Block (Social Media 3)

Am I good?

Am I bad?

Am I both?

Are all those things Jasinda is telling the world about me true?

I didn’t read the entire article at Buzz Hollywood Online, but I did read the one Elite Lifestyles Magazine ran today. And that one drew very clear parallels between the story Jasinda is weaving and all the past reports. Complete with a full-spread timeline. Like they’re piecing together the clues in a murder mystery.

My date for the premiere—my Disney ex from back in my teens, who is mostly known for her sex tapes and trust-fund money these days—clings to my arm like a leech. I only brought her to take all suspicion off Grace, and even with my world crumbling around me, that seems to have worked.

My phone buzzes again and this time it’s Ray. I pry the girl’s fingers off my arm and excuse myself, walking out the emergency exit. I do not end up outside, but in the bowels of the theater’s backstage. "Yeah," I say into the phone. "Any news?"

"She’s been drinking all evening, Vaughn. She’s in the Villa Privé casino hanging on the arm of some corporate guy from San Diego. But I don’t know how you’re going to get in. It’s a private rental."

Two weeks. I’ve forced myself to stay away from her for two weeks, doing my best to keep her out of this. I felt it coming and I’m never wrong about these things. But I can’t do it anymore. She has to have seen the tabloids. She has to be drinking because of me. I am a coward if I don’t set this right. A coward and a dick. She deserves to know the truth.

I need her to know the truth. When I decided to pull away from her, my understanding was that it would be temporary. But this doesn’t feel temporary anymore. This feels like my last chance.

"The staff said she’s talking about your tabloid news today, but they didn’t tell me exactly what she said. You want me to subdue her and take control?"

Fuck.

"Boss?"

"No, I’ll take care of it." I end the call and dial up my pilot, which goes to voice mail. "We’re going to Vegas. Tonight. Fuel the jet."

I don’t go back inside the theater, I’ll never escape if I do. Instead I push my way out the back doors into the alley and call my driver to come pick me up a few blocks away. It’s a forty-minute drive up to the airport and by that time the pilot is on his way, but not there yet.

I board the jet and collapse back into one of the leather seats with a sigh.

"Rough day, Mr. Asher?" the attendant calls from the small galley near the front of the plane.

I ignore her and she takes the hint and shuts up.

I spend the next two hours with my knee bouncing, my head pounding, and the internal dialog with Grace running through my mind continuously. The car delivers me to the front of the Bellagio and I get out, button up my suit coat, and straighten my sunglasses.

My personal concierge steps forward with his hand outstretched as I pass between the Asian lion statues that flank the entrance. "Mr. Asher," he says with his best customer-service smile. "I’m so happy to see you again. What brings you here on such short notice tonight?"

"Carl, I have a woman inside Villa Privé and I need immediate access. Her security detail tells me she is drunk."

Carl smiles that smile he gives me just before he says no. So I interrupt him with a squeeze of his shoulder. "Carl, listen. I know the rules, I know the party is private, I know the security is tight. But I’m going in to get my girl, do you understand me? I’m not leaving here without her. You do whatever it takes to make that happen and I will make sure you still have a job when it’s all said and done."

His smile falters and then disappears. He knows he has to try at the very least. He’s paid to try and give me whatever it is I ask for, even if it’s something outrageous like this. "Yes, OK, let me see. Let’s go to the villa level and make a plan."

We walk briskly through the lobby and I keep my sunglasses on, but the finger-pointing starts immediately. People start calling out my name, yelling insults, and a few women actually rush me and the security guards have to form a wall to stop them from getting too close.

Carl and I ignore everything, never slowing our pace, until we leave the bustle of the public areas behind and stop at the elevator.

We both exhale a long breath.

"Rough day for you, huh?" Carl asks as we wait.

"This is my life and I know people will never believe this, but it sucks. I am always guilty and never proven innocent."

He just stares at me for a few seconds and then the elevator dings and the doors open. He nods, telling me to enter first, and then he follows. The doors close and we pretend to listen to the elevator music as we go up.

"This girl is important to you?" Carl asks, his eyes trained on the digital numbers counting off the floors as we rise. The ride is short so the car dings again and the doors part.

"I’ve disappointed her today, Carl. I’m sure this is happening because she saw the news. And I need a chance to set it right."

He nods at me as we exit and then waves me into a lounge. "Have a seat, Mr. Asher. I will make my case and be right back."

My phone buzzes just as I take a seat on a plush burgundy couch. Felicity. "Please have good news," I say into the phone.

"Well," she says, "define good."

I shake my head. What else could go wrong today?

"I found out where Grace Kinsella is from. A tiny farming town in northeastern Colorado. I also found out something else."