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She grumbles. “Okay, I suppose I deserve that. Look, Lennox. I’m sorry. It was all in good fun. Just entertainment. No one takes that column seriously. The world has a very short attention span?—”
“I read the article. There was nothing entertaining about it,” Spencer seethes.
Kat lifts an eyebrow at Spencer. “You brought a guard dog?”
Spencer pulls out her phone from her clutch. “Nope. A videographer. Mess with my boss again, and I will blast your ass all over snaketok, cheatertok, cringeytok, and lemontok.”
“You’re making these up,” Kat replies. “Those can’t be real TikTok hashtags.”
“Try me,” Spencer snaps back.
I glance at Spencer with a small, bemused smile. “What is lemontok?”
“It’s kind of confusing. You can find shitty people, crappy cars, lemon bread recipes, and all-natural lemon cleaning supplies. Actually, that whole hashtag is kind of a mess,” she mumbles.
“Gotta love twenty-one-year-olds and TikTok, right?” I ask Kat. “Talk and talk fast.”
“Okay, okay,” Kat says, pulling another seat around the small coffee table. “First of all, the article about you wasn’t my idea.”
“Not your idea, but you certainly executed it with finesse.” I sit down and cross my legs, arms folded tightly over my chest. Maybe I look cold and standoffish. In actuality, I think I’m trying to protect my heart.
“I was blackmailed. I often am. When Denise called?—”
“She had no idea you were doing the article on BuzzLit,” I say, fervently defending Denny.
Kat scoffs. “Are you kidding? Lennox, are you that naïve? She set you up. The article was far from my best writing. I put in what I was told to.”
I ignore the pounding in my chest. The hairs on my neck are rising at the idea of Denny’s betrayal. But I force myself to ignore the baseless accusation. I make a move to get up. “I’m not interested in the blame game.”
“Wait, please,”she insists. “I have proof.” Kat glances nervously at Spencer, seated right beside me, wearing the same unimpressed expression. “Can she please stop recording? Just for a bit?”
I exhale. “Spencer, let’s give her a moment.”
Obediently, Spencer puts her phone down and mutters, “Phone’s off. My fist is still working, though.”
I stifle my chuckle. “What proof?”
Kat sighs and pulls out her own phone. She clicks through a few apps, enters two different passwords, and then proceeds to show me an image of her. She cups her hand around her forehead, her head hung in shame. “That was from three years ago.”
After scanning the somewhat pornographic image, I blink at her. “Well, Kat. That was more of your bare ass than I ever wanted to see. Why are you showing me a naked picture of you from behind?”
She shushes me and lowers her tone. “The man I’m on top of…recognize him?”
“No.”
“You must not follow politics.”
“Accurate. Hey, put that in your next article. A jab at me that’d be justified. I have absolutely no clue what’s going on in the political world.”
“His name is Scott Ramsie. He’s running for the senate…” She licks her lips as a flicker of shame crosses her face. “He’s married.”
I widen my eyes. “And was three years ago when you slept with him?”
She nods solemnly. “In my defense, he said he was leaving her. I…ate up every line. I loved him. Still do.”
“Which is why you’re protecting him?” I ask.
She nods again. “I don’t know how the hell Denise got ahold of those pictures. Her ex-husband is friends with Scott. But basically, she owns my ass. I write what she wants when she wants. Once upon a time, I was writing serious articles. You know I spent two months in Qatar, doing field research for serious journalism. Now, I’m a gossip columnist joke, thanks to Denise.”