* * *
It was in the paper the following morning. Lila spotted it when she was walking past the stack while picking up groceries. "Drake in Fist Fight over Mystery Woman." It must have been a slow news day, or the editor had realized a fast way to make money. It wasn't the headline, but a side-column that started with a quick synopsis of their fucked-up evening.
She turned the pages to find the continuation of the story and was confronted with a picture of Drake, glowering down at a cringing Damien, with Lila herself standing off the side, her mouth an "O" that would have been comical if it wasn't so damned sad.
As Lila scanned the article, her phone rang. Her heart constricted in her chest as she picked it up and checked the number. The pressure released when she realized it wasn't Alex calling. The number was unknown. She let it go to voicemail.
Well, at least I'm listed as a "mystery woman," she thought. They don't have my name. Neither were there many details about the victim. The paper only listed his name and occupation, but received no comment about what had started the fight.
Lila wondered briefly if Drake had gotten to Damien before for he could talk to the papers. She wouldn't put it past him.
Despite the absence of motive, she knew that enough damage had already been done. The bad publicity might affect Alex's business, even if her own was safe because of her mysterious identity. Lila took a deep breath. It could have been worse.
As morning became afternoon, she discovered just how bad it could be.
The calls started shortly after noon. Lila glanced at another unfamiliar number on her phone, once again letting it go to voicemail. Less than five minutes later, her phone rang again. Then five minutes after that.
On the fourth call, Lila finally picked up. "Lila Johnstone."
"Ms. Johnstone, how do you respond to allegations that you're having an affair with Alexander Drake?"
"What?" It hadn't taken them long to dig up the mystery woman's identity, it seemed.
"Alexander Drake is engaged to marry fashion model Alana Morgan. Can you confirm you're the other woman?"
"No comment."
Lila hung up the phone and tossed it away from her as if it were a venomous snake. That didn't silence the calls.
How had they figured out it was her at the NWBA event? Had Damien told them? Or Alex?
Her phone didn't stop ringing, and Lila at last resorted to that all-hallowed bastion of information, the internet.
It only took the search term "Alexander Drake" to pull up the story that had reporters salivating into her voicemail. Lila immediately felt sick to her stomach.
It didn't seem to be on any of the major news outlets yet, but more than a dozen gossip blogs had already run the picture. And no, it wasn't the one of Alex punching out Damien's lights. She only wished it was.
It showed her, legs splayed, laid back on her kitchen table with Alex positioned between her knees. It was grainy and low-quality, but the text was quite clear about the identities of the participants in the picture.
"Alex Drake new member of "Sex Tape" club," was the headline. The next line down immediately drew her attention. There was her full name, spelled out for the world to read. And right next to it, the words Gourmet on the Go.
"Oh holy fuck." The words blurred on the screen. Her phone rang. She turned it off. Sitting there, staring forward, she compulsively clicked link after link.
'Tales of the weird: The Businessman and the BBW'
'For Love or Money? Or Food?: Millionaire leaves model fiancée for chubby chef'
'Drake's caterer serves him up a helping of herself'
When she got to 'Nine craziest things about the Drake Sex Scandal' she slammed the lid down on her laptop and rose.
Eyes blinking back tears, she climbed the stairs to her small room. Throwing open the closet, she dug out a duffel bag and began tossing things inside. She moved over to her dresser, threw in some more clothing then headed to the bathroom.
She didn't think, she just moved. She couldn't think, couldn't allow herself to realize just how fucked she was, or she'd melt into a puddle of sad and never move again.
Lila caught sight of herself in the mirror as she collected her toiletries. Her makeup was smeared, her cheeks streaked with mascara-laced tears.
You're such an idiot.
She didn't bother cleaning herself up, just grabbed the rest of her junk and shoved it into the duffel.
At the front door she took a last glance around her. This was her dream, and it was crumbling before her wet eyes. Gourmet on the Go had no chance of success now, since the press had branded her The Other Woman.
Lila's breath huffed out of her at the irony of that title. As if she'd had a chance in a competition with supermodel Alana Morgan. Too bad it had taken a very public humiliation to point that out to her. Looks like you'll never learn, she told herself. She'd repeated her past mistake and this time the fallout was even worse than before. This time she wasn't sure if she could recover.