, but I already knew that.
“You will have to deal with the Mimsy situation on your own then. Ma, there are consequences to your actions. I should have been a better husband and not subjected my wife to you.”
Those were some bold words.
“Your apologies won’t repair the damage that you’ve done. Not only have you exposed my wife to the world, but there will probably be legal ramifications.”
My stomach twisted at the thought. Was it awful for me to hope that Joan had some persuasive dirt on Lucas?
“That’s because all you thought about was yourself.” His voice was getting testier. “Don’t go there. Did I look like I was unhappy? I’ve never been happier. Why couldn’t you accept that? Accept Delanie?”
That was the million-dollar question.
“Ma, what you’ve done has changed the course of this family, of my family. Now I need to go and check on my wife.” His voice cracked. There he was again, choosing between his mom and wife. This time, though, Sarah made it easy for him, and I think he hated that more than anything. If I wasn’t mistaken, I heard his phone hit the wall. I’d never seen him behave this way. I didn’t even know he had it in him.
Peter strode through the attic door looking for me, confused and maybe alarmed when he didn’t see me.
“Down here,” I eked out.
He turned to see me close to the door on the floor. His face was tight and red. His hair was more than disheveled. He must have run his hand through it dozens of times. His eyes gave me a once over. I must have looked pathetic sitting there in his T-shirt, bandaged, with red and blue marks running up and down my legs. His features immediately softened. “Baby.”
I patted the floor next to me.
He wasted no time taking the invitation and sat right next to me. His arm snaked around me. My head dropped on his shoulder. He kissed my head and lingered. Nothing was said for minutes. What could we say?
“You know this means I’m never cooking again,” I tossed out into the heavy air that hung between us, trying to lighten the moment.
Peter chuckled, albeit subdued. “Delanie, I’m—”
I placed my finger on his lips. “Don’t say it. This isn’t your fault. We always knew this day might come. Just tell me you’ll be by my side through it all.”
He kissed my finger before removing it. His hands cupped my face. His gaze penetrated my own. “Forever.”
That’s all I needed to hear.