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Chapter 13
"Professor Rogers? Are you okay?" Carrie, the petite blond submissive working with him in Emily's place for the second day in a row stared at him with concern etched on her pale features. He heard her but couldn't seem to process her question or formulate a response. His brain was stuck on the conversation he’d just had with his agent.
"Mayday. Mayday. You've been outed. How do you want to handle this?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Professor Rogers stared at the computer screen, and then looked at the paper in front of him. He had been in the middle of making a list of books to order, but now everything seemed like gibberish. "What are you talking about, Alan?"
"You, Dalton Rogers, former Professor at NYU, currently living and working at some sort of kink lifestyle ranch in Montana of all places, have been named as Arabella Cole."
As his agents' words sank in, Dalton realized just how serious this was. He hadn’t told anyone about his move to the Ranch. Not even his agent. And yet, Alan knew.
"What? How? When? Where?" A thousand questions rolled through his brain.
"You posted it on your social media."
"I most certainly did not! Alan! I never use those things unless you tell me to and someone writes the posts for me. You know that."
"I do know that. I suspect your ex-wife. Tell me you have a secure password that she couldn't in a million years guess."
Dalton's heart sank. He didn't. It was his middle name and the year they had gotten married, and Cynthia knew that. But could she have really outed him? It didn't seem her style to hack his social media. She had never even done that when they were married. Why now?
Belatedly, he remembered the financial documents his lawyer had requested from her lawyer. They showed significantly more income than he received from his teaching job. Of course, she had never questioned their finances or all the extra money when they were married. They had lived more than comfortably, and he had set most of his writing income aside for a rainy day. Who knew that that rainy day would come in the form of a very expensive and messy divorce that had just gotten a whole lot messier when he left his job at NYU for one that paid a little bit less, yet made him a lot happier?
"It was definitely Cynthia," he told Alan with a sigh. "It had to be. I'll go in and delete the post and then we’ll do damage control, I guess."
"Uh…" Alan cleared his throat. "It's a little late for that. Both things. Actually. Cynthia apparently deleted the post pretty quickly, but you have a large following and it was too late. Screenshots are forever, and they exist."
"Shit." He racked his brain. "Well, isn't there something you can do? Find out who has the photos and pay them to not release them?"
"Dalton, the associated press picked up the story. It's not everywhere yet, but it's going to be and there is not much I can do. You'll have to find a way to get ahead of it. Do interviews. Come out. Tell your story. Ooh, maybe I can get you on Oprah."
"I'm not going on television."
"I don't know that you're going to have a choice. You said you wanted to do damage control and I'm telling you what that will look like."
"Fuck!"
"I know. I'm sorry. I have to go. I'll call you soon. Change your passwords."
And just like that, the line had gone dead and Alan was gone like he hadn't just destroyed Dalton's entire life with just one phone call.
"Professor Rogers." Carrie repeated his name with a frown, bringing him back into the present. "Sir, are you okay?"
No. He wasn't okay. Not even a little bit.
"I… uh… yeah," he lied. "I just was spacing out for a minute. Let's work on furniture we might need for a bit. Going through lists of books for every imaginable category is getting a little tedious."
Before he could even switch websites, his phone rang again. The caller ID told him it was Derek.
"Hello?"
"Professor Rogers, I need to see you in my office for a few minutes."
Shit. This was not what he needed.
"Yes, sir. I'll be right down." He scowled as he pressed the button to disconnect the call. He thrust his notepad at Carrie as he grabbed his briefcase. "This has a list of what we will need and how many of each, and several suppliers that Master Derek would like to use. Check their websites. Find what you like and write it down and I'll check it out later. If we agree, I'll pass the order onto Derek."
"Yes, Sir. Sounds good." The perky blonde frowned. "Are you leaving?"
