“My career is over,” she declares in a broken voice. “And I let it happen, knowing that sooner or later, this whole thing was going to blow up in my face.”
“Our faces,” I correct, wanting her to know we’re in this together and she isn’t alone.
“No, Will.”
Drew wraps her arms around her waist, and that’s when I see it—the disappointment in her eyes. An emotion I never wanted her to feel toward herself or us when it came to the circumstances surrounding our relationship.
“We’re meant to be together, Baby. Nothing and no one can change that.”
When Drew doesn’t argue, the tiniest seed of hope blooms in the pit of my gut.
“Maybe we are …” Her gaze drops to the ground before she looks at me again. “But that doesn’t mean I was right to risk everything I’d worked for just so we could mess around and have fun together.”
I open my mouth to speak as a car passes by, its headlights bouncing off the gold chain I only gave her twenty-four hours ago.
“I put everything on the line for us, Will.” Drew’s shoulders slump, hands hanging down by her sides. “And you couldn’t even update the goddamn passcode on your phone.” She blows out a disbelieving breath. “The irony is, I was supposed to fix your online presence and persona, and in the end, all it’s done is destroy everything I’ve worked for because you were—no, youare—incapable of following the rules.”
35
. . .
Drew
DevastatedDino:When you’re that bad at your job that you have to bang your client to stay employed.
DevastatedDino:Golden boy of the NHL? Wake up, Rogues fans! The only passion Will Jones has is for his coach’s daughter.
DevastatedDino:I’d sure hate to be Jensen Jones or Jessie Callaghan right now. THE HUMILIATION. I guess that’s what happens when you spoil your kids enough that they walk all over your legacy.
DevastatedDino:First Line PR should distance themselves from this scandal, their disgusting employee, and their client. And by “distance themselves,” I mean fire Drew Callaghan and Will Jones.
DevastatedDino:Didn’t Drew graduate from college early? Not so smart after all. #justanothernotchonwillsbedpost
There’s no end to the posts from an anonymous account that was set up last night on every social media platform available. In the space of less than a day, they’ve accumulated over a hundred thousand Instagram followers and a similar number on TikTok.
The moment Will asked me to call him, I knew it had all gone very wrong. I knew I was finished, and I couldn’t resist as I pulled up socials and was instantly hit with thousands of notifications and tags, all calling for me to address the rumors and confirm their validity.
DevastatedDinois the original poster and likely the hacker who managed to guess Will’s pathetic excuse for a passcode. And judging by the way they’re taking the time to respond to every single comment on each post they’ve shared, they aren’t at all sorry about it.
“Drew …” Vesper’s soft voice is followed by a gentle hand over mine. She comes to sit next to me on the couch, attempting to curb my doomscrolling. “Girl, you need to stop looking at that shit, or you’ll make yourself sick again.”
“They shared every single message. The only one they left out is a naked picture Will sent to me and only because it would be pulled down as a community guideline violation. They have no shame. No fucking shame!” My voice doesn’t feel like mine.
I know I’m in shock and that Vesper is right. Still, since we got back to my place ten minutes ago, all I’ve done is torture myself with the internet.
Instagram disappears, and Will’s contact lights up the screen again.
I reject the call and push out a frustrated breath. I’m so fucking mad at him, but mainly at myself for being so damn stupid.
“Did I break up with Will back there?” Through sore eyes, I turn to look at Vesper. “I can’t remember how we left it before we made for my car.”
Locking my phone, Vesper takes it and rests it in her lap.
“Not officially, no. But you made it pretty clear that you’re pissed.”
She casts her eyes around my apartment, and all I want is for Will to show up here, unannounced, like he’s done so many times before. Equally, I don’t have anything good to say to him other than how fucking angry I am that, once again, he refused to follow my advice.
“It’s your dad.” Vesper interrupts my thoughts, offering the phone for me to take before she rises from the couch and makes herself scarce.
