Page 118 of Ella Gets the D
Chanda’s copper tips whip back to the screen. She points the remote and clicks to a photo of me in a restaurant with Camila. It’s a long-lens image, based on the grainy quality and invasion of privacy. The photo itself isn’t incriminating, unless you consider a large pretzel with dipping sauces vulgar. I had a taste for carbs and hot cheese. Sue me.
I lean into the leather chair and fold my ankle over my knee. “My mother asked me to take Camila out to catch up. I did. How is this news?”
“This is the first photo taken of you two alone since your split. Or so we thought. There’s speculation that you two reconciled and have secretly been together for some time.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “Cam and I had lunch recently, but I haven’t seen her—”
“Since she came to your London hotel last spring.” Chanda clicks to another photo. “Sarayah also received this one of Camila leaving early in the morning.”
Fuck.
My thoughts filter back to a year ago, to her tear-filled eyes pleading with me through puffy lids. It had been erased from memory until now.
I’ll admit her unexpected visit was a moment of weakness. We fell back into old habits, and the night was what it was.Onenight.
Have we had sex since I called off our short-lived engagement? Once or twice. But I haven’t spoken to her since our assistants set up lunch back in March.
Communication turned nonexistent once I met Ella.
“How much to make that go away?” The first is already out in the world. The second can’t see the light of day.
“I wouldn’t have called this meeting if a check would solve the problem. What and who you do on your personal time isn’t my concern.” Chanda’s eyes hold an unspoken apology. “Unless it creates a scandal.” I swallow hard at the next image on the screen.
Ella and I are in front of Swigs one of the mornings after she spent the night. Wild black curls that were splayed on my pillow hours before are hidden under a faux fur-lined hood that conceals the blush in her cheeks from the cold. I have the biggest grin on my face as I pull the edges of her hood to me. She looked like a kid buttoned up to the neck in that big ass winter jacket that reached her calves and hid the honey-tan skin I worshipped inch by inch. The picture only catches a glimpse of her thick, kissable lips poking out, but it’s clear she’s not Cam. I would never light up with anyone else the way I do with her.
“There’s reason to believe the woman in this photo is married, and you’re sleeping with her.” Chanda sighs. “We’ve dodged salacious stories in the past about your…activities. But this is too big to kill, even for us.”
The knot in my throat churns until it plummets to my stomach.Protect Ella. “Are there more photos?”
“No.” The breath I’ve been holding finally dislodges. “The pictures came in anonymously, but these are the only ones so far. The Capitol Tea Report plans to run the rest soon. Reporters haven’t been able to confirm who the woman in the coat is, only that she’s married. Per a source.”
The question hangs from Chanda’s lips. She wants to know if it’s true, if I’m messing around with another man’s wife. Technically, I am, but it’s more than that.We’remore than that.
I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want Ella, and I will never love another woman the same way.
“She’s finalizing her divorce,” I say, without adding that it’s no one’s business. “Do everything you can to keep her identity a secret.”
“If you tell me who she is—”
“Leave us.”
Mother’s sharp command doesn’t raise her voice, but it has enough bite to straighten every spine in the room. Chairs shuffle in a medley of screeches before Chanda and her five associates pour out of the room in a synchronized movement of red-bottom heels.
Her frown anchors deeper into a stony expression full of high cheekbones and disappointment. French-tipped hands clasp in her lap. She’s coiled to strike—at the threat of family shame or my forehead remains a mystery.
It’s pointless to pretend my mother doesn’t know the woman is Ella.
“She stays out of this. I don’t care how much it costs.”
Three million. Sixty. My whole fucking trust fund. I’ll rip myself in half and take on the whole city. “I’ll draw up the cease and desist myself.”
Considering a level-three PR meltdown has just assembled Chanda’s entire team, Claire Brooke remains unbothered by the threat of a blog launching the woman I love into the spotlight.
There’s a long pause before she responds. “Do you love her?”
“Yes.” Without a doubt.
“If you want to protect her, give them something that will help overlook her.” Her tone is unhurried, like she’s picking lint off her custom suit.
