Page 75 of The Bad Girl

I bring a hand to my mouth to stifle my laughter.

Go, Mike!

Mr. Anders rolls his eyes. “Just as long as he says the correct talking points, he can do whatever damn show he wants.”

“Eliza’s untouchable.” Stacey’s voice carries from down the table.

“My client’s a billionaire,” Mr. Anders snaps. “No one’s untouchable.”

“Yeah, but someone swooped in on her right as she got off the boat and got her into hiding. She’s gonna make a killing, but I don’t foresee her being an issue.”

Mr. Anders looks to me with concern. “Is she going to have anything to say about you?”

“I’ve fucked her a few times.”

“Jesus-fucking-Christ!” Mr. Anders takes his black-rimmed glasses off, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, then, all at once, he goes silent, and his face grows pale. “Did you fuck her?”

“Yeah, I just told you—”

“No! Not Eliza—Nadine!”

I downcast my eyes, not wanting to tell a roomful of people out of respect for Nadine, but also aware I cannot lie to the people whose sole job is to make me come out of this unscathed.

Mr. Anders rises. “Is there anyone IN THIS ROOM you haven’t fucked! Anyone? Because I’m feeling good and fucked right now.”

“Oh, sit down and stop being so dramatic. You’re making a killing off of this,” I say, knowing he’s angling to increase his fee.

“He needs a girlfriend,” Stacey interjects. “A prominent philanthropist. Someone with unquestionable morals that will stand beside him and praise his generosity. A person no one will contest.”

“That’s exactly right,” Mr. Anders agrees.

“Jesus Christ, are we really saying this? You’re all assuming they’re going to try to pin me for some crime or wrongdoing? If they want to investigate me, let them! I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“What we’re trying to do, Mr. Stryder, is make it so they don’t feel the need to dig any further. You were taken hostage by a drug trafficker. People are going to ask, why you? You need to make sure they think it’s due to your money and not an illicit business association.”

Jenna shoots up from her chair. “Akinyi Adebayo! She’s perfect. She’s beloved by the entire world, works closely with victims of violence, is stunning, and would never endorse or associate with someone who would traffic drugs or exploit at-risk people.”

Mr. Anders’ eyes light up, and I know I’m in for a battle.

She’s correct. Akinyi Adebayo is a stunning woman. At thirteen, she walked runways in New York City and France, by sixteen she rolled out a line of beauty products that sold out the minute they went on preorder. Now, at twenty-seven, she’s ‘retired’ from the modeling world, focusing her efforts on humanitarian causes.

Mr. Anders nods his head aggressively. “Someone get her on the phone!”

“What makes you think she’ll want to be associated with someone who’s about to get ‘pressed through the wringer’ as you suggest is about to happen to me.”

“She’s a smart woman. When we explain the situation, she’ll see through the bullshit that’s about to come, and for a sizable donation, I’m sure she’ll immediately come to your aid. With her in your court, no one will even bother questioning your involvement.”

I shudder at the thought of a fake, PR relationship, something my team has tried to push me into more than once to my consternation. “This is madness!”

Mr. Anders cuts me a glare. “What is madness is failing to get ahead of the inevitable shit storm. While it’s true you will not be charged with any crimes, the fact that you were going to the gala of a depraved criminal and were on the boat with his associate will not go unnoticed. Sure, if your brand fails, you can always just retire on some remote Caribbean island, like your mother, but is that really what you want your legacy to look like?”

I wince at the mention of my mom, who probably won’t bother to call to even see if I’m okay.

“It doesn’t have to be for long,” Stacey adds. “One month is all we really need, two months would be better. You’ll part on good terms, and we’ll even have you sitting front and center at one of her events months after you’ve broken up.”

As much as I hate to admit it, they’re right. My family’s legacy is on the line—but that’s not all. If InStryde goes under, jobs will be lost, and I’ll make more than a few powerful enemies when our stock eventually crashes.

“Nola Laybecks is asking questions about why you were on that boat on Instagram,” a voice pipes up. “Not yet accusatory, but dangerously close.”