The Fastest Way to Fall(87)

Her features morphed to disgust. “You think I did this?”

“No one else knew. You had your chance to make it worse for me and you took it.”

Claire stared down at me, gaze cool. “You’re unbelievable.” She walked away, and I turned in my chair, banging my knee into the desk. My phone screen flashed, and hundreds of notifications popped up. I ignored them all and opened my texting app, where I had a new message waiting from Wes.


Wes: Are you okay?



The time stamp was from fifteen minutes earlier.


Wes: I didn’t realize you wrote for Best Life. You’ve known the whole time?

Britta: When I told you I was a journalist, I thought you knew. I don’t know how this happened.



I stared at my phone, hoping he’d say something else while I tried to find the right words. I watched the bouncing dots, but nothing else came through.

Natalie’s voice broke into my thoughts as she invaded my cubicle. “My office—we need a closed door.”

I wanted to send another text, but my phone was at one percent, and it would die if I unplugged it. I glanced at it one more time before following Natalie back to her office. “This is a mess,” she said once the door closed behind us. “FitMi confirmed what you said, that the sexual relationship just started.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” I bit back the concern about exactly how many people were discussing my sex life at that moment.

Her stare was cool. “No one will believe it.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“The truth is subjective.” She pointed at the screen. “Tell me about this photo.”

“We ran in the park, and I was excited because I’d gone longer than I ever had.” I tried to explain it as best I could, but it sounded paltry. I didn’t know how to give that moment—the elation and pride I’d felt—the significance it deserved while still insisting we were just working out together. It had meant so much because Wes was there with me. My voice hitched as I finished the story, my nerves frayed.

Natalie’s tone softened. “Britt, I’m coming down hard on you, but people love Body FTW, and they loved you and Claire. This feels like a betrayal.” She sighed and reread her notes. “Let me call Mason. We’ll figure out something and let it blow over.”

I nodded. People only cared about sex scandals if the details trickled down. Without any, interest would dry up.

“And you need to stay away from him.”

“What?”

“We can’t deny this only to have someone spot you canoodling at the park or buying condoms or something.” She must have read my face, and she softened her tone again. “I guarantee his people are telling him the same thing. This is for the best.”

She tapped at a few things on her screen and grimaced. “And stay off social media today. Just . . . trust me on that one.”

When I returned to my desk, I swiped to dismiss the explosion of notifications on my social media accounts and texts from friends. I ignored all but a few.


Mom: Honey, what is going on? How much trouble are you in? People are saying horrible things.

RJ: Who do I need to hunt down?

Kat: Britta, are you okay? Don’t respond to anything—I know it will blow over.

Del: Can I borrow your cheese grater? Oh, and there’s something going on on social media. Kat and RJ left me like 20 texts about it.

Wes: We need to talk.



I replied to the messages from my mom and my friends, telling each I’d check in later.


Britta: They said we shouldn’t be seen together.

Wes: Fine, but I need to talk to you. My place at noon?



I bit the side of my thumbnail, trying not to notice the three interns passing my cubicle in a flurry of whispers and giggles. I wanted to escape back into the cocoon of his arms, to hear him tell me I was beautiful and strong, but I doubted that’s what we need to talk meant.


Britta: Yeah, I can be there.



He didn’t reply.





52





WITH MY MOM, with Kelsey, I was always looking out for an agenda, there was always some angle, but I’d never felt that with Britta. Now I questioned everything. We’d been working together for months. I thought back to the jokes and texts, the runs in the park and mornings at the gym . . . the entire time, she’d been writing about the coaching program, and I couldn’t shake the thorn that she’d known this could put my business at risk and still lied, presumably for her own benefit with this Body FTW project. I’d lied, too. Everything that had felt so perfect twenty-four hours earlier felt sordid and regrettable now. Another mistake, only this one was entirely public.

I’d stopped scrolling back to the message thread with Libby so often. For years, it had been a habit and ritual, and I found myself doing it again. Checking. Worrying. Willing her to answer.


Wes: I hope you’re okay.



After a few seconds, I set my phone aside and clicked through the posts. Every word was Britta popping off the page. Even as I seethed at her betrayal, at some asshole making what we had into something that looked dirty and suspicious, and at myself for leaving so many boxes unchecked, I marveled at how she was so raw, so vulnerable, so . . . her in every single post. Titles like “A Few Things to Remember About Spandex,” “Crunches Are as Awful Now as in High School P.E.—Here’s Why You Should Do Them Anyway,” and “Dear Running Shorts: Get Out of My Butt” made me laugh.