"I'm not the judge. I don't make the final ruling. I'm just your attorney, but if you don't want to risk the worst-case scenario, we could settle out of court. Why don't you just make him offer?"
"Buy him off? That's no different than paying him the blackmail money tried to demand from me."
"How much did he want?"
"A million bucks, but I'm sure he won't take that now. He's got the media in a frenzy. It's going to take double that to shut him and get him to drop the case after all this."
"I could call his attorney and offer two million in cash, see if he'll settle."
"Yeah, that's really easy for you to do with my money."
"I'll proceed however you want me to. If you want to take this thing all way to a jury, we will; but just know that's a gamble, no matter how ludicrous his claim is. I've seen crazier things happen. It's up to you, though.
"No, you're right. Offer the two million. I'll go as high as five, but if he won't settle for that, then we're going all way to court."
"You got it." My attorney shook my hand and left my office. No sooner was he through the door than Gary buzzed me on the intercom.
"Mr. Colson, there's a man here to see you with no appointment. He claims to be an old college friend. Should I call security?"
Shit. "Who is it?"
Gary started to answer, but a new voice cut him off. "You tell that son-of-bitch it's the beer pong champion of the world, and don't you forget it."
I recognized the voice of Victor Bruckheimer and broke into a grin. I opened the door to my office myself and greeted my long-time college friend with a hug.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I slapped him hard on the back and welcomed him inside. I shut the door for privacy and invited him to make himself comfortable on the sofa by the window.
"Well, I thought you'd probably like to know you still have at least one friend from the good ol' days who isn't trying to sue you."
"Fuck, ain't that the truth," I groaned, glad for his support during this stressful time in my life. Sales were down, stocks were plummeting, and Kayla wasn't responding to any of my texts or phone calls. I'd tried calling her again that morning and she'd sent it straight to voicemail, not even bothering to hang up on me this time.
"What do you say we go out tonight, get your mind off this shit-fest you're dealing with?"
"That sounds perfect." I grinned — it really did. Vick always knew just how to cheer me up. Then he his next words hit me like a punch to the gut.
"I'll bring Gwyneth and you can bring Kayla. It'll be a double-date, just like we used to do back in the day."
My face must have turned pale because Vick took one look at me and instantly looked apologetic. "Unless you're still hung up on Gwyneth… I thought you two had worked out your differences and become friends, but if it would be too awkward for you to have your ex talking to your new girlfriend, I totally get that. I guess I should have asked if you had a problem with me dating her."
"No, I'm not still hung up on Gwynn. Things were over between her and me long ago. I'm happy you two are together, honestly."
"All right, good. Meet us at Andresen's. Eight o'clock tonight. Last one there has to buy the first round. We'll talk and laugh and you can show off your dance moves to that hot, model girlfriend of yours."
"You got it." I slapped Vick on the shoulder and we hugged like brothers.
"All right, I gotta go," he said and I watched him leave. Shit. Why hadn't I told him that Kayla and I were no longer dating? How the hell was I supposed to get her to Andresen's by eight, when I couldn't even get her to pick up the phone?
I texted her several times throughout the day, but there was never any response from her. She hated me, and I couldn't blame her. I'd asked her to expose her vulnerabilities to me when we played BDSM games and then refused to answer a single question she had about my past. Now, it was splashed all over the news and half the country knew I used to take speed. Why hadn't I just told her the truth instead of hiding behind my fears? If I had, then I wouldn't have lost her.
I came to the bitter conclusion that I would just have to confess to Vick and Gwyneth that Kayla had dumped me. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but something I was going to have to do. I walked slowly out of my office at the end of the day, no longer looking forward to my dinner with friends. I decided to take my favorite motorcycle as a way to lift my spirits.
As I revved the engine to life, I felt a strange vibration in the seat of my pants. It took me moment to realize it was my cell phone ringing in my back pocket.
I saw at once that it was Kayla, and I nearly dropped the phone with surprise. My fat fingers could hardly press the answer button, they were shaking so hard, but I was surprised to hear the sound of a male voice as I brought the phone to my ear. He was threatening to rape her.
Then Kayla's voice could be heard, fighting him off with her quick wit. She needed me. My heart was racing. Tell me where you are, I thought fiercely, and then as if in answer to my prayer, she said to her attacker "He knows I'm here at the R.E.B. Corporate Studio on Ninth Street..."
That's all I needed to know. It was a short ride from my corporate headquarters and even shorter if I ignored all speed limits and took the back alley reserved for delivery trucks.