Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
As important as getting to know your daughter?
“So, when is this play?” I ask.
“Beginning of December.”
“That’s only a few weeks away. Are there tickets left?”
“Uh … I don’t know. Why?” Violet stammers.
“Because we want to come. Right, Henry?”
He’s scowling at his phone.
I nudge him under the table with my toe again. “Violet’s play is in a few weeks. We’ll go and see it, right?”
“Right, yeah,” he says, but he’s distracted. A curse slips from his lips. “Abbi, you and I need to talk.”
The hairs on my neck prickle from his suddenly serious tone.
My phone rings then, and Mama’s name shows up on the display.
“Don’t answer that,” he barks, spiking my anxiety.
“What is going on, Henry?”
Smoothing his palm over his mouth, he hands me his phone.
I read the headline, and my stomach drops.
CHAPTER 18
“How did they get these!” I scroll through the myriad of pictures from Wolf Cove, printed in the front-page tabloid article that’s now gracing magazine racks all over the country. And here I was, wondering why I hadn’t heard from Luca/Frank/Hank/Satan in weeks. It’s because he was pulling together this story.
These are stills of security camera recordings, and there are many, all the way back to the very beginning, the night a bearded Henry carried my drunk ass back to my cabin.
There’s a snapshot of Henry towering over me in the lodge’s main hall the day he scolded me for showing my jealousy as Rachel served him drinks, and one of Henry with his hand settled on the small of my back while we’re walking along the path—he was always so careful about touching me outside the cabin.
They aren’t all security photos, though. There’s one from the grand opening Saturday night, with me in my fabulous dress, standing morose in the background while Henry ignored me all night. Just below it is a still of me in Michael’s arms that same night, and then one of him leading me into his cabin.
And another of me ducking out of the cabin in Michael’s clothes the next morning.
More security pictures in the following weeks, after our ugly breakup and Henry’s departure, show my relationships with Ronan and Connor unfold—the hugs and friendly leans against each other by the lake. It’s all innocent enough, and yet it paints a totally different picture when paired with the Wolf Hotel Billionaire’s Innocent Farm Girl Not So Innocent headline.
My eyes burn with the threat of angry tears as I graze over the first paragraph again.
Owner of artisanal Farm Girl Soap Co. start-up and assistant to Wolf Hotels billionaire Henry Wolf has had a busy summer, snagging the interest of her rich boss (despite the corporate policy against fraternization). But when the boss was away making those big bucks, the assistant played, falling into the arms and beds of several coworkers, including Wolf’s personal masseuse and several hotel grounds workers. The question is, will Henry Wolf go through with the wedding now that we’ve uncovered his bride-to-be’s dark secrets?
“Who even wrote this trash?” I mutter, more to myself. There aren’t any blatant claims of my infidelity. Just a lot of choice words that make me look like a gold-digging whore and Henry look like a clueless sucker.
“These were taken from corporate property. They belong to me. Some asshole has clearly sold them to this shit mag!” Henry roars into his phone as he paces. Dyson is surely on the other side of that line. “I want the full list of every fucking security guard on staff this summer, and who was working the night of the grand opening. Get it from Belinda. Find out where they live, their contact information. I’m going to make whoever did this pay!”
I haven’t seen Henry this agitated since the night at the golf club when we discovered Scott had been lying about having seen William before he died.
Violet watches. What must she think of her father in this light?
“And this Ben Shaw? Who is he?” Henry barely listens before barking, “Find out!”
Here I was just two days ago, thinking that snooping reporter didn’t unearth what he was digging for. But he had a bigger aim than releasing it on some hot-take celebrity scandal website that feeds a thousand clickbait offshoots. Not that those sites haven’t jumped in to ride the magazine’s coattails. I’ve already received texts from Autumn and half of Greenbank.
“How bad is it?” Violet whispers.
“Oh, you know, they’ve made it sound like I’m a habitual cheater, that I’ve been running around, humping every male’s leg I can get near.” Tears prick my eyes. Mama called twice and texted three times, but I’m avoiding her. Her judgment is the last thing I can deal with.
“But it’s not true.”
I avert my gaze because the reality is, there are many truths buried in this reputation-destroying smear campaign. “Does it matter? Enough people will believe it. I’m already getting DMs and comments on Farm Girl’s social media.”