Page 58 of The Ruin
“Yeah.” She takes a deep sip from her cup and then sighs. “I can’t argue that.”
I close my laptop and let out a breath. “Just tell me one more time how you guys ended your lunch yesterday. Please.”
Emzee sets her coffee back on the bar and then slides off her stool to rub Mr. Kibbles’ belly. She’s clearly tired of recounting her lunch date with Brooklyn in minute detail, but she humors me. “We were at that famous deli in Hyde Park. She left straight from there to go to DRM, I guess about one-thirty-ish. We haven’t talked since. That’s all I know.”
It’s not adding up. “I don’t get it. I was at the office the entire day. My assistant said he saw her in the hallway. But she never came to see me. What the hell happened?”
“Well obviously you missed each other. Are you sure you didn’t step out around 1:45 or so?” Emzee asks. “Even just to go to the bathroom or make a quick call, or—”
“Wait.” I’m going back over my day, one step at a time… “1:45. That was my call with Guy, the marketing exec at Maxilene. Maybe she saw my closed door and just left. Or maybe she overheard something.”
“What was the call about?” Emzee asks.
I recap the conversation. How Guy was ready to kick Monica off the Maxilene campaign over the statements she’d made, and how I’d defended Monica. I feel gross repeating it.
“Why didn’t you just let them kick her ass to the curb?” Emzee asks, incredulous. “You better hope to God Brooklyn didn’t hear you on that call.”
“Look, I would’ve been thrilled to throw Monica out with the trash, believe me. But DRM’s in a critical financial position right now, and I don’t think we’d bounce back from a loss like that.”
“Luka,” Emzee scolds.
“It’s not just about the money either,” I go on. “We have to think about the agency’s PR status—in case you’ve forgotten, we’re still trying to save face in the industry. Firing Monica and losing Maxilene would hurt us more than it would help us.”
My sister gets back up on the stool and lets her shoulders slump. “I guess you’re right.”
I catch her eye and the sympathy there makes me all the more anxious. What if something’s happened to my wife? And we’re just sitting here moping around, doing nothing?
“Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police and file a missing person’s report?” I wonder out loud. “What if this is worse than we think?”
Em shakes her head, her voice soft and even. “I think she’s just lying low right now. She felt really guilty over this, Luka. Like it’s explicitly her fault. I imagine she’s taking some time to lick her wounds and woman up before she can face you. Just give her some time.”
We don’t have time. We need to handle this now, to create a united front against Monica and the firestorm she’s created. I’m too jittery to sit, so I go to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and look out at the city below. The view usually calms me, but not today.
“Oh fuck,” Emzee blurts from across the room.
I look over to see her staring down at her phone, and my mouth goes dry.
“What is it? Just tell me.”
She shakes her head and opens my laptop. “Get over here and load up theTMZsite. You’re going to want to see this.”
By the time I get over there, she’s already opened up my web browser and navigated to the gossip site. My stomach bottoms out as I see my wife on the screen getting ready to do a live feed, seated in a chair across from an entertainment news reporter, both of them with lav mics clipped to their collars. Brooklyn wears a pale pink blouse, her dark hair pulled back in a bun, with just a touch of makeup. Even with the serious expression on her face, she still manages to look stunning.
The ticker at the bottom of the screen flashes: BROOKLYN MOSS ZORIC TO MAKE LIVE STATEMENT IN RESPONSE TO RECENT ALLEGATIONS.
My ears start ringing, my vision tunneling. “Oh shit,” I murmur.
I feel Emzee’s arm go around my shoulder, and I turn up the volume as desperation wells inside me. Because I know my wife, and I know exactly what she’s about to do.
“So Brooklyn,” the reporter begins, “what would you like the world to know about Monica Shore’s allegations that you were involved in a scheme to trick your husband out of insider secrets in exchange for a modeling contract with Elite Image?”
I lean forward. So does Em.
Brooklyn clears her throat and lifts her chin, leveling her gaze. “That it’s true. Everything in the article was true.”
“It’s…all true?” The reporter sounds ridiculously pleased.
I shake my head. No, no, no. “Brooklyn, what are you doing?” I murmur at the screen.
