Jill pounded a fist lightly against her chest, still recovering from her coughing fit. When her throat was clear, she said, “I’m not gonna do that. Clara, you’re my family.”
The last of Clara’s defenses shattered.
Jill’s definition of family, what they did for one another, the way they forgave, defied everything Clara had ever known. But Clara knew too well the destruction a rumor could cause, and the worst part was, this one was true.
“It’s the only way. I put the firm at risk and I probably lost the campaign for Toni. You saw that guy up there. He doesn’t pull his punches. This time tomorrow it’ll be all over the news: Granger Campaign Staffer Peddles Porn. Don’t smile,” she said, reprimanding her aunt.
Didn’t Jill know she should frown and glower, sigh deeply as if Clara’s existence were a trial? That was the only way to let someone know they’d let you down.
Jill wasn’t having it. “There’s gotta be another way to salvage the story here. I need some time to figure it out.”
Clara’s eyes welled with tears. How had she gotten lucky enough to get this woman for not only a family member but a boss, too, even if the latter was short-lived? The rest of the Wheatons didn’t realize what they were missing. A decade ago, Jill had fought for love, and Clara now realized she’d never stopped. “There’s no other way. You know there’s not.”
Jill didn’t answer, but Clara saw agreement in her eyes.
chapter thirty-three
HER KNEES BEGGED for mercy against the hard linoleum floor, but Clara relished the discomfort as she cleaned the kitchen with a diligence and vigor usually reserved for someone covering up a crime scene.
Over the last few hours, she’d had plenty of time to mull over her current situation and work up a healthy cocktail of anger and fear. Scrubbing was the only antidote she knew.
Patsy Cline crooned from a portable speaker perched on the kitchen counter. The soundtrack to pain. Clara had spent her whole life trying to please everyone and somehow wound up pleasing no one. Not even herself.
The Wheaton curse took no prisoners.
Around five o’clock, Josh came in and almost tripped over her, positioned as she was on all fours in front of the doorway to the kitchen. She got to her feet and dusted off her sweat pants.
He wore the dopey grin that made lesser women swoon, but she girded her loins and cut to the chase.
“Did you tell a bunch of reporters that I provided the funding for Shameless?” Clara laced each word with fury.
Josh’s smile fell and his eyebrows drew together. “What?”
Her heart twisted. “Have you seen these?” She handed him the article printouts.
Josh took the documents and began to shake his head, tossing his golden curls. “Naomi totally sidestepped those questions. Wait—what the fuck? Clara. Did you see this quote on page three? ‘Darling’s agent, Bennie Mancusso, says the pair of sizzling stars owes their success to their investor, noted Manhattan socialite Clara Wheaton.’” He swore under his breath.
Clara balked. “How would your agent know my name?”
He thumbed through the pages. “This has Black Hat written all over it. I bet their lawyers can sniff out a paper trail from a mile away. The bank, the website hosting, the rental equipment. It couldn’t be that hard to tie all those expenses back to you if someone was looking hard enough. Bennie and Pruitt probably thought highlighting your background would undermine the website.”
She strangled the sponge in her hands. “How do you sound so calm?”
Josh’s face hardened. “Look, this is bad, I’m not gonna pretend it’s not, but come on. I know you had cold feet before we got started. Before we knew what this project could turn into. But now? Your fingerprints are all over Shameless.” His eyes became guarded. “I thought you were proud of what we built together.”
That was the kicker. She loved every part of their project. The people, the humor, their tiny studio space. Every camera and microphone and monitor. Clara even liked the wild toys with names she could never remember. Why else would she have toiled and gone without sleep or proper nutrition to bring Shameless into the world?
Even if no one else ever used the site, Clara had learned from their creation already. And not just about how to have better sex. It was the first real piece of art she’d ever created.
But now everything she’d sacrificed was corrupted. None of the joy or pride Shameless brought her changed the fact that her public involvement with the property came at a huge cost. Her name. Her real name was compromised.
Clara’s head pounded as chemically engineered citrus wafted up from the newly polished floor and stung her nostrils. She would never be able to sever the link between her identity and explicit sex. “Those articles cost me my job.” The reality hit her again, as fresh and painful as the first time.
She’d failed. More than failed. One day had sent her fledgling career down a trash chute.
“I work in public relations and reputation management for a political campaign,” she said. “This scandal might end Toni’s bid for reelection, and it puts a huge blemish on Jill’s firm’s résumé. I can’t undo this. When you search Clara Wheaton now, do you know what comes up?” She threw her arms in the air. “It’s not my thesis on Renoir. It’s tits and ass.”
Josh moved past her with tight lips and short, choppy strides to pour himself a glass of water.
“I’m sorry,” he finally told her after taking a sip.
Clara saw red. “You don’t sound very sorry.”
Josh lowered his glass to the counter hard enough that the surface of the water quivered. “I’m sorry you lost your job, okay? I really am.” His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry that your dirty little secret got out. I’m sorry that for one day you experienced a tiny piece of the backlash that I’ve faced for the last two years of my life. But I’ve got to tell you, as far as political sex scandals go, this one sounds pretty fucking tame.”
Clara opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Was he actually . . . angry? At her?
He flexed his fingers at his side. “Actually, you know what? No. I’m not sorry. Wasn’t the whole point of Shameless that women shouldn’t be punished for seeking pleasure, and their partners shouldn’t be ashamed about wanting to learn how to give it to them? Wasn’t that your whole sermon? When are you going to stop acting like a hypocrite and start practicing what you preach?”
“I believe in the site as much today as I did yesterday, but believing that doesn’t change who I am. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to leave everything else I love behind. The second my mother hears about this—”