Anna's Guide to Getting Even

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 2

Slut.

I gazed at the text unblinking, trying to figure out how I’d offended the sender. Maybe a wrong number? With a tap of my thumb, I sent it to the trash. The next message popped up.

Ur hot. I’d f**k u, even if ur illegal.

My heart rose into my throat as I stared at the words. Tears welled in my eyes. My parents both naturalized decades ago, and I was a natural-born American citizen. But whoever this person was, they wouldn’t care. Nothing I could say would matter more than the color of my skin. I stabbed at the block button and moved to the next message.

Whore.

I gasped. What was going on? How could this be happening to me?

Gonna make u c*m so hard, sucia.

When I could breathe again, I blocked that one, too. And the next. The red indicator reported more than three hundred messages. That must be a mistake. Three. Hundred. Twenty-seven. Messages? All since I’d last checked my phone. But it wasn’t a mistake. There they were, in black and white on my screen. More kept popping up while I read. Strange number after strange number appeared on the list. I scrolled, not reading, scanning for any message from anyone I knew. Any hint as to what happened. Four more messages came in while I swiped upward. Word fragments popped out at me, all bad. Racial slurs, anti-female statements, both. The words blurred together.

My mind raced as I tried to figure out what happened. Our company released a new line of shoes, but this outrage didn’t seem consistent with the public not liking a product for three-year-olds.

Oh, God. What if the rubber melted or something and fused some poor kid’s shoes together? Our testing hadn’t indicated any risk, but mistakes happened. Nothing else I could think of explained the vitriol exploding across my phone, unless a few hundred people confused my number with someone else’s.

Before opening my email, I splashed cold water on my face and took a deep breath. Maybe one of my zillion messages at least gave me a clue as to the problem. It might be worth reading the insults if I could find out some information.

Wrong. Scrolling through my email was even worse than reading the text. There were thousands of messages, most with subject lines following the same themes: You’re a s**t. You should die. I’d f**k you. Go back to Mexico.

My heart pounded against my ribcage. This couldn’t possibly be about issues with our new product or the hurricane. My brain fought to make sense of the pieces, but finally, I dropped the phone. It skittered across the turquoise tile, coming to rest against the drain. A pit opened in my stomach. I slumped against the sink. Afraid I might lose consciousness, I shoved my face under the tap and hit the faucet a second time. The rush of water jerked me out of my stupor.

But still, I had no idea what happened or why. Was this how people treated hurricane victims? Had the fabric in one of our shirts turned out to be flammable? How did all these people get my email address and phone number?

I shoved my phone into my pocket, straightened my shoulders, and headed back to my office to see if I could make any sense out of things.

As I passed Jay’s office, his voice stopped me. “Anna.”

His tone told me we had a serious problem. I gulped and closed my eyes, steeling myself for the news. If the stock price dropped, my job could be in jeopardy, girlfriend of the boss’s son or not. With another deep breath, I entered the office.

Despite my anxiety, I instinctively relaxed at the sight of my boyfriend. Whatever happened, we’d get through it, and the company would be stronger than ever. Jay probably already knew how to spin whatever disaster occurred to the company’s advantage. At the thought, more tension drained from my shoulders, and I smiled at him.

My smile died when he glanced up from his computer monitor with storm clouds on his face. “Close the door.”

Uh-oh. I shut the door and settled into the plush cream and gold striped chair across from his desk.

“What’s wrong? Is there a problem with one of our products? Did Jasper from PR drunk tweet again?”

“No. This is... It’s bad. And... oh, hell. You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Did you get any strange messages this morning? Emails from people you don’t know? Phone calls or texts?”

In response, I held up my phone. The device still lit up every couple of seconds, despite my muting it. “Constant calls, emails, texts. Each weirder than the last. I was headed back to my office to try to figure out what happened when you called me in here.”

“Do not Google your name, sweetheart. Whatever you do, don’t do that.”

This was getting ridiculous. What the hell was going on? My jaw clenched. “Why? What caused this? Is someone harassing people listed as displaced hurricane victims? That’s f*****g low.”

“No. Someone’s harassing you.” Jay tapped his fingers together, one at a time.

I took deep breaths while I waited to quell the onrush of panic, like my old therapist taught me. If only I hadn’t forgotten to go to yoga for the past... thirty-four years, it would’ve been much easier to relax. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. What could I possibly have done to make people respond so cruelly? Parts of the country had shown themselves to be increasingly racist over the past few years, but usually, some event brought people into their crosshairs.

Finally, my sadness turned to frustration. I’d dealt with trolls before, and I could do it again. “C’mon, Jay. I’m trying very hard not to freak out, but the longer we sit here, the harder it gets. What’s going on?”

When he finally dragged his attention from his fingertips and met my eyes, tears streamed down his face. A shudder ran down my back. My boyfriend rarely got upset, and he was unflappable when in lawyer mode.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you.” The words rushed out of him like air deflating from a balloon. “I don’t know what happened, but there are these n***d pictures of you all over the internet. Someone posted them with your real name and address and our company’s name. They say you’ll have s*x with anyone for money. I’ve been getting calls and emails all morning—”

The world around me collapsed into Jay’s moving lips. I couldn’t see anything else. His words went right through me, stabbing me in the gut. It had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be happening. A strangled sound reached my ears, a high-pitched keening.

Jay’s lips stopped moving, and I realized vaguely that the horrible noise must’ve come from me.

A moment later, he crouched in front of me, pulling me into his arms. I let out a sob, crying for everything that happened in the last two days.

When I finally pulled back, Jay looked as sad as I felt. “I’m so sorry, Anna. Are these pictures real?”

“Does it matter?”

He hesitated for just a second too long. “Of course not. This whole thing threw me for a loop. The shareholders are already calling to complain, and Father’s called a meeting of the board of directors. You know there’s a morality clause in your contract, right?”

Unable to speak, I nodded. The exact language of the full clause escaped me, but the words “appearance of impropriety” sat clearly at the forefront of my memory. We’d let another board member go for racking up excessive gambling debts a couple of months ago. Probably, the board would think offering to trade s*x for money suggested improper conduct more than throwing away money on Yankee games. A horrible thought, and yet, my mind was all over the place. I couldn’t control the things flooding through my brain.

I gasped for breath, choking on nothing. Nude pictures? Oh, God. Who would do that? Reputation in this business was everything. Especially now that we’d recently launched a huge new product. No one wanted their kids wearing light-up shoes made by someone who posted n***d pictures on the internet or prostituted herself. Worse, of everyone at the company, my face was the most recognizable. Thanks to those Forbes articles and the rarity of Latina females in US executive positions, people all over the world knew me.

“Obviously, we all know you’re not a hooker, but the pictures present a real problem. They’re probably going to call for your resignation. I convinced Father to let you take a leave of absence until things cool down. Paid of course, but at least for a month. We canceled your flight tomorrow—Tom will go instead. I’m going, too, so the investors don’t think they got shunted to some kid they don’t know.”

No one knew my second-in-command. He worked behind the scenes to make everything run seamlessly. He was both priceless and underpaid. If he became the face of the new product, we’d lose him to a larger company in a matter of weeks. And then I’d be out my assistant when I came back to work, on top of everything else. What a nightmare.

Words escaped me. I stared straight ahead, as if my eyes could bore through the back of the computer to whatever Jay saw. He stood, coming around the desk to wrap me in a hug. My head leaned against his chest, inhaling his usually comforting odors of milk and honey body wash and his laughably expensive deodorant. Scents I would henceforth associate with a still-vibrating phone in my lap, a forced leave of absence from work, and the whole world seeing me n***d. I’d done dozens of magazine articles and interviews, but I’d never been more exposed.

Hysterical laughter bubbled forth.

“Do yourself a favor. Don’t pull up the pictures. Absolutely do not read the comments. Go home, okay?”

For a brief second, I’d forgotten about the hurricane. What on earth was I supposed to do? “I don’t have a home right now.”

“A minor blessing. At least no one can harass you there,” he said. “I sent a moving crew over to get the rest of your stuff. This should all blow over by the time you get back home. They’re saying on the news that it could be months, or longer, before contractors finish repairing all the hurricane damage.”

When I opened and closed my mouth but no sound came out, Jay stroked my hair. He took a deep breath and kissed my forehead. I was afraid to ask what else was on his mind, but it was clear he had something else to say. How could this morning possibly get worse?

Stupid question.

“There’s more. Father is insisting we take a break from our public relationship. I know I said you could stay with me until your house got fixed, but you can’t.” He shifted in his seat, the chair creaking loudly. “I’m so sorry, honey. I wish there were a way to make things better.”

“You’re throwing me out?” Unbelievable. My lower lip trembled, and I willed myself not to cry. Again. This was ridiculous. I never cried. I was a hard-as-nails junior executive, the face of Forbes magazine. And I was about to lose everything.

“No, of course not. I’m giving you a quiet place to regroup, where no one will look for you. You can stay at any hotel you want. I’ll expense it.”

A hotel. All alone. And the hits just kept on coming.

“Don’t worry about it. My homeowner’s insurance will cover the room. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your father anymore with my personal crisis.” If Jay noticed the sarcasm in my voice, he wisely ignored it.

“Do you have any idea who did this? Who would hate you this much?”

The thought had yet to enter my mind in all the horror and frustration. Still, a picture formed immediately in my mind, as crystal clear as if he stood before me.

“Eric.”

He pressed his lips together. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“I guess he’s finally back on the grid.” Our eyes met, and I forced air into my lungs. “Fuck.”

~ * ~

Jay lived two miles from the office. I wasn’t supposed to walk that far, but the thought of getting onto the subway, being packed in with strangers, wondering if any of them saw the photos, made me hyperventilate. Instead, I covered my face with large sunglasses, wrapped a scarf over my head, and trudged toward the apartment to gather my stuff. Lead filled my legs. Every movement required too much effort.