The Fastest Way to Fall(86)

LittleHippoMom: @FitMiFitness must be struggling if they have to resort to this for clients. Whatever they pay that coach, it’s not enough. #MakeBrittaSweat


GGMikeXX: @BestLifeBritta, want to do a story on insurance agencies next? I’m just saying I’m available for an “interview.”



Shame, anger, frustration, and helplessness rose in me as the replies kept populating. That wasn’t even a careless moment—it was a beautiful moment, and I felt violated seeing it on the screen.

I looked up, panic-stricken, to meet Natalie’s gaze. “How did they know?”

“What were you thinking, Britta? And how could you not tell me?”

“It . . . it just happened this weekend.”

Natalie looked at me like I had two heads, both of which were shoved up my own butt. “So, it’s true? You’re sleeping with the coach whose company you’ve been reviewing and promoting for months?”

“Not until this weekend,” I clarified. “We were friends before. This picture is innocent.” At the time, I’d brushed off the notion that Wes wanted to kiss me, but seeing the photo now, even without seeing his face, I was sure he did.

Natalie stared at me, eyes like steel, and pointed to the screen. “Believe me. It does not look innocent.” Finally, she rubbed her temples. “This is a nightmare. Body FTW, which has been tremendously profitable for us, now looks like a sham, and the coach looks like a sleazy dick, which he probably is.”

“He’s not,” I insisted.

“You need to tell me everything so I can advise Maricela on how we’re handling this.”

I slapped my hand to my mouth. “Oh, God! My post from Saturday . . . it’s about sex.” My face burned at the memory of happily discovering sex was in the FitMi list of exercises and writing about it.

“I deleted it, but not before thousands of people viewed it.” The landline on her desk rang. “You screwed us here, Britta.” Natalie picked up the receiver and spoke without preamble. “Hey . . . she’s here.” She cut her eyes to me, and I dropped my gaze to stare intently at my hands.

I itched to text Wes. This couldn’t bode well for him, and the last thing I wanted was to be another woman who let him down. Over the weekend, we’d been lost in each other physically, but in those still moments, holding each other, he’d opened up. Wes had told me more about his mom and sister, about his ex and what had happened with them. He’d looked so relieved to talk about it, like he was releasing a pressure valve. My stomach sank at the idea of him closing that valve back off.

Natalie’s conversation continued. “Who’s the coach?”

I swallowed, realizing she didn’t know, that Wes’s identity wasn’t out there yet.

“Mason, your guy’s inability to keep his dick in his pants around a client got us into this mess. Give me a name,” she said, like I wasn’t in the room. “Yes, my reporter didn’t keep it in her pants, either. Do you really want to play semantics right now?” She was silent for a moment and cast me sideways glances.

She dropped the ear set into the cradle forcefully. “They’re closing ranks. Who is your coach?”

I swallowed. I needed to talk to Wes, to protect him from this. My name was tied to it, but his wasn’t. “Just . . . a coach. It doesn’t matter.”

“Why do I even bother?” she muttered under her breath. “Without a face for him, this is all on you. The public isn’t kind, and hashtag MakeBrittaSweat is only the beginning. FitMi wants to deny it, and I’m inclined to agree. But otherwise, you need to play up the he-took-advantage-of-me-when-I-felt-ugly angle or something. You’re a good writer, so I’m sure you could spin a convincing tale.”

I recoiled, sitting back in my chair with such a start it almost tipped backward. “He didn’t take advantage of me. I would never say that.” That would destroy him.

Natalie held up a hand. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Is there anything else I need to know?”

I opened my mouth to talk, unsure what else I should tell her, but Natalie was already speaking. Well, not so much speaking as cursing.

“Of-fucking-course.” She stared at her monitor.

“What?”

Natalie’s eyes were wide. Her voice boomed and bounced off the walls of her office “He’s the damn CEO!?” She shook her head at me and picked up the phone without another word. “You didn’t think to tell me your guy runs the damn company, Mason? Someone just posted his name and photo, and this shitstorm just got monumentally worse.”

I buried my face in my hands, willing this day to start over again, for me to be back in Wes’s bed under the warm covers with his lips on me. This is a complete nightmare.

“I’ll be back.” I needed to check in with Wes; we needed a plan. As I hurried to my cubicle, eyes darted to me and then away: a few sympathetic glances, a few curious ones, and a lot that looked judgmental as hell. Slinking to my desk, I dug a charger from my drawer and plugged in the device. I was tapping my foot, waiting for it to boot up, when Claire walked up to my desk. “I heard—”

“How could you?” I hissed at her through gritted teeth. “I told you all of that in confidence and you pull this? Dropping an anonymous comment that we were sleeping together?”