Page 73 of VOGUEish

Isabella nodded dully. “I thought you said that was with a different client. The one who likes my blog.”

“They’re both obsessed with your blog. Which I take full blame for. I’m always sharing it with my clients.”

“Your sharing it is why I have a buttload of followers.”

“Back to the interview. I didn’t get to sit in on it because the great Grayson Summers has rules.”

“And?” Isabella wished she’d get to the point.

“And…she talked about your blog to Grayson,” Chloe exclaimed. “In her interview with Grayson, she encouraged all of New York to help her discover who Pillar is.”

Chandler’s a big fat liar. I’m a big fat idiot.

Isabella collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts spun and spiraled as Chloe’s words went in one ear and got lost in a tornado of emotions before exiting. “That’s nice,” she mumbled when her friend stopped speaking. How would she make it through tomorrow? Annie. Chandler. Frankie.

“I knew you’d understand!” Chloe exclaimed. “Well, at first, I was afraid you’d be pissed. Or scared. Or worried—”

The word worried wiggled into Isabella’s bloated brain. “Wait. What?” She tried to recall what Chloe had been chattering about. “Repeat that last part. I think I missed something.”

“The part about me knowing you’d get it? That you’d understand?”

“Nooo, I think I missed the part before that.”

Chloe took her sweet time answering. “My new client reads your blog. She asked all of New York City to help her discover who Pillar is.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she likes to stir up trouble. And she hasn’t been in the news lately. And she’s not known for staying out of the limelight,” Chloe said.

Isabella sprung into a sitting position. “Flats.” She leaned forward and stuck her head back between her legs. How could Chloe let this happen?

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It will draw even more attention to your blog. You’ll become famous—as Anonymous in NYC.”

“It is a bad thing if someone actually figures out who he is,” Isabella said. “Read the article to me. What does it say?”

“Who is the guy who rescued Anonymous In the City ten years ago only to use her for sex when they met back up? And where does Anonymous work—”

Isabella slid off the bed. “Fuck. She has her fans trying to figure out where I work, too?”

“I’m afraid so,” Chloe sounded contrite.

“That should have been your lede.”

“You’re right. Sorry. Do you want to hear the rest?”

“Is the pope an outfit repeater?”

Chloe cleared her throat. “Let’s face it, there are a lot of dickhead guys who need to be outed for the players they are. This New York City-born-and-reared actress wants to know who toyed with the emotions of the person behind this hilarious blog and let him feel the heat of our disdain.”

“She twisted my words.” Sure, Isabella had embellished her posts, but she hadn’t gone so far as to make him sound like a dick. Had she? That had never been her intent.

“Read her blog and help me find out,” Chloe continued. “The first one who gives me the guy’s name will have a cameo in my next movie.”

Isabella curled into a fetal position. This couldn’t be happening. What if someone took Chloe’s celebrity client up on her offer? It wouldn’t be too hard to put two and two together. It wasn’t like she’d carefully chosen each word so no one could figure out the mystery. The blog was her form of therapy. A thing for her to document her mental health through the years. A thing to keep her on-track for her comeback moment.

“Chloe, we can’t let that happen. We can’t let anybody discover who either of us are. It will ruin him, and he’ll hate me, and I’ll never gain the respect of those I work with at NR. Can you go in and delete my account? Erase my digital footprint?”

“I wish I could. I really do.”

---