The last thing she wanted to do was bring up the pictures Peter had held over her head to get her to quit. There had been other reasons to quietly leave. “When you’re a minority, in any industry, you feel so visible, and like the only way to get ahead is to be tougher than everyone else. You don’t cry. You don’t show weakness. You can’t be a victim.” Even now, she flinched away from the word. Victim. It was wild how, at the end of the day, even language was an elaborate ruse to keep hurt people compliant. “Victim” implied weakness; if she claimed to be hurt, she was a victim; ergo, if she was a victim, she was weak.
Bullshit.
She hadn’t done anything wrong, she’d merely taken a chance on loving someone. She hadn’t harmed; she’d had harm done to her. That didn’t make her weak. Peter’s behavior reflected only upon himself.
Helena gave her a second to compose herself, and then prompted her. “Why speak up now?”
Rhiannon looked at the rapt young people in the front row again. “I assumed no one would believe me then. Times have changed.”
“It’s only been a few years. You think our society has evolved so much since you left Swype?” Helena lifted a skeptical brow.
“We didn’t have movements then, or hashtags.” Rhiannon tugged at the cuffs of her hoodie. The blue one, her best one. The one she’d worn on that rooftop with Samson, when they’d been silly and cuddled in a waterbed cabana, and he’d kissed her against her car. “Even then, I wouldn’t have said anything, probably, if I’d continued to believe I was the only one. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no benefit to me coming clean right now, like this, except it might help someone else.” She looked directly into the camera, the red light hurting her retinas, but she didn’t flinch away. “I read that article today, and I feel so awful, for anyone Peter hurt after me and before me. Thank you, to the people who put up their hands first, who made me feel safe enough to tell my story. I hope, if anyone else is out there, what I’m doing right now helps you.”
Helena’s lips thinned. “I hope so too. I think it’s clear how much workplace harassment has been swept under the rug for years.”
“I was lucky. I happened to have a friend who stepped forward and believed in me and gave me the capital to start Crush. If I hadn’t had her, my career would have been, if not over, at least severely set back. How many people can say that? How many brilliant minds have been suppressed because a toxic workplace ended their careers?”
Helena glanced at her producer, then back to Rhi. “Is there anything else you’d like our audience to know?”
Rhi twined her fingers together and summoned all her public speaking skills. Whenever she ended an interview, she did it with the knowledge that the sound bite she gave would be used again and again. She needed to close this out with something simple, but powerful. “I built Crush on the platform that the world needs more accountability. Peter should be held accountable for what he did. He shouldn’t be allowed to ever do that to anyone again. No one should. Every industry needs to be cleaned up, so we can all get back to work. Let’s start here.”
The crowd broke into applause as the taping wrapped, but the noise was filtered through a thick layer of Vaseline. Her brain was fuzzy, like she’d been enveloped in a fog.
She accepted Helena’s fierce hug and nodded when the other woman whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry. I believe you, and thank you. Please let me know what you need from me. I can put you in touch with a Times reporter or . . .”
Reporter. News. This interview was originally supposed to have been a fluff piece in a millennial- and Gen Z–friendly format. When she walked out the door, her life would change.
Or it already had, she realized, as she caught side-eye from the crew backstage.
She deliberately didn’t pull her phone out of her purse. The show had arranged for a limo to take her to the airport, and she stared out the window at the garish neon lights, bright and colorful. She shivered at the blasting A/C in the car and turned it down. All she wanted was to be home on the left coast. Curled up in front of the firepit in Katrina’s backyard or gazing out at the downtown skyline from her loft.
Unfortunately, she was scheduled to fly from here to western New York for her brother’s engagement party. Her departure time was still a few hours off, but she could settle into the airline club at JFK and hide as best she could.
The lounge had small private offices, and one was blessedly empty. She closed the door and pulled out her laptop to start an email. She should call Lakshmi or her lawyer . . . but she didn’t know what to say to them. Hi, I know I set off a not-so-small public relations bomb.
Instead, she dug through her archives. She didn’t send the email, but attached every document she could find with meticulous attention to detail.
After she had that ready, she dug out her phone. She ignored all the calls and messages filling her notifications, and video-called Lakshmi.
“How mad is Suzie?” she asked, when Lakshmi answered. Her assistant had kept Crush’s colors in her hair and added a rose gold septum ring.
“Not mad.” Lakshmi’s tone was incredibly gentle. “You want to see? We’re at my place for a watch party.”
Rhiannon almost groaned. She’d forgotten that Lakshmi had arranged a watch party for the staff. “Fine. Yes.”
Lakshmi flipped the camera and walked her out of her kitchen. “Guys, Rhiannon is on the phone.”
Rhiannon nearly dropped the phone when the roar of approval came out of the speaker. The frame was filled with her people, smiling, misty-eyed, crying, but so . . . on her side.
She’d thought she felt like she belonged in L.A. because she was anonymous there, but no. She belonged because these people were her family too. Family she paid, but family.
Her cheeks were wet, and she almost covered the camera to block anyone from seeing her cry, but she was too tired.
Suzie came into view and took the phone from Lakshmi. The permanent frown on her head of marketing’s face was etched deeper, her short platinum hair standing straight up, like she’d run her hands through it. “Bitch,” she said, and her smoker’s voice was rougher than usual. “Don’t you ever go do something like that without me physically by your side to run interference. It’s my job to protect you. But you did an amazing job without me, come back soon so I can lecture you in person.” She handed the phone back to Lakshmi.
Rhiannon sank deeper into the plush seat. Lakshmi walked away from the crew, her tone turning brisk. “Peter’s lawyers have already called legal. They’re threatening to sue for defamation and theft of trade secrets.”
Rhiannon hit send on the email she’d prepared. “Tell them to go ahead. Show them a couple of the attachments I sent you.”
“What are they?”
“Every email Peter sent me telling me I’d never work in this industry again if I didn’t get back together with him. Calling me a bitch and a whore.” Rhi paused. “I’m still debating releasing them no matter what. But if Swype wants to go the lawsuit route, all those words are definitely getting released to the public. Tell them I saved my text history and voice mails too. Those are even better.”
Lakshmi’s grin was wide. “With pleasure. Chelsea’s gonna be so excited.”