–Emmett: Just making sure.
–Noah: What does she think she’s going to get by claiming Lucienne stole Seb from her?
–Nicholas: She never said that. The writer just implied it.
–Grant: That’s a good shot to go with the story. Look at Gabriella crying.
–Huxley: That’s not a recent picture.
–Griffin: How do you know?
–Noah: Fewer wrinkles.
–Huxley: That’s a shot from an ad campaign she did with us a couple years ago. I don’t know how it got leaked. We don’t share unpublished campaign material with anybody.
Huxley owns an ad agency, and he remembers all the details about every campaign his agency has done. His family disapproves of his refusal to use his judicial chops at their legal dynasty of Huxley & Webber. He only attended Harvard Law to placate his grandmother, then went into advertising.
–Emmett: Could’ve been your client. Regardless, this story’s nasty.
–Noah: Yeah, it makes Lucienne look like a bitch who stole Sebastian.
–Nicholas: Gabriella’s pretty and popular, so she’s going to get a lot of sympathy. The public’s going to tear Lucienne down. Maybe Seb, too.
I read the first two links Noah sent. Nicholas is correct. The comments are full of hate directed at Lucienne.Jezebel,from the religious nuts.Jumped-up side-piece. Home-wrecker.Ludicrous, since Gabriella and I weren’t serious enough to move in together. A few call me an asshole. I’ve heard worse.
Gabriella texted me, too.
–Gabriella: FYI the media stuff has nothing to do with me. I never gave a statement.
Oh, I know. It’s the damn paparazzi and their asshole writers. They had two shots of me and Lucienne outside Gion, and that only seems to fan the flames.
–Gabriella: But if you want me to, I can say something to set the record straight. But I left you, not the other way around. You can do that much for me, right?
Figures. Her pride can’t handle anything else, and not even black pearls can sooth those ruffled feathers.
–Me: Spin it however you like.
My grandparents and mother tried to call. I ignored them. Preston has sent me whiny texts, as usual.
–Preston: I didn’t know you were dating Gabriella Ricci! Damn, she’s hot.
–Preston: Anyway, be careful with Lucienne. She’s desperate to get married. But she’s a bitch! A heartless ho!
He’s apparently forgotten what he did—shoving his dick into her sister’s pussy. But then, he has the brain of an amoeba. An amoeba with amnesia.
Oddly enough, the one person who should’ve demanded to talk to me is silent. Nothing from Lucienne—not a single text or call. Either she hasn’t seen the trash, or she doesn’t think I’m the person she should reach out to draft a statement to set the record straight.
I’m skeptical about the former and irritated about the latter. My mood is darker than it should be because I can’t pinpoint exactly why the second possibility is so grating.
I shrug out of my suit jacket. Christoph takes it and hangs it up.
“Any calls?” I ask as I take a seat at my desk.
“Your mother—twice—to see if you were in. Your grandmother called, too. Three times. I told them to try you directly, but they said you weren’t answering your phone. Do you need me to charge it?”
I hold my phone up to show him the charged battery. “No. I’m not answering calls from my family right now.” They don’t get to judge me or give me shit about what the tabloids published. “Did anybody else call about the gossip?” Maybe Lucienne called the office for some reason, although she has my number.
“No.”
