Courting Trouble (Reality Romance Book 5) (10 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“Who?”

He could see the hope in her face that it wasn’t real, that it was some kind of promotional hoax, and he wished he could have given her better news, but from what Max had told him when he called the news only got worse.

“Apparently his name is Dermott Kellerman.”

She winced, closing her eyes as if the name had struck a physical blow. She nodded, eyes still shut. “It was right after the reunion special,” she confirmed. “Just some guy I met in a coffee shop, but he was nice and Daniel had just thrown me to the wolves on national television. I felt like an idiot for ever trusting him and I hated that he was the last guy I’d slept with, so I went home with Dermott just to get the taste of Daniel out of my mouth. He wasn’t even that good.”

And he’d made a sex tape of them. “Did you know he was filming you?”

She shook her head, opening her eyes though he doubted she was seeing anything. “Why did he wait so long? He must have been sitting on the tape for months.”

“The network made the announcement yesterday about dropping
Marrying Mister Perfect
from the fall line-up. Max thinks Kellerman was waiting to see if you’d be picked as the next Miss Right. The video would be worth more if he released it in the middle of the season.” Adam grimaced, hating that he had more to tell her. “The clip he released is only a few seconds. A teaser. Enough to confirm it’s definitely you. He’s auctioning off the full tape to the highest bidder and using the media frenzy to drive the price up.”

“Christ.” She sank onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “I was trying to hit the reset button after one asshole screwed me over and I managed to pick a guy who made a sex tape and held onto it until he could shop it around for maximum impact. Can I pick ‘em or what?”

“This isn’t your fault.”

She didn’t look like she’d heard him. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We stop it. He tipped his hand because he was greedy. We can get an injunction. Make sure he can’t sell it or release any more clips.”

“I don’t know how.”

“This is why you have people to protect your career. Call your agent. Make him earn his fifteen percent.”

She nodded, paler than he’d ever seen her. Her shock was understandable, but worrisome. He didn’t like the way her eyes wouldn’t seem to focus.

He grabbed orange juice from the fridge, pouring her a glass and setting it in front of her. “Where’s your phone?”

She waved vaguely toward the ceiling.

“Why don’t you go get it while I finish making breakfast? Do you like omelets?”

She frowned at him as if confused by the question. “Have you seen it? The teaser?”

“No. Max called me this morning when he heard about it because I mentioned to him that you were staying in my guest room until the other situation got cleared up.”

“The other situation.” She snorted. “We’re using euphemisms now for the psycho who threatened to kill me because of my slutty ways?”

His helplessness burned. He didn’t have a magic button he could push to get rid of the sex tape or the death threat or even the jerks who treated her like she was a prostitute whenever she stepped outside her door. But he could feed her. “Do you like peppers?”

She laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Yeah. Peppers are great.” She slid off her stool. “I’ll go get my phone.”

* * * * *

Maybe it was a joke.

Adam hadn’t seen the clip and she didn’t know Sidney’s brother Max. Maybe he had the worst possible taste and was just winding Adam up. Maybe it wasn’t really happening.

But when she turned on her phone there were too many texts and voicemails to support her wishful thinking. Dozens. And only a handful of people had this new number. She pulled up her web browser, typing in her name.

It was the first hit.

She tapped the link to the teaser clip. At the first frame, memory crystallized, bringing her vague memories of that months ago night into sharp focus.

He’d wanted to leave the light on. His bed had been warm from all the lights he’d aimed at it. The asshole. The clip didn’t look like a grainy, blurry, night-vision sex tape. It looked like porn. And it was undeniably her.

Jesus.

It was—Thank God—only a few seconds long, but it was long enough to be damning. And tantalizing. The asshole was probably going to make a fortune.

She dialed Dale’s number as she descended to the kitchen. Adam was plating an omelet that looked like a work of culinary art, but she didn’t have anything resembling an appetite.

Dale picked up on the second ring—no run around with his secretary today. “Elena! I’m glad you got back to me, hon. We have to move fast, strike while the iron is hot—”

“We need to get an injunction,” she interrupted before Dale could launch into whatever plan he wanted to pitch. “Stop Dermott from releasing the full tape.”

“Smart,” Dale agreed instantly. “Playboy won’t pay nearly as much if you’re already out there. Exclusivity is the name of the game—”

He kept speaking, but her ears didn’t seem to be working. All she heard was a high, echoing ringing—like she’d been in a club too long and her hearing had been blown out by the bass.

He didn’t want to stop it. He wanted to spin it. Work it into her brand.

Everything in her revolted.

“No.”

“Elena?” Dale sounded confused—which wasn’t surprising, considering she’d interrupted him mid-sentence with her explosive no.

“I don’t think we have the same vision for my career anymore.”

“Okay,” he backpedaled. “You’re upset. That’s understandable.”

“You’re fired.”

It felt good. The relief of it was almost sexual it was so acute. She disconnected the call and dropped her phone on the breakfast bar, staring straight ahead as the certainty that she should have done that months ago shivered through her. She felt…
free
.

And alone.

“I just fired my agent,” she told Adam.

“I heard. You okay?”

She nodded, a little dazed. “He was worried about exclusivity. Apparently my vagina isn’t worth as much to Playboy if everyone has already downloaded it.”

Adam swore with a creativity she would have found impressive if she wasn’t still shell shocked.

She frowned, trying to make her sluggish thoughts respond. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Eat,” he commanded, nudging her plate closer to her. “Then we’ll find you a lawyer or an agent or someone who can file that injunction for you. The show has teams of lawyers, don’t they? Could they help you?”

Miranda.

She wasn’t with
Marrying Mister Perfect
anymore, but she knew this business and she knew how to manage scandal. She’d probably even smothered a sex tape or two in her day. She would know what to do. And how to do it.

She ignored the omelet, reaching for her cell phone again.

Five minutes later, Elena felt the first flicker of hope she’d had all morning.

“Let me make some calls,” Miranda said in her familiar, competent manner. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Why?” Elena asked, wanting to accept the help, but confused by the offer. “You don’t even work for them anymore.”

“Honestly, E, if you called them, I doubt they would lift a finger to help you unless it was going to hurt the ratings. But I never felt right about how you were treated Daniel’s season. We did this to you. You signed eleven million different kinds of releases when you signed up for the show, so you can’t make us help you or come after us for trashing your reputation, but
Marrying Mister Perfect
gleefully encouraged America to pile on with the slut shaming and I owe you. So I want to help.”

Elena didn’t cry. She reminded herself of that as emotion pressed against the back of her throat. It was the first time anyone affiliated with the show had acknowledged that what had happened to her wasn’t entirely her fault. Not the sex tape, but the rest of it. The Slutty Suitorette. Everyone had always implied—either tacitly or outright—that she was only getting what she deserved. She’d encouraged Daniel. She’d flirted and tempted and put out—God forbid—so everyone looked at her as if she deserved what she got. The betrayal by the man she thought she loved. The shaming by the American viewing public.

Miranda had said she was sorry for what had happened to Elena before, but she’d never said the show was to blame. Elena had always assumed the unspoken second half of
I’m sorry it happened
was
but you brought it on yourself
. This was different.

And if she let herself think about it, she was going to cry. “Thank you.”

Miranda signed off, on a mission to stop the tape, and Elena set down her phone. It was several moments later before she looked up and found Adam watching her.

“Good news?”

She nodded mutely. Then caught sight of the microwave clock behind his shoulder. “Do you have a job today? I don’t want to make you late for work.”

“Max and I discussed it when he called this morning. He’s reassigning my detail today so I can stay here with you.”

Her relief that he wasn’t leaving her alone was embarrassingly acute. She didn’t want to need him like this. “Why are you so nice to me?”

He met her eyes, his own steady and calm in spite of the blaze of anger banked in them. Anger on her behalf. “You deserve it. And you don’t deserve this shit.”

She pressed her lips together, nodding her thanks because she couldn’t speak or she would cry.

“Eat.”

She nodded, digging into the omelet.

Whether she deserved it or not, she was grateful for him and she wasn’t too proud to admit she needed him today.

Chapter Sixteen

Expensive lawyers apparently made house calls.

Elena sat in Adam’s gorgeous sunken living room during the hours which she would later come to think of as the Afternoon of the Lawyers and tried to focus on the meaning behind the legalese flying around her. Miranda had arrived with three lawyers from a Very Respectable Firm and they had introduced themselves with brisk efficiency before ensconcing themselves in the casual luxury of Adam’s couches and getting down to business.

She tried to feel comforted rather than intimidated by their aggressive voices spouting complicated legal jargon. They were legal sharks, but they were
her
legal sharks. It was irrational to feel defensive every time they spoke, but she just felt herself getting smaller and smaller as her muscles got tenser and tenser as she sat on the couch facing them with Adam at her side.

“It could be much worse,” the older of the two male lawyers said when she finished going into nauseating detail about her relationship—or lack thereof—with the man holding her sex tape for ransom.

Though he hadn’t actually demanded ransom—so that was something. Though at this point she wondered if that wouldn’t have been preferable. Dermott must have known she didn’t have a penny to pay him with.

“Once it’s online you can’t close Pandora’s box again, but this way we have very different options,” he continued, discussing her drama in the same coolly analytical way they’d all been talking about it since they arrived. As if it were a particularly complicated puzzle they were solving en masse. He seemed to be the leader of the trio—smooth and slick and polished, like a politician with a haircut that cost more than she spent on groceries in a month.

“Of course we’ll start with an injunction, but after that is when it really gets interesting.” The female lawyer bounced on her seat, practically getting off on the legal machinations. “We’ll essentially be suing for custody of the tape.”

“Which is a tenuous claim at best,” the younger male argued disapprovingly, speaking around the stick up his ass. He would have been cute—a scaled down version of Idris Elba—if he hadn’t looked so constipated.

“What if he releases it?”

“That’s what the injunction is designed to prevent,” the politician explained with a smarmy smile.

“Does the injunction physically remove it from his possession? What if he’s made copies?” Of course he’d made copies. He wasn’t a complete moron and he’d had it for months. There could be hundreds, squirreled away all over the globe. Suddenly getting back all the copies of her sex tape seemed more complicated than the plot of Ocean’s Eleven.

“He’ll go to jail if he violates the injunction,” Idris Elba’s pissy little brother said with excruciating patience. “And there may be a small fine.”

“What if he does it anyway? What if he decides it’s worth it?”

Her parents already weren’t speaking to her. After this…

Adam reached over, catching her hand with his. She latched on and squeezed it tight, grateful for the support.

“Revenge porn is illegal in California, so you could file a criminal claim, but you might run into jurisdiction issues since he lives in Nevada where there are no revenge porn laws and you say the tape was made in Las Vegas,” the woman explained. “Additionally you’d have to prove his intention was to harass, where it appears to be to make money and he could easily claim that your position as a celebrity who has made a living from displaying your love life has made your sex life newsworthy and therefore claim protection under the first amendment.”

“What about invasion of privacy? He’s not allowed to film me without my knowledge or consent, is he?”

“He’s claiming you did know you were being filmed and apparently he believes the content of the tape backs this up,” Elba-mini explained. “We’ll get a copy of it during discovery and see what he’s referring to, but his lawyers may already argue that your right to privacy is compromised since you willingly participated in a reality show—and your behavior on that show may be a contributing factor.”

“Shit.”

“That’s why we’ll be working to establish your ownership of the video,” the woman said.

“And if that fails?”

“You’ll want to copyright your likeness, so we can go after him for infringement as well if he attempts to profit from it. We’ll start on that paperwork right away as well.”

She was copyrighting her body. Something she never thought she’d have to consider.

“That still doesn’t answer the question of what happens if he just releases it anyway.”

None of them answered. Because they all knew the answer was simple. They could file all the paperwork against him they wanted and levy fines and lawsuits and put him in jail, but if he decided to do it, she couldn’t physically stop him.

“We’re going to try to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Miranda said from her position leaning against the French doors, unflappable in her reassurance.

“Then we’d better hope my luck has changed,” Elena muttered under her breath.

“This is going to get ugly,” warned the younger man.

“Sex tape lawsuits always draw attention and this kind of case hasn’t been done in this way before, so it may get even more attention,” the woman chimed in and then their boss added his two cents.

“You’re going to be discussed, not just on entertainment shows, but on the 24-hour news networks. Some pundits will say that you didn’t give your permission to be recorded, but you did consent to the sex. And you are a public figure, so we may face issues of whether normal privacy statues apply to you.”

“So women should never have sex if they don’t want to be on sex tapes?”

“You just need to be prepared for the kind of arguments we may face,” Idris Jr. clarified. “They’ll say this wouldn’t have happened if you’d been in a serious, committed relationship,” he went. “They’ll try to blame your lifestyle. To discredit you. And much of that will be done in the most public way possible.”

“The Slutty Suitorette got what she deserved,” she said sarcastically.

“Precisely.”

Adam’s free hand fisted on his thigh.

And it went on from there.

* * * * *

By the time the lawyers left, the sun had set and Adam had fantasized about throttling each of them at least five times.

He kept reminding himself that they were on Elena’s side, they were only trying to prepare her for what she would face so she wouldn’t be blindsided by any of it, but as he watched her shrink in on herself, her arms wrapped tight around her middle as she huddled on the couch, none of that seemed to matter as much as the fact that she was hurting.

He’d made baked mac n’ cheese for dinner, picking the most comforting food he could think of, and together they’d polished off a bottle of red wine, but it hadn’t improved the mood. It wasn’t likely that anything would today. He’d found a mindless comedy on TV in an attempt to cheer her up, but she was still too shell-shocked to laugh, staring blankly at the screen.

The movie was only half over when she drifted out to the deck to lean against the rail and stare out at the night-dark water. Adam shut off the TV and followed her out, giving her space but taking up a place a few feet down on the rail in case she wanted to talk.

“You looked like you wanted to punch the three musketeers today,” she commented after a moment of silence staring out at the waves.

“I did.”

“You might want to keep them on retainer. You’re going to have a lot of assault charges to deal with if you go around punching everyone who insults me.”

He hated that she was right, that things were only going to get worse before they got better, that she was in this situation at all. He hated
all of it
. And he hated that there was nothing he could do.

He reached out, catching her to him, a little surprised when she nestled against his chest without protest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek against the top of her head as she looped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest, her face still pointed out toward the water.

As she held on, the tension in her body relaxed—not all the way, but enough that he felt her sigh.

“I really fucked up this time,” she whispered.

“
No
.” He swore. “
You
didn’t.”

She sighed again, releasing another notch of tension. “It still doesn’t feel real. I didn’t know I was famous enough to have a sex tape.” She snorted. “Watch out Kim Kardashian. Here I come.”

Now she was the one cracking jokes and he was the one who couldn’t laugh. He wanted so badly to be able to take it all away. Make it better. And the only thing that would help now was time. And a lot of it.

“It won’t last forever. Public memory is shorter than you think.”

She breathed out a humorless laugh. “Tell that to Monica Lewinsky.”

“Dermott Kellerman isn’t Bill Clinton.”

“I should be grateful for that, I guess, but I’d almost rather get caught banging the President than some random douchebag with a web cam. Monica had better taste. Though Dermott isn’t married—I don’t think—so that’s a plus.”

He tried to think of something else to say, but he’d pretty much tapped out his comforting homilies with
This too shall pass
.

He held her, listening to the ocean, but she broke the moment, pulling away.

“I’m exhausted.” She pushed her hands through her hair, pulling the tie free so her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders. She looked gorgeous—and it was the absolute wrong time for him to notice. “Apparently being auctioned off to the highest bidder is quite tiring. Who knew?”

He leaned back against the railing, gripping it with both hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her again. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded. “G’night, Adam. Thanks for everything today.”

He shook his head, ready to protest that he hadn’t done anything, but she was already slipping through the French doors back into the house. He listened, barely making out the sound of her steps over the lap of the waves. He waited until he thought he heard the click of her door before turning back to face the Pacific.

Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.