Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“What?” I demand.
“Strip. They’re saying you work as a stripper.”
“I do, what?” The word bellows from my lungs, actually forcing myself back a step. “A stripper? A fricking stripper? They said I’m a stripper? I’m not a stripper! I was a go-go dancer! Not once have I taken my clothes off for money! Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I haven’t done it! And I most definitely didn’t keep Gigi from you!”
He comes to me. His big hands wrapping around my biceps. “I know that, Dove. But some asshole made up this bullshit story and printed it.”
“Well, that’s just fucking great!” I pull from his hold, moving away, needing some space. I walk to the edge of the porch and curl my hands around the railing, taking in and exhaling a few breaths. I tilt my head in his direction. “Can they do this? Print lies like this?”
I almost want to slap myself in the face for asking that.
Of course they can. The press is notorious for printing whatever they damn well feel like, truth or not.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding remorseful.
“Why are you sorry?” I straighten up, facing him, one hand still holding on to that railing. It’s like I need the support to ground me, so I don’t run from here and straight to the person who printed this crap about me to kick the bullshit right out of them. “It’s not like you printed these lies about me. It’s not your fault this is happening.”
He lets out a self-deprecating noise through his nose. “Babe, everything that goes wrong in your life is because of me. This is no exception. They wouldn’t have targeted you if I were just some normal guy. It’s because of what I do for a living…who I am to them. It makes me newsworthy. Meaning they will spin whatever shit they can to make a story sound juicier.”
“God, it makes me so angry!” I rage, teeth gritted. “I can’t believe they just get to do this! And, now, people are going to think I’m a stripper. What if the kids at school say mean stuff to Gigi? And—” My thoughts are spiraling out of control.
“It’s going to be all right, Cam.”
“No, it’s not!” I yell at him. But I’m not yelling at him; I’m yelling at the asshole who printed this story. “It’s not your name that’s currently getting tarnished. It’s mine!” I bang a hand to my chest, tears trying to force their way up.
I grab my cell from my pajama pocket and pull up a search engine. I type my name in it.
“What are you doing?” Zeus steps closer.
“Finding out exactly what people are saying about me.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
He goes to wrap his hand over my phone, but I move it out of the way.
“I have to know.”
My page fills with news stories, the headlines screaming at me.
Zeus Kincaid Has a Secret Child! Click here to read all about his secret daughter and the stripper who kept his baby from him.
Zeus Kincaid and the Stripper Who Had His Baby and Kept It Secret for Four Years—Until Now. Click here for the full exposé.
Everything You Need to Know About Cameron Reed, Stripper and Zeus Kincaid’s Baby Mama. Click here to read more.
I click on the third link. The page loads, and the first thing I see is a picture of me—a seriously unflattering picture of me dancing on a podium at the club. There’s a pole, and I’m holding on to it, head thrown back, leg curled around it. I’m wearing sparkly hot pants and a matching bra top. I look like I could be pole-dancing. Or stripping.
“Jesus…” I groan, staring at the picture, unable to look away.
Zeus slides my phone from my hand and from my view, and I let him. “You don’t need to see those.”
“I never stripped.” I look up at him with imploring eyes, knowing how incriminating that picture looks.
“I know that. But, even if you had, it wouldn’t have mattered. What you do is no one’s business but yours.”
“I know. But…I just wanted to keep dancing, and it was fun. If I’d known…I never would have taken the job. Fuck!” I cry out.
He takes my face in his hands, staring into my eyes. “And, if you’d never taken that job, I wouldn’t have seen you that night. I wouldn’t have known about Gigi. And we wouldn’t be together right now.”
The front door flies open. Zeus releases me, turning to the door. Probably thinking the same as me—that it’s Gigi. But it’s not. It’s Aunt Elle.
“What the hell is going on out here?” she hisses. “I could hear you yelling from upstairs. FYI, you woke up Gigi. You’ve about six seconds before she’s down here.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. I press my hand to my forehead, turning to Aunt Elle. “The press has put out a story about me. They’re saying I’m a stripper and that I didn’t tell Zeus about Gigi. Jesus, they’re painting me out to be a terrible mother.” Angry tears fill my eyes.