“What do you want, Malcolm? Why are you here?”
He lets out a harsh laugh, outraged that I wouldn’t already know. “I want to know why you’re going by the name Violet at TechRumble and who you’re trying to fuck over this time. Is it Dominic Odericco?”
My voice shakes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never tried to fuck over anyone.”
His eyes crease into slivers. “I saw you leave with his assistant. Are you shagging him? How long until you turn on him and come forhiscareer? Or is he in on it with you? Rigging the competition?”
I don’t say a word. The idea of Oliver getting dragged into this makes my skin crawl. His livelihood being put at risk because I wasn’t strong or brave enough to leave him alone.
“You don’t even regret it, do you?” Bits of spit shoot out of his mouth onto my cheeks, making me want to gag. “You thinkyou could change your hair, your clothes, your name, and I wouldn’t recognize the girl who ruined my life.”
I scoff, hiding my shaking hands in my pockets and attempting to steel my body from doing the same. “I ruinedyourlife?” My pulse bangs against my temples like a baseball bat.
“You destroyed everything! You stupid fucking girls don’t realize what these accusations do to men! You created this false narrative when all I did was take a photo ofboth of ushaving a good time. I didn’t even show your face. I didn’t tell anyone your name? You said it was fine!”
“I said it was fine thatyouhad them, even though you didn’t ask if you could take them. I didn’t say you could share them with the whole fucking office.”
“Well, you should have told me to delete them if you cared that much, instead of calling for my head on a spike!” He looks genuinely upset. Confused that I would do this tohim. What kinds of internet rabbit holes must he be down to conjure up this victimized mindset instead of going to therapy? I couldn’t afford therapy; my parents wouldn’t help me and practically blamed me for what happened. They didn’t want me to “dwell” on it. They had to break the news that their daughter was leaving her big-girl grad job; god forbid they would have to say their daughter was being treated for PTSD. Maybe they didn’t know how to describe it. I certainly didn’t, and Graystone used it to their advantage. Because I was barred by the terms of the NDA, I couldn’t even apply for free counseling or get an official restraining order.
Instead, I scoured the internet for reliable resources. Once I eventually found them, among the sea of forums, articles, and opinion pieces that put the onus on the victims, I couldn’t helpbut think how a teenager would react to seeing this. I like to think I am a resilient person, and even I came close to doing something stupid. Think how many people we could help if we created something to make it easier to get support.
You were the victim. You still are the victim. This is not your fault.
“No one would hire me afterward,” Malcolm continues, his face getting pinker by the second. “I had to get a fucking unpaid internship, use my trust fund to survive. Do you know how shameful it is to be a twenty-five-year-old intern?” he spits.
“You have no idea what shame is.” My bones turn into lead pipes held together by PVA glue. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”
When you’ve been publicly shamed, people around you react in one of two ways: They avert their eyes or they can’t stop staring. Both make you feel less than human. Somehow both make you feel like a carcass, like your immovable body is being pecked at by crows until there’s nothing left. Your only legacy, your entire existence, eroded and consumed and decayed until it’s whittled down to that One Thing. When I went back to work, everyone knew I was the reason Malcolm was fired. Unfortunately for me, he was friends witheveryone. When we started casually dating, I was brought into that sphere of attraction. He was the one hosting parties and encouraging people out for drinks. I gained some social clout just from hanging around him. For better or worse, he was a magnetic force. Everyone else was shrapnel that dropped to the ground the moment he disappeared. They blamed me for the mess. The men in the office said it was my fault, that I consented to the photos and therefore it wasn’t a crime, that I was lying, that I was a selfish bitch for encouraging his expulsion.
My head is a bowling ball rolling across the edge of the gutter. “You committed a crime, Malcolm.” Bile creeps up my throat; this conversation is one I could’ve never imagined having.
Before I have a chance to react, he gets up closer and points a bitten-down finger in my face. “I am not the criminal here—you are,Jess.” He spits my name like a curse.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, knowing damn well denying it is only going to anger him further. My learned instinct to calm down the angry man alone with me. I risk looking away from him for a second, glancing down both ends of the street for someone, anyone who can help me get away from him.
“There’s no point denying it. I’m a journalist now...” He raises his eyebrows, as though I’m supposed to be impressed by this news. “Do you think for a second that I would let you get away with this? Rigging the competition, tricking the public into supporting your company like you tricked everyone into thinking I was some sort of... predator?” For a second, a flash of real hurt appears on his face, before switching back into anger and outrage.
I swallow. I want to get this over with; there’s no way he’s really here to “do the right thing.” “So what do you want? Money? Why are you here?”
He scoffs, shaking his head like I’ve made a hilarious joke. “Please, I’ve looked into Wyst’s financials. You don’t have any fucking money.”
I blink away the embarrassment and cross my arms again. “Then what?”
He lets out a breath. “I want you to tell everyone you were wrong. I want you to release a statement saying the truth, thatit was a made-up, false accusation and you are sorry for all the pain you’ve caused.”
My stomach lurches like a fist has just slammed into my gut. “What? Why?”
He paces in front of me. “Because right now I should be in a plush corner office suite with a hot secretary and a Nespresso machine. Not in a newspaper’s unlit basement. I want my career to get back on track. I want to not be a social pariah anymore.”
I almost laugh. “No way. After everything you put me through. Why the fuck would I do that?”
He lowers his chin, a dark look in his eyes. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to expose your company for the sham that it is and tell everyone about the grift you’re pulling at TechRumble. Why would anyone trust a so-called feminist business again when they find out the CEO is pretending to be a man.”
He steps in closer, so close I can tell it’s whiskey he’s been drinking. My body freezes. I can barely breathe. He’s not much taller than me, but he’s bigger. Bulkier. I realize it was a mistake to pull him out of public view on the main street. I grip my keys tighter.
Malcolm studies my face. “Or... I could make it good for you; we could do it together. Get your side of the story. You coming to the man you wronged for the exclusive wouldalmostmake up for all the damage you’ve done. You come clean about everything...” He puts a finger to his chin, thinking out loud. “But then, on the other hand, exposing you myself would be much more satisfying. Maybe this is a pattern of a misandrist compulsive liar who abuses her gender to get ahead.‘What will she lie about next?’”
“So either way, you’re going to dredge everything back up and call me a liar?” My voice breaks as I try not to let a terrified tear escape. “You’re going to breach the NDA?”
