Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“Why didn’t you?”
I shrug. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, Jenn. But there was no lock screen and the texts kept popping up. And then I thought maybe telling her would be the right thing, but one minute before that text, I was so smitten. Call it an illusion. Whatever. All I know is, it hurt like hell when it shattered. So what right do I have to go around breaking other people’s fantasies?”
“You’re too nice. Sometimes I wish I could be more like you.” She sips her drink in silence before she looks at me again. “When I came here, I thought this was a crisis meeting.”
“Crisis? What crisis?”
“I guess you haven’t seen the bad news with everything going on. But now, you might welcome it.” She looks down at her cup.
“Um, what? What bad news? I’ve had enough of that.”
“It’s bad for him, Pippa. Not you. And we aren’t fixing it this time. Let Vanessa help him crawl his way out of this hole,” she says with a dark laugh.
“Okay, what are you talking about?”
“A video went viral at Winthrope Scottsdale yesterday.”
“That sounds like a good thing?”
“Not when it’s an altercation between an employee and an influencer. Go check TikTok. Try searching 'Scottsdale scandal.'”
Holding my breath, I open the app and type it into the search bar.
A slew of videos pop up with angry captions.
I open the first one without any commentary attached.
A girl who looks roughly Maisy’s age dances around the hotel lobby in a black skirt with matching boots and a halter top. Her curls are bunched into buns on her head.
“Looks like she’s having fun...”
“Just wait,” Jenn whispers.
A man in a Winthrope blazer walks up to her. “You need to take that outside, ma’am. This isn’t a playground or nightclub. The workin’ girls hang out on fifth street behind the back exit. But you’ll have to walk around the building to get there.”
“Working girls? I’m here for a vacay, dude,” Dancer Girl flings back.
“Very funny. Now move along. We can’t have your sort on our property soliciting business. Kindly leave or I’ll call the police,” manager man snaps.
“What do you mean 'my sort?' What ’business’ are you talking about? I told you, I’m staying here. I’m just waiting on my parents because I locked my keycard in the room.”
Oh, God.
My stomach knots, but I keep watching.
“If your story were true, you’d just go to the front desk and ask for another card,” he says coldly.
She shrugs.
“Whatever. I didn’t know. You’re not helpful, dick.” She walks away from the guy, flipping her camera around so we can see her. “Yeah, so, I would not recommend this place. Nothing beats getting called a hooker just for hanging around in comfy clothes—”
The guy comes back into the shot, cutting her off. “What are you doing? I told you to leave.”
“Getting another card like you said!” she says angrily.
“You need to get out now.”
“Dude, fuck you! My parents paid good money to put up with your shitty attitude.” She rolls her eyes. “O-M-G. How do you even have a job?”
“Dylan, get security,” the man yells to someone off-screen. “Let them know one of the whores from the street won’t leave.”
The girl looks into the camera again with her mouth hanging open. “Wow. Wooooow. Did you guys hear that? Like someone forgot to give this crusty Boomer d-bag the memo that you don’t talk to women like that. And you damn sure don’t call security over nothing!”
A guard steps into the frame. “Miss, come on. Let’s go.”
“Wait? What? You’re serious?” the girl asks, her voice shrinking.
He grabs her.
I gasp.
The video fades to a jerky black with her belting out a loud scream.
“That was—yikes.” I look up at Jenn. “I don’t even know what to say. That could have been Maisy. Hell, it could have been me. I forgot my keycard in Chicago and Brock had the staff grab my stuff.”
Jenn nods. “Yeah. There’s no fixing that, bad reviews aside. Maybe Vanessa works miracles.”
I try not to throw my coffee over her head.
“Brock Winthrope is a sneaky, overgrown man-child. I hate him, but I still take my job seriously. Hopefully, we didn’t implement this plan too late to undo this tidal wave. I don’t even know how we get small-time influencers now if this is all over the internet.”
Jenn frowns. “We didn’t sign up for this. It’s just too much and it’s a real scandal. It’s one thing to polish over snotty rich people not getting their luxury towels. Those are apples and this is a sour orange.”
“...are you sure it’s true, though?” I venture. “I mean, think about all the things we found out in Chicago. There’s pretty good evidence someone’s trying to bring Winthrope down. What if this is another engineered hit job?”
My mind flashes back to Apollo Finch and his creepy grabby hands. The acid in his voice when he went after Brock.