The Billionaire's Gamble

A snort comes out of me as I laugh. I hate to put Kelly in between her husband and me, but she’s spot on. He’d call me a slut for even being photographed with someone like Nolan even if we had done nothing but talk. A true southern gentleman, that one. I give Kelly a hug, pulling her in tight. I try to let her know through the contact that I support her, though I don’t know if that’s something that’s possible to convey. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, and I catch the little sniff right after she says it. She’s more upset than she’s letting on. “We can make plans for lunch next week.”

“Sounds good,” I say, heading out the front door.

I grab my suitcase and jump in my own car. Turns out I left just in time. I pass Jacob as he’s pulling into the neighborhood, but he’s so focused on getting home that he doesn’t see me. Small favors. Instead I drive home, ready for the nap that I feel like I’ve definitely, definitely earned.

7

Dani

Morning comes way too soon. With the touch of jet lag I have and after losing so much sleep with Nolan, my body is exhausted. Not to mention the fact that despite being that tired, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. What happened—every bit of it. Even the memory of it was enough to arouse me, and even after reliving the memories with a vibrator between my legs, my body wanted more. So now I’m heading to work after yet another mostly sleepless night. I’m sure the clients will be very pleased with me.

I put on coffee and gather all the files I need from when I left them on Thursday. The Lexington Women’s Legal Clinic may not be everyone’s dream job, but I like it. The work we do is pro bono. Our cases include handling divorces for women in abusive relationships, custody fights, and finding emergency and alternative housing away from their abusive partners. We’re much more than just a legal clinic.

Pouring my coffee in a travel cup, I think I’m all ready, aside from my tired mental state. I grab my keys and head out the door. Just as I’m locking it behind me, I hear a shout, and I turn around to déjà vu—a bright flash in my face, blinding me. Only this time there’s more than one. There’s a large group of people on my front lawn with cameras and suddenly I’m surrounded by shouting people. Microphones are stuck in my face and I’m hearing a million bizarre questions:

“Miss Hathaway, are you a prostitute?”

“Nolan Coldwater is a shoe size fifteen, is his manhood that big?”

“What do you have on him?”

“There are reports of noise complaints on your hotel floor that night—did Nolan make you scream?”

“How much did he pay you to suck him off?”

“Will you do an exclusive about what it’s like to sleep with a Silver Lion?”

All of the questions are coming at once and I realize I’m just standing there. What do I do? What do I do? Okay. Focus Dani, get to the car. I start pushing through the crowd of paparazzi, but they’re pushing me back. I’m slammed on all sides by bodies, microphones inches from my mouth. They’re still shouting their questions, the content becoming more grotesque. Now I know why celebrities have body guards—for these people right here.

I start to get claustrophobic. At least four people are touching me and I feel like I can’t breathe. I start pushing, not caring if I hurt them. They’re on my property, it’s self-defense. I shove one of the reporters aside to get to my car door, and I barely get it closed. They’re still shouting at me as I start the car. Just drive, Dani, you can lose them. Just drive.

I tear out of my driveway faster than I’ve ever done before, and I can see behind me that the paparazzi are sprinting for their cars. Shit. They’re going to follow me. How does anyone deal with this? How is any of this legal? Thankfully my job isn’t too far away. If I can just get there I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m sure. I can call the cops for harassment there if they don’t leave me alone.

The sound of my engine is loud in my ears as I speed up. I know full well I’m breaking the speed limit, and half of me is hoping I do get pulled over just so I can tell the cop what’s going on. It’s not like it would be hard to prove with the photo of Nolan and me still making the rounds. Now the photo of me coming out of my house will be on the internet, and I’ll no longer be anonymous. If they found my house they found me. Danielle Hathaway—no relation to Anne Hathaway. I can just see the headlines now.