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“Yeah,” I remarked. “And my father’s going to have your balls on a platter.”
The sheriff didn’t give a shit who I was. He tossed my ass into the back seat of his car and slammed the door in my face. Throwing my head against the backrest, I didn’t make a sound.
My performance was over.
I gave it five stars.
I stayed quiet until I sat in my jail cell, drained from the inside out.
Fully aware…
I. Was. Fucked.
chapterfive
Aires
14 weeks later
“How the fuckdid you let this happen, Aires?” My father slammed another dumpster fire article about me on the table in front of him.
All hell broke loose these last couple of months since I was arrested for possession of an illegal substance. In order to avoid jail time, his lawyers were able to work out a plea deal where I was court ordered to a ninety-day rehab stint, a shit ton of hours in community service, and mainly paying out hundreds of thousands in fees that my old man would hold over my head for eternity.
News spread like wildfire in a forest, and there was no hiding from it. It was all over social media, and the press ate me alive, basically burning me at the stake. The last three months were a giant blur of NA meetings and therapy. Although my treatment center was the best money could buy. It was essentially a high-end resort where I played tennis and hit the gym like a madman.
It was still painful to be somewhere I didn’t need to be.
My agent, Thomas, held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I’m handling it.”
“You’re handling it?” I scoffed out in a snide breath. “If you were handling it, then I wouldn’t be on the front cover of every magazine with the headline ‘SPIRALING’ in big, bold lettering!”
“Don’t yell at him, Aires.”
My old man brought my attention over to him.
“It’s not his fault you’re a fuckup.”
I leaned back into my chair. “Sticks and stones, Dad.”
We were in his office, sitting at the long rectangular table in the center of the massive and lavish space.
“If you’re bed-hopping ways weren’t enough of an eyesore, now we’re dealing with you being labeled a drug addict.”
“I told you, it’s bullshit.”
“It’s bullshit they found you with five illegal pills? Is that bullshit? Because the invoices from me having to save your ass yet again haven’t stopped since I paid your bail to get you out of jail.”
“I told you I’d pay for it.”
“So it looks like your family doesn’t care about you?”
“That’s right.” I viciously nodded. “I forgot what matters to you is what strangers think.”
“Aires… do not give me your woe-is-me bullshit. Do you have any idea how lucky you’ve had it? How many people would kill to be born with your life of privilege?”
It was the same speech every time.
Glaring at my agent, I chimed in, “Why are you standing there with your dick tucked between your legs? You should be out there doing damage control.”
