Billionaire Beast

Emma

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I really can’t.

“Damian?” I ask, tapping my costar on the shoulder.

“Yeah?” he answers, turning around. He turns back to the pair of his groupies that apparently work on the sound staff, saying, “I’ll talk to you later,” and he turns back toward me.

“You remember how you said that you’ve been in the business long enough to know how to deal with certain things?” I ask.

“You did do porn!” he exclaims. “I knew it! Pouty lips like that, there’s no way some skeevy producer doesn’t pick you out for a role in his buddy’s next project.”

“No, I’m not—Damian, I didn’t do porn,” I tell him, after managing to get him to stop bouncing with excitement.

He stops bouncing.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, that’s a shame. I was really looking forward to a viewing party. Oh well,” he says and claps his hands, “how else can I be of service to you today?”

“Well, it’s not porn…exactly,” I start.

A smile creeps back up Damian’s face.

“It’s nothing too bad, really,” I tell him. “I had a boyfriend a year or so ago who took some naked pictures of me and now he’s trying to blackmail me with them and he’s given me 72 hours, 26 of which have passed, to decide whether I’m going to pay him $5,000 a month for the next 17 years or if I’m going to end up on the front page of every tabloid for the first time in my career, only it’s not going to be some kind of bad gossip or award win that’s going to put me there on the covers. No, it’s going to be those stupid pictures that my stupid ex took almost two years ago, and I’m going to be a fucking laughingstock for the rest of my life.”

I realize that I’m breathing a little heavy, so I do my best to relax.

“That’s quite the story,” he says. “You know the guy’s got the pictures?”

“Of course he has them,” I answer. “He’s the one that took them. It was his camera.”

“Yeah, but have you seen the pictures?” he asks.

“Well,” I think back, “no. Come to think of it, I never saw those pictures. You think he’s just trying to lie his way into seven figures?”

“I don’t know,” Damian says. “What I do know is that I wouldn’t even consider paying that kind of cash unless I knew for a fact he had the pictures and copies.”

“He said that he’s already attached the photos to two emails, one to the LA Times and one to E! He told me that if he doesn’t put in a password every so often, they’ll send on their own. Is that even possible?” I ask.

“Actually, it is,” Damian says. “It’s pretty easy to set up, too, but that’s neither here nor there. I’d say the first thing you need to do is contact him and have him give you proof the pictures exist and that he has them.”

“What happens after that?” I ask.

He’s being quite helpful right now. It’s kind of making me nervous.

“That depends on him, really,” Damian says. “If it turns out he doesn’t have the pictures, you call him an asshole and hang up on him.”

“If it turns out that he does have the pictures?” I ask.

“Well, that depends on you, really,” Damian says. “Just how racy are the photos?”

“I’m naked in them,” I tell him, “but it’s not like I’m doing stuff with anyone.”

“Are you masturbating in the photos?” he asks.

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” I snap.

“The reason I’m asking is that some pictures of you naked might actually help your career, but pictures of you naked and masturbating are going to alienate a whole lot of people,” he says.

“What difference does it make?” I ask.