Ann

 

 

 

"Who was that guy?"

His question catches me off guard. We just got into the car, both exhaling from exhaustion after enduring another draining campaign event. Jared loosened his tie and turned to me just a second after the driver started the car.

"What guy?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know who he's talking about.

He must've seen it. The guy - who introduced himself as Stewart - approached me right at the beginning of the event. I wasn't prepared for him at all, and especially not for his  insistent and forward approach. He appeared out of nowhere, seemingly materializing out of thin air, abruptly ending the conversation I was having and pushing himself and his agenda between me and Mr. and Mrs. Baumgartner, a wealthy couple who both play a significant role in the club whose event we were attending. He spoke fast, pushing out as many words as possible, as if he was running on a timer. I guess in a way he was because there was no other chance for him to get back to me during the entire evening. As soon as the official part of the evening started, it was close to impossible for any journalist to get close to me, just as it had been planned. Jared always insisted that press was only allowed to take pictures and conduct pre-scheduled short interviews at these events, but no impromptu attacks like the one Stewart orchestrated.

I was so overcome by his sudden charge at me that it took a while for me to process the short but confusing interaction we had. His face didn't seem familiar to me, but he said that he had seen me earlier that day at the co-working space. The day when Brandon blared out his suspicions about me becoming a high class call guy. He's a freelance reporter, just like I used to be. And he's after something big, he said. His big hit, an honest and raw exposure piece on Jared King and the so-called skeletons this successful business prodigy and politician-to-be might be hiding in his closet.

Lovely. Just lovely.

This guy, Stewart, said that he had done some digging in Jared's past that might be of interest to me. He didn't even make a big deal about Brandon's accusations. To me it sounded as if he just assumed they were the truth. He called me a concubine. Why on Earth he chose to use that word is beyond me. Did he think it would sound better than calling me a whore?

My heart aches when I recall the quick, short conversation I was forced to have with him.

"As his closest confidant, I'm sure you could add some valuable insight into this," he said to me. "This could be a great piece and worth a lot of money!"

I shook my head and assured him that I wasn't the right person to talk to. I was also disgusted at the fact that he just ambushed me after witnessing that horrible exchange between me and Brandon. I hate being reminded of it and have tried everything I can think of to forget about the day that was supposed to bring me closure with my old life, but turned into something ugly instead.

“Button?”

Jared’s voice is probing, his eyes fixating on me with dark, concerned intensity.

I don't want to tell him, but I know I should. After all, he doesn't need to know the entire story, just parts of it.

"He was a reporter..."

"I know that much, Button," Jared says, impatiently. "What did he want from you?"

Our eyes meet, locking onto each other in a silent stare, me nervously biting at my lips while he awaits an explanation.

"I didn't tell him anything," I assure him. "I swear! You have to trust me, I-"

"Button," he says, reaching for my hand. "Please, what did he want from you?"

"He said he's working on an expose on you, trying to dig up dirt," I begin, watching as his eyes flicker in warning. "And he wanted me to contribute by telling him... I don't know, about your... dark secrets?"

Jared looks at me with a tense expression, processing what I just said while beckoning me to continue. "What else?"

"He said that he's been digging into your past and..."

I hesitate. It's hard to give voice to that man's allegations. I know they're not true, nothing but a huge misunderstanding. Hardly anyone can know that as well as I do.

But still.

"And?" Jared urges me to continue speaking.

"He said there were rumors about you... about you… hitting women," I blurt out, praying to God that the driver can't hear us behind the glass screen at the front. "He said that you were known to be a 'bad man', violent, capricious, and cunning. He said that there were women who showed up with bruises and said that you raped and beat them up and that it was a huge scandal a few years back. Something that could really hurt you now if it gets brought up again."

Jared sighs and diverts his eyes from me, staring to the front with an apathetic expression for a few moments before he rubs his temples as if he's being tortured by a strong headache.

"You know that I don't believe it, right?"

My voice is trembling, delivering a tone of insecurity and doubt that feels out of place. "I mean, I have bruises all over my body, so even if there's a woman who..."

My voice breaks, as I can't bring myself to say the words. The thought that he has done these things with other women before me, that he has been just as intimate with them as we are together… it simply hurts too much to give voice to it.

"It's okay," Jared says, squeezing my hand in his.

"I didn't tell him anything or even acknowledge his ridiculous accusations or anything, you have to believe me."

He smiles at me, and it’s a somber smile.

"I believe you, Button," he says. "I truly do. I trust you."

My heart stings at the impact of his words.

He trusts me.

"Why did he say those things?" I want to know. "Is it true? I mean, the part about there being rumors about you?"

He takes a deep breath and evades my eyes, nervously playing with his fingers before he continues speaking.

"There's something you don't know about me," he says. "And I guess it is time to tell you, if only to have you better prepared for the next time this happens."

I hold my breath.

"When we're home," Jared adds in a whisper. "I'll tell you everything once we get home. I may need a drink for this."

I nod. "Sure."

It felt good to tell him. Paper may be the most patient listener, but it fails to provide the comfort that honest communication can provide.

But my heart is still heavy with guilt. I'm torn between feeling relieved and feeling like the biggest traitor on Earth.

Because I haven't told him everything. There's one particular detail about my encounter with that guy Stewart that I kept to myself. No, two things, actually.

First, I didn't tell Jared about the offer I received. I didn't tell him that Stewart has a lot of power and money behind him. If what he said is true, he's way more than just an average freelance reporter. He offered me money to sell my inside story about the most private aspects of Jared's life, a lot of money, an amount bigger than what I'm promised for my current contract.

An amount that was hard to say decline.

I know I have the kind of private details that Stewart is after. Beginning with the fact that Jared bought me to be his personal call girl, to the things he did with me, to the things he tried to do with me but failed to go through with. I could lie. I could turn all of this into a fucking gold mine for myself and never have to worry about money ever again. If I played my cards right, I could make a fortune that trumps Jared's offer by far.

I have the words for it, pages and pages full of notes and anecdotes of what has happened between us since I moved in with Jared. I could sell all of it.

But I can't tell Jared about this offer.

And I also can't tell him that Stewart gave me his business card, and that I not only took it, but kept it.

I just don't understand why I did it.

Am I actually considering this?

Could I really be that evil?