Page 28 of Drive Me Crazy
Maybe five people know the real story about what happened at PlayMedia, and I’m not about to go screaming it from the rooftops. Blake and I may be friends now, but we’re not “spill your trauma” friends. Talking about it always makes me feel like I’m diving headfirst into the past. Part of the reason I even took this job was for a change of pace, a fresh start. New York is too small for Connor’s big, lying mouth.
I don’t realize I let out a heavy sigh until Blake asks me, “Are you okay?”
His eyes are wide with worry and he’s fidgeting, tapping his foot against the ground at an increasingly aggressive speed. His brown eyes are filled with such open sincerity.
“Yeah.”I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s a long story.”
“We’re in the middle of the Mediterranean at two in the morning,” he points out. “I have nothing but time for a long story.”
Well played, Mr. Hollis. “Fair enough.”
“So, what happened?” he asks calmly.
“You knowTrash Talk?”
Blake nods. “Yeah, that guy Brixton hosts it. He’s some exNFL player’s son, right?”
I’m not surprised. Everyone knowsTrash Talk. There’s a reason it has over one million listeners an episode and has been ranked the number one sports podcast for three years in a row.
“Yep, that’s the one. Connor thrives on this chauvinistic attitude of praising toxic masculinity and feeding into the stereotype of over-sexualized, submissive women.” The acidity of his name burns my tongue. “I never worked with him when I was just writing, but when I started podcasting, we were together almost every day. He helped produce my show.”
There’s a special place in hell for guys like him. Host ofTrash Talk, producer ofCoffee with Champions, and director of my nightmares.
“One time, we were a chair short in a meeting and he told me I could just sit on his face. Not his lap … his face. And everyone just laughed like it was an okay thing to say.”
My sigh is weighted, holding uncomfortable memories. I don’t tell him about the time Connor told me I have dick-sucking lips and asked if I’d give him a blowjob to relieve his stress. Or when he told me he thought of me while fucking some chick because we wear the same perfume. I can write a book longer than Blake’s biography with all the examples of harassment I experienced at PlayMedia. The constant belittling and demeaning attitude got emotionally exhausting very quickly.
“Ifinally worked up the nerve to go to HR,” I admit with a shaky voice. “Connor found out I reported him for harassment and long story short … I didn’t stay much more after that.”
“Did he touch you?” Blake asks, his voice tightly wound. He’s flexing his fingers as if fighting the urge to punch a wall.
“He sexually assaulted a girl I worked with last year.” A lump rises in my throat as I say the words. It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the whole truth. It’s easier to talk about if I don’t have to admit that the girl was me. I unconsciously bring my fingers up to my neck, remembering the feeling of his hand closed around it, squeezing the air out. The surprise of his actions mixed with the intense pressure left me completely shocked.Deep breath, Ella.
Blake rubs his forehead, massaging away the stress crease. “What happened?”
“I don’t know the details,” I tell him, choking out the words. “The police didn’t press charges, though.”
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” I watch his face harden; jaw locking, the muscles ticking. “That’s bullshit. And work didn’t do anything either? They just let him get away with it?”
“Do you know how much money his podcast generates for PlayMedia? In advertising revenue alone he pulls fifty thousand dollars per episode and he does two episodes a week.” The noise that comes out of me sounds like a strangled laugh, covered in sarcasm and dipped in insincerity. “He’s connected and powerful in the industry. No one wants to mess with him—or his dad.”
My podcast may have been successful, but it is nowhere nearthatsuccessful. Not many podcasts are.
“Christ, Ella,” Blake mutters. “That’s awful. I’m assuming she left the company?”
“Mm-hmm.” I exhale deeply. I don’t know why the hell I told him all of that. This may be the first time I’ve talked about it without crying, though, so that’s a win. “I’m happy I don’thave to dread going to work, but I’m pissed I was forced to give up a job I really loved, you know? I finally felt like I found my thing with the podcast.”
The frightening force of his glare relaxes when he looks at me. “I’m so sorry you dealt with all of that, love.”
“It’s okay.” I’m willing my words into existence. Manifestation or whatever. “I mean, no, it’s not, but I’m okay. Really.”
“Is that why you carry pepper spray?”
My eyes widen in surprise. Looks like Blake’s more observant than I gave him credit for. I nod before changing the subject.
Blake doesn’t mention or bring up what I told him for the rest of our time in Monaco. When I wake up on my last day there, I see a text from him saying he left me something.
I skip to the kitchen, praying he left me a yummy treat from the bakery down the street. Chef Nicola has been bringing us different pastries from there every morning, but it’s her day off. Their blueberry muffins are heaven on Earth. Instead, I find a beautifully wrapped box with a giant bow on it.Definitely no baked goods in here.I eagerly tear the pale-yellow wrapping paper off. Inside, I find a portable podcasting set. It has all the essentials: a microphone and stand, headphones, a shock mount, a mixer, a pop filter, and an audio interface. I read the attached note, the sound of my heartbeat pulsing in my ears.
