Page 95 of You Rock My World
We follow her back into the office, where she pulls up Billie’s latest Instagram post on the projector. It’s a moody image of Dorian’s ex-wife standing under a rainstorm, her blue-blonde hair wet and sticking to her face, eyes downcast. The caption reads:
SAD & MAD
Damn it. This is what we don’t need piled on top of the already massive shitstorm we’re in. Dorian is stone-faced, grinding his teeth.
ThatSADpart of the description is a clear dig at Dorian, but theMADhalf also implies he’s been shady, like she’s accusing him of cheating. I want to snort. After knowing she’s the one who’s been unfaithful. That woman has no shame.
But what she has is millions of fans. And they eat up the drama, believing her without question.
Bailey delivers her analysis of the responses to the post on the fly. “Thousands of comments flooding in—showing support for Billie, people branding Dorian a dirtbag. Fans professing their love for her, telling her he doesn’t deserve her.” Bailey huffs as she scowls at Dorian. “You should have told us you were seeing someone so that we could’ve had a strategy ready.”
“Fair enough, Bailey Boo.” He smirks at her. “You can put me on your naughty list for Christmas.”
I glance at Dorian to gauge his real emotions under the sarcasm, but he’s keeping himself in check. I can’t get a read. As for me, I’m seething. How dare Billie play the victim after everything she put him through? The cheating, the lies, the pain?
I shouldn’t be getting indignant. I should run point on the situation. Damage control is myliteraljob.
I should be working the media to shift the narrative before it spirals beyond repair. Instead, I’m sitting here, useless, watching the headlines and the comments stack up. Standing by, powerless, as Dorian gets dragged in the mud. The story slipping through our fingers.
Missy would’ve never let something like this fester if she were handling it. But I can’t draft a strategy when Iamthe crisis.
I’m failing. At my job. At keeping Dorian out of the storm. And at keeping our secret.
Dorian’s eyes are on me. He knows I’m spiraling, that the pressure is crushing me from all sides. But I don’t know how to contain it.
And if Nadine figures it out before I have a plan—then it’s over. Career gone, future wrecked.
But how do we spin this?
Dirtbag. Cheater. Liar.
The words glare at me from the screen like flashing warning signs, piling up in the comment section of Billie’s post, multiplying by the second. They’re not true, but that doesn’t matter. Not to the people who are eating this up, dissecting every frame of the kiss, every lyric Dorian has ever written, every moment of his marriage to Billie. The narrative has already run away from us, and I’m sitting here, watching it slip further out of reach.
I don’t know what terrifies me more—the world discovering us or Dorian realizing how scared I really am.
Because I know how these things go.
Once the internet gets its teeth into something, it doesn’t let go.
* * *
Hours later, once everyone but me has left, Dorian’s house is quieter than it’s been all day. The constant stream of meetings, crisis calls, and statements to be drafted has finally ended. I should be exhausted. Instead, the adrenaline keeps my pulse jacked too high, the excess blood fizzling under my skin.
In the big living room, I curl up on the couch, taking a second to breathe. A massive Christmas tree stands in the corner, glittering with ornaments and warm white lights. It’s the third one I’ve counted so far in his house—one in the foyer, another outside in the garden, and now this. Because why stop at one when you can have three? Dorian doesn’t do anything halfway.
He flops down beside me, stretching his arms across the back of the couch, too relaxed for someone who has spent the day putting out fires. Dorian nudges my foot with his. “You look like you could use a distraction.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Mmm? What did you have in mind?”
He smirks, all lazy charm. “I bet I can make you laugh in under ten seconds.”
I cross my arms. “You absolutely cannot. Not today.”
“Oh, that’s cute. You think you have a say.” He clears his throat, straightens up, then looks me dead in the eye. “Picture me with baby bangs.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “Damn it.”
He grins. “See? Too easy.”
