“Doesn’t seem like there’s any way around it, Nancy,” I grumbled. “I’m going to send Eleanor my letter saying I’m no longer shooting with High Style and…”
“And then she goes to the papers anyway and fucks you in the ass?”
I laughed one of those hopeless laughs where the situation you’re in is just too fucked up to believe and shrugged.
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Fight it!” Nancy roared. “Don’t let this crazy bitch blackmail you. She’s got no proof!”
“You don’t need proof these days,” I groaned. “Not in the court of public opinion. Once the word gets out there that a girl, or girls, have accused me of this shit, no one will want to work with me again. Models, magazines, whatever…”
Nancy sighed and leaned against my desk shaking her head.
“It’s not fair. You’re like the most respectable photographer I’ve ever met, and there are some scumbags out there who are up to some shit and you’re not one of them!”
“I know, Nancy!” I roared, furious at how helpless I was feeling. “But what the fuck am I supposed to do!? I’m completely fucked!”
This was literally a nightmare scenario for a guy like me. I would lose one of my biggest clients and for the rest of my career I’d have the possible threat of this mystery accuser looming over my head, ready to spill her “story” to the press whenever she wanted. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
What the hell was I going to tell Jane?
She’d believe me…right? Or maybe I could just keep it a secret? After all, she wouldn’t hear about it if it didn’t come out. But it felt wrong to lie to her, even if it was a lie of omission about someone lying about me. I was in love with her and wanted to share everything with her.
But how would she take this?
“I don’t know,” Nancy groaned as I went over to my computer and opened my e-mail. “This is just wrong.”
“You can say that again.”
I entered Eleanor’s e-mail and began typing, my fingers shaking like I’d just come in from a blizzard, when I heard the elevator behind me. I didn’t have any shoots scheduled today, and turned to see who it was.
“Jane!?”
My gorgeous Jane, her head a mess of wild curls, strode quickly out of the elevator and threw her arms around me. Just her touch instantly calmed me, and I inhaled deeply as we held each other.
“Hey, baby,” she whispered.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I stared into her eyes. “I mean—not that I don’t love to see you, but—”
“I know all about it!” she blurted out. My heart jumped.
“All about what?”
“It,” she repeated. “The whole thing. The scandal with High Style. All of it.”
She knew? Then what was this all about? She didn’t look the least bit angry. In fact, she looked happy!
“You know…?” I asked. “But how?”
“Janice!” she blurted out. “It was Janice! She’s the one trying to set you up! Along with some photographer named Rob! I heard them talking on the phone together.”
Rob Wartstorf!? That son of a bitch!
Suddenly, the pieces started to come together.
I glanced over at Nancy, who was shaking her head. Rob was a real prick of a photographer, a sleaze ball, and he’d been after my working relationship with High Style for a long time. I guess he found a way to get me out of the way—recruiting Janice to make shit up about me.
Unbelievable.