Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 26: The Flashing Lights

DAMON

The flashing lights of the paparazzi blind me momentarily as I step out of the limo, offering my hand to Emery. "Ready?"

She hesitates for a second, swallowing. She should be relaxed right now. Sedated. I gave her what she wanted, what she needed, and yet the anxiety has returned to her eyes, clouding them in fear.

"Let's go," she finally says, releasing a stabilizing breath, and steeling herself for what's to come. Her fingers briefly glide against mine as she gets out of the limo, but then that's it. No more contact. She looks back at me. "Well?"

I can't stop myself. I can't help it. Placing my hand on the small of her back, I whisper, guiding her down the red carpet, "Remember to smile."

With her hands elegantly clasped together, she works the cameras like a professional as we make our way up the carpeted stairs toward the ballroom. Unease tugs at me. She's a good actress, talented in her ability to play the part. All the anxiety she exuded in the limo has dissipated, almost as if it were fake. But it wasn't it. This is. This version she's presenting to the media, to the reporters, to fellow guests. All eyes are on her. And I fucking hate it. I'm serving her up on a silver platter, giving her beauty and grace a stage on which to shine.

"Mr Cavanaugh! Mr Cavanaugh! Darren Keller from The Times! Where have you been the last two years?" A reporter shouts, waving his hand. "How are you handling the recent plummet of CVH stocks?"

I try to ignore him. I want to ignore him, but Javier's voice floods my thoughts. The more they speculate, the more they write their own version of the truth, the more my company suffers. I veer to the swarm of media, Emery shooting me a skeptical glance.

"Come with me." My tone is desperate. I can't do it alone. I need her beside me. She hesitates. "Please." She blinks at me, taken aback by the rarity of my request, but gives me a nod. "Thank you."

The reporter holds out his microphone as Emery and I approach the media pit. "I know there have been many rumors circulating regarding my whereabouts the past two years," I say, keeping my tone even, verging on charismatic, just like I was taught, "and I hate to disappoint the people, but no, I didn't join a cult, I was not kidnapped and held captive for ramson by terrorists, and I definitely wasn't in jail." I offer the reporter a disarming smile. "I'm afraid the truth isn't as juicy as you'd hoped. I—" God, I hate this. "I needed time. I'm sure anyone who ever lost a family member knows what I'm talking about." Guilt flashes across the reporter's face. "I lost my entire family. I was grieving. That's what I've been doing the past two years."

"We're sorry for your loss," the reporter mutters. "And uh— and the company—"

"Cavanaugh Industries is thriving," I state, glancing at Emery, the heat from her body serving as a security blanket against the hyenas. "We've recently made some strategic personnel changes that I believe will further enhance our growth and success in the coming months."

"Miss Jones, you previously worked for CJ Piers, is that correct?" Emery stiffens beside me but nods. It's public information but unsettling that they already know who she is nonetheless. "What incentives did Mr Cavanaugh offer you to leave a successful firm like CJ Piers and join Cavanaugh Industries?"

My blood boils at the not-so-subtle jab at my company's health. Bastard. Emery's gaze flits to me, eyes brimming with the dirty truth of her transfer. I lift a curious brow, interested to see how she'll reply. I was coerced and bribed with endless pleasure hardly seems like an appropriate response.

She gives the reporter a sly and flirty smile. What is she doing? "Success is subjective, Mr Keller," she coos. "I didn't need much incentive to leave Piers." She shoots me a bold look. "Given how well Mr Cavanaugh takes care of his employees, it was an easy decision."