Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(121)

I try to shove past him, but he sidesteps and blocks me. “I was talking about your other necklace. The one with more than one diamond.”

“I have many diamond necklaces, Scott,” I retort, not realizing how bitchy and snobbish I sound until it’s too late.

“Not this many diamonds,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “The inside is leather.” And then he drifts to the left, stuffing his hands into his pockets and sauntering away.

I stay frozen, too stunned to force my heel down the stairs.

He was talking about my collar. My diamond collar.

The one I only wear during sex.

And I’ve never had sex outside of the bedroom or anywhere the cameras can film.

Something is wrong.

I sense it deep in my gut.

Dread mixed with paranoia, a nauseous combination, carries my feet downward. I’m on autopilot, trying to shake Scott’s words and continue my daily routine.

Breakfast. A vanilla yogurt with strawberries and granola and then I’m off to New York to introduce myself to the new Calloway Couture staff.

My heels clink against the hardwood in determined steps. Two stairs down and I stop, worried thoughts creeping back, despite my urgency to brush them away.

What the fuck are you doing, Rose? If Scott knows something, I need to confront him. Or talk to Connor. I almost turn around, but I hear the television from the living room below. Two more stairs down, and the voice becomes distinguishable.

“…a top story. Another Calloway girl in a scandal,” the news anchor says. “This time there’s legitimate proof.”

Daisy.

Something happened to Daisy.

I walk hurriedly, reaching the bottom of the staircase in no time. Loren, Ryke, Lily and Daisy sit on the couch together, their backs facing me. They watch the television above the fireplace, and I march further into the room to have a better look at what’s on screen.

“Oh shit,” Ryke says, seeing me first.

Loren quickly snatches the remote, and the television flickers to black.

I set my hands crossly on my hips and direct my hostility towards my sister’s boyfriend. “I’m not five-years-old, Loren,” I snap. “You can turn on the news.” Especially if it’s about Daisy.

“No,” Lo says, flipping the remote in his hands nervously. “I’d rather not.”

Ryke runs his fingers through his brown hair—a clear sign that he’s anxious too.

Lily and Daisy huddle together on the couch, cupping their hands by their mouths as they whisper. I frown and scan the area for Ben, Savannah, or Brett, but the camera crew is nowhere to be seen.

That’s…strange.

And why are my sisters acting like gossipmongers in front of me?

Unless…

I refuse to believe what’s right in my face. I don’t want to accept it yet.

I stomp over to Loren on the couch, my five-inch heels never letting me down. They keep my body sturdily upright, confident and fucking poised. I try to snatch the remote from his hand, but he holds onto the other end tightly—as if we’re about to have a tug-of-war.

I glower. “Let go, Loren, unless you’d like me to dislocate your arm.”

He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you tired of making all these empty threats?”

I twist his arm, just like Connor taught me in the self-defense “class” and Lo winces. His grip loosens on the remote, and I take it quickly from his hand.

As he massages his shoulder, he says, “Bitch.”

“Yes, but I’m a bitch with real threats.” I power on the television. When the news pops up, I freeze. Again.

Fixed to the floor. Too cold to move.

“Bet you feel like a bigger bitch right now,” Loren comments.

“Shut up, Lo,” Lily calls out. “Rose…”

I wave her off and turn up the volume. But the headline on the bottom of the screen is vitally clear. Yet, I still have to reread it five times just for the letters to sink in.

Sex Tape of Rose Calloway and Connor Cobalt Sold to Porn Site for $25 Million

Porn site.

Sex tape.

I didn’t sell shit. That little scumbag forged our signatures to a porn distributor? The only satisfaction right now is picturing Scott’s head behind bars because if I imagine the other thing—everyone watching Connor fuck me—a tingling sensation crawls up my arms like thousands of centipedes.

The news doesn’t even bother to explain who we are. Through the reality show and blogs, we’re already famous. Now, I suppose, we’re infamous.

My head buzzes with all the noise from the television, from my friends and sisters. “The producer is none other than Scott Van Wright, Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” I barely catch that line. He’s still my ex-boyfriend? I concentrate on that stupid lie that’s still being aired. When the real shit hits the fan—Scott still manages to keep half his mask on. I hate him.

I have to be stuck in some fucked up nightmare.

Loren tries to grab the remote out of my hand, and I jerk back and turn the volume up. “I’m watching this,” I snap. And there I am.

They play a clip from the sex tape. I’m lying on my bed in this house, naked. Black bars censor the tape for network television, my breasts and vagina sufficiently covered now.

But somewhere online the unedited version is being circulated. And how can I stop it? Lawyers. Lots of them. But I can’t even bring myself to call my father or to dial the family’s attorney. I am hypnotized by me. On screen. With Connor.