Page 98 of Bind Me
She had invited this. The same way she’d asked for ten weeks of abstinence before the wedding. And that dawn loukoumádescooking session with Yiayia. Bea was beginning to suspect she might genuinely be a masochist.
Two weeks earlier she had emailed Oliver Fox. If the public wanted her story, they could hear it from her. If she was going to do it, it would be with him.
He had replied in fourteen minutes. Honored. Reading between the lines, the man had been practically vibrating.
Her phone buzzed.
CLAIRE BEAR: Watching. GET HIM, BEYA SLAYA
CLAIRE BEAR: P.S. Please don’t start a war with Canada until I’ve moved to the UR
UMMA: Remember to breathe.
PAPA: The truth is on your side. We are here.
Bea stared at the messages for a moment.
Then the group chat lit up. The messages stacked one after another, bright and cheerful, like people gathering along the edge of a cliff to watch what happened next.
Group Chat: Therapy Club
LILLIAN: We’re online. I made peppermint tea. I’m nervous and I don’t even know why.
GEORGINA: Look at you becoming a global situation. Go Bey!
ISABEL: I’ve poured wine just in case. You were so cryptic.
NAOMI: Charles wants to know if he needs to prepare a statement.
The makeup artist capped her lipstick. “Fantastic.”
Bea slid off the chair. “Thank you. I’m hoping fantastic translates to ‘not visibly sweating.’”
Through the door, the temporary studio buzzed with activity. They had converted a Northgate hotel’s event hall into a broadcast space. Oliver had suggested filming at the Fox Hunt studio in Vancouver. Rafael ended that discussion in ten seconds flat.
The rest of the terms had been negotiated just as carefully.
The technical crew came from an independent production company. The interview would be livestreamed instead of pre-recorded. Oliver had agreed immediately. Livestream fed the algorithm. His numbers would be safe. A camera set up by Jack and Channing would record the entire conversation for what they politely called “archival purposes.”
An operator adjusted the tripods on the polished floor. The bank of monitors near the control desk glowed like a row of witnesses. A large screen displayed the moderated chat feed. Bea made the mistake of glancing at it.
The viewer count already read two hundred and fifteen thousand. Bea blanched. Terror shot through her. For a moment she was frozen on the spot like her brain just hit Ctrl+Alt+Delete and was asking if she wanted to restart in safe mode.
She searched the room until she found him. Rafael stood just beyond the camera line, arms folded across his chest, wearing a black suit with no tie. Even thirty feet away, she felt him like a second spine. She wasn’t facing this alone. Nothing truly bad was going to happen to her. Not while Rafael Griffin was standing there.
Their eyes met. He didn’t smile. Her lungs finally filled.
Along the walls, Channing, Jack, Cain, and Voss watched everything.
The comments were already racing across the screen.
Wait…Oliver Fox still pulls guests like THIS??
I bet she’s even prettier live omg
Is it weird how excited I am to "meet" her?
Haven’t watched him in YEARS but I’m here for this
