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“Then you shouldn’t be a public figure,” she swiftly snaps back.
“That wasn’t my choice as you might recall.” The darkening of my tone can’t be helped. “You were the one who ran the exclusive. Who posted my photo. Who invaded my privacy without permission.”
“Actually,” the snark in her voice is unmistakable, “I didn’t invade anything. You unfortunately had an information leak, which given the things I’m still capable of printing without a need for retraction, you still have.”
It takes otherworldly strength to maintain my calm disposition. “I want the name of your source.”
“No.”
“They are in legal violation by leaking that information to you.”
“Only if they’ve spoken directly about conversations or incidents, they’ve had with you or your fiancée or a member of your team. There is no line in this person’s contract that says they can’t discuss things they’ve witnessed or found or are simply speculating about.” She victoriously smiles prematurely. “There’s also no violation in them informing me of the other people who may have spoken to one of you and following those leads.” An amused hand spin is executed. “Aka journalism.”
Unhappy rumbles rattle my frame as I tighten my grasp. “I want the name of your source, Ms. Simmons and I’m willing to negotiate the information for a respectable price.”
“Why am I not surprised another Wilcox is just willing and ready to buy more silence?”
The statement furrows my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“You have a lot in common with the man you inherited the company from.”
“Careful how you speak of those that came before me, Ms. Simmons.”
“Careful how you threaten me in a conversation I am recording, Mr. Wilcox.” She pulls a tube of lipstick out of her pocket. “Guess security missed one.”
Deeper grumbles reverberate around the room.
“As I mentioned, Mr. Wilcox, I do my research.” The recording device is gingerly placed on the table. “Which doesn’t just include reporting on your fiancée’s desire to get a little Batman tattoo on her hip to honor you or how many times her work partner has had to retie her bikini top while they were surfing between assignments or even how she’ll pretend to work late just to get some space away from you.”
Rage rolls around the pit of my stomach.
“It includes so many very intriguing details regarding your lineage. Details that I get the sense you know nothing about.” Her red painted lips twist upward again. “Details I am willing to negotiate to you for a respectable price.”
Pham quickly objects, “Wes-”
“I know everything there is to know about where I’ve come from.”
“Not everything.” She leans back in her seat at the same time she asks, “Were you aware that your mother, Arabella, was actually married once before your father?”
The new information pinches my brow.
“It’s where her well known Parisian obsession stemmed from.”
Uneasiness momentarily clogs my vocal cords. “That could easily be an unsubstantiated claim.”
“The decoration obsession or the marriage? Because either way,” Monica twirls her finger around for theatrics, “I can prove it. I can send you a copy of the marriage certificate they had public records erase from existence. And I can do that because Aloïs – despite their divorce and being happy with his partner Lyam for the past twenty years – has a copy of their license and their wedding photo.”
Disbelief drops my jaw into a bobbing nature.
“See.” She arrogantly winks. “You don’t know everything.”
It’s Evie’s turn to interrupt, “Wes, I think-”
“However, you can know more,” she tempts like the wicked adversary she is proving worthy to be. “For. The. Right. Price.”
J.T. swiftly interjects, “Wes, you should-”
“What else do you have?” I desperately inquire on a lean forward. “What else do you know?”
