Be My Babygirl

But they must have a dirty doer in their ranks—one who would trade a salacious story in exchange for cold, hard cash. Sell my book to the gossip rags, claiming I used Darius only for the story, and pocket a handsome reward.

Kind of like me getting paid for sex? Sinking into my couch I suddenly feel dirty, shameful, and no better than the nasty snitch who’s done this to me.

Sighing, I try to convince myself to flip off the television. To turn off my tablet. To stop watching, stop reading this junk, but I can’t. Seeing your life crumble before your eyes on screen is like an addiction—you can’t tear yourself away.

A new headline, one I haven’t yet seen flashes on the television screen. In bold red font, the words say; Tragedy Strikes a Third Time for Darius Morrow.

A knot forms in my stomach. Grabbing the remote, I turn up the sound.

The news anchor stares steadily into the camera lens, her face lined with disapproval. “A small-town hero from Georgia not only lost his parents, but his football career as well. And now, tragedy has struck for a third time in the form of a curvy blonde escort. Katie Davis, writing under the pen name of Scarlet Rose, has turned her latest romance novel into a tell-all delving into the personal life of Mr. Morrow.”

Wait. What?

Hearing my real name linked with my pen name to the whole world, I cringe, my stomach twisting in knots. I think I might be sick, but I can’t move from this couch. I have to hear the rest of the story. The reporter drones on. “Katie reveals all in her novel—the tragic loss of his family, how he was raised by his grandmother, his devastating injury that prevented him from pursuing his dream in professional football. Forcing him into a deep depression that made him leave his hometown in search of a new life under the shiny lights of Vegas.”

A white-hot heat rushes over my face, every muscle in my body tensing.

I didn’t write that.

I would never, ever tell his personal tragedy to the world.

I rarely curse, but I find myself thinking, what the actual fuck is going on here?

The reporter finishes her story with a cheesy one liner. “Looks like what happens in Vegas, doesn’t stay in Vegas after all.”

Disgusted, I grab for the remote, turning off the television with shaky fingers. The blue glow of the screen fades, leaving me alone in the dark. I go to turn on the lamp beside me, but I’m shaking so badly I almost knock it to the floor.

This is what he thinks I did. My throat clogs with tears. I can’t believe someone did this. He thinks I’ve betrayed him.

When I’ve finally got the light on, I grab my cell. There’s a string of texts as well as a long line of angry red missed calls. Ignoring them all, I pull up Sarah’s number and dial.

Her voice sounds shaky. “Oh my God, Katie. Thanks for calling me back. Are you okay?”

“I'm hanging in there. But what’s this about a chapter in my book about Darius’s personal tragedy?” My voice shakes. I want answers.

She waits a beat to answer. “Um… what do you mean?”

“That’s definitely not in there. Some reporter must have made it up to make the story more grabby. Is there any way your company could contact the press? I mean this has to be illegal, making up shit that I didn’t put in there—”

“Katie.” Sarah says my name in a tone I’ve never heard her use, one that sends a chill down my spine. “That was all in the book. His parents’ death, the car crash, the injury. Every last bit of it. I swear, you had me crying and staying up all night to read it when you sent it over. That poor man, how he survived—”

That strange white heat spreads across my skin, perspiration forming at my hairline. “But I didn’t put that in there. He told me those stories in confidence, and I would never, ever use his, or anyone else’s sorrow, except maybe my own, for my personal and financial gain.” What the hell? Who did this?

“Katie, I’m sorry but—"

“It must have been someone at the publishing house. Is there anyone there who would do something like this? Dig up a story and sneak it into my manuscript, then leak it to the press?” Jumping up from the couch, I begin to pace.

“Uh—uh. No. They wouldn’t do that.”

Throwing a hand up in the air I shout into the phone. “But you and your team are literally the only people who have had access to this book besides me!”

Frustration laces her tone. “Listen, Katie—the leak wasn’t here. We’re such a small team, and I know each and every woman personally. This company was founded on women lifting one another up, not women cutting one another down and no one here would do such a despicable thing like this.”