Page 93 of Shine For Me

My grandfather is quiet for a long moment. Finally, he releases a sigh. “I didn’t want to do this, Juniper, but you’re clearly not thinking straight. It’s up to me to protect this family’s brand.”

Our brand? Our fuckingbrand?How about, for once in his life, he protects thepeoplewho make up this family?

But that’s apparently too much to ask for. Because his next words are the worst of all.

“I would imagine this kind of press attention will be difficult on your mother.”

My blood runs cold. “What does that mean?”

“I’m sending you a link,” he says, voice as calm as if he was talking about the weather. “I’ll wait while you read it.”

My hand is shaking when I pull the phone from my ear. There’s a new message on the screen from Jimmy and when I click the link, it takes me straight to one of the most salacious gossip blogs on the internet.“Like Father Like Daughter? Juniper Cain’s Cheating Fiasco.”And there, superimposed next to the picture of me and Fox, is a shot of my father with one of his mistresses. I’ve seen the photo before. It was one of the most notorious shots when the cheating scandal broke. That picture was everywhere for weeks, the first evidence my mother had that my dad had ruined our family.

And now they’re going to say I’m the same way. They’re going to compare me to him. They’re going to act like my relationship with Fox is the equivalent of what my dad did with all those other women.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“We can stop this,” I whisper once I have the phone back to my ear. “You have the best publicists in the business.”

“I am stopping it,” he says flatly. “By arranging for you to meet Adam in San Francisco.”

“No.” But the word sounds feeble even to my own ears. All I can think about is that damn picture. I can remember the first time I saw it—in a magazine Grey had crumpled up in the trash can in his room. When I pulled it out, he’d screamed at me for snooping and I could tell his eyes were red from tears he would have never let me see.

“Juniper, you’re going to get to San Francisco immediately,” he says, sounding tired of the entire conversation now. “And if you don’t, I’ll be forced to send the press to talk to you.”

“What does that…what are you saying?”

“I doubt your mother wants a bunch of reporters showing up at her little vineyard.”

I pull in a sharp gasp of air. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I’ll do whatever I need to do to protect this family.”

The really fucked up thing about all of this? I think he actually believes it. I think he honestly believes that the best thing he can do for us, maybe the only thing he can do, is to protect the business he created for us. It’s the reason he was so angry at my Uncle Jon for going off on his own— Jon rejected what Grandpa had built for us and in doing so, rejected the years of sacrifice and hard work Jimmy believed were his legacy.

“A car will be picking you up in twenty minutes,” he says. He doesn’t need to elaborate—because I know where you are. And I could send reporters there any time I want.

I hang up the phone without saying a word. I’m too sick, my brain unable to comprehend the threat he just made. I only know one thing—I cannot allow reporters to show up here. I can’t do that to my mother.

“I have to go,” I whisper, and Fox is across the room to me in an instant.

“What are you talking about? What does he want you to do?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, brushing his hands away. I need to think. I need to figure out—

“Of course it fucking matters,” Fox barks. “What was that about San Francisco?” When I don’t respond, he grabs my shoulders. “June! Does he expect you to meet Adam in San Francisco?”

I nod, unable to meet his eyes, and Fox curses. “You don’t have to do that.”

I shake out of his hold and walk over to Jude. “You need to go to the front gate,” I say. “You need to talk to your staff—”

“I’m not leaving you right now, June,” he cuts in. “What did Jimmy say to you?” He reaches for my hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll call that asshole myself.”

“There’s not time for that.” I hold Jude’s gaze, needing him to understand. “He’ll send reporters here,” I whisper. “Photographers. You have to go.”

He stares down at me in horror. “He’s blackmailing you? That piece of shit—”

“Mom will be back soon,” I say desperately. “You have to make sure no one gets past the gate.”