page before too
long.
CEOs,
sports stars, celebrities... My client files include some of the most
powerful and famous people in the country. And now they all know I
can’t be trusted.
The
Underground is secret no more.
“No,
I can’t be sure what other names were revealed. Whoever the
source is, they didn’t access my files, I can promise you
that.”
I’m
in my office at The Underground now, trying to run damage control on
the phone with another scared client. The club is shut down on Sunday
nights, and there’s nobody around to field calls. I raced over
as soon as I realized the extent of the damage.
“I
understand your concern. I promise that if anyone breached their
non-disclosure agreement, they’ll be dealt with to the full
extent of the law.”
I
hang up, and grab the bottle of whiskey that’s been emptying
all night. It’s lies, all of it. I know damn well who spilled
my club’s secrets to the press.
And
still, I can’t bring myself to set the lawyers on her. Not Zoe.
“Fuck,”
I curse.
“Bad
time?” Dominique is waiting in the doorway.
“It’s
all bad timing.” I grit my teeth, and beckon her in. “You’ve
seen it, I suppose?”
She
nods. “I came in as soon as I got the news. It’s not just
the newspaper,” she adds, taking a seat. “Gossip blogs,
news stations, they’re all running with it now. This club is
the hottest story in town. You’ll have reporters and camera
crews lined up outside the minute they get an address.”
I
slump in my chair. “And there goes our business. Nobody will
want to risk having their face plastered on the six o’clock
news. I’d be surprised if we have a single member show up
tomorrow night.”
“What
do you want to do?” Dominique looks sympathetic.
“I
haven’t a fucking clue.”
I
take another drink. Bad enough that my business is crumbling around
me, but I feel like I have a bullet wound in my chest.
Zoe
did this.
I
trusted her. I let her in. And now look at the wreck she’s
made.
“Should
I call the staff, and tell them we’re closed temporarily?”
Dominique has her tablet out, ready for my command.
I
don’t want to think about a plan. I don’t want to think
about anything at all. I just want to drink until the pain numbs.
“Sure.”
I gulp at the whiskey. “Why the hell not?”
“How
long for?” she presses me. “A week? Do you think it’ll
have blown over by then?”
I
snort. A political sex scandal will keep the feeding frenzy alive for
weeks, if not months. People will be crawling out of the woodwork to
go on the record now: former employees, the few members we’ve
had to ban permanently, current members’ guests. The floodgates
are open, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Dax?”
Dominique asks again. “What do you want me to do?”
“I
don’t fucking know, OK?” I see the disapproving look on
her face and try to pull it together. “Sorry, my head’s a
mess right now.”
“We
need damage control,” Dominique decides. “To shut this
thing down before anything else leaks. If we’re lucky, this
stays a story about one guy. Not everyone else on our membership
list. Our PR firm has been emailing and calling, and I’ll also
have the lawyers call every single person who’s ever crossed
the threshold and threaten to sue if they breach their agreements. If
we come out fighting, we should be able to stop anyone else going to
the press. If anything, it’s still publicity, right?”
I
nod, worn out. “Sure. That all sounds fine with me. You really
think it’ll work?” I pour myself another drink, spilling
some on my desk in the process.
Dominique
looks pissed. “I don’t know, but at least it’s a
plan. I happen to like this job. I’m not just going to sit
around drinking myself into oblivion while the whole place falls
apart.”
She
stalks out, leaving me alone with my self-loathing anger.
Fuck,
she’s right. I should be fighting, at the top of my game. But
somehow I can’t find
long.
CEOs,
sports stars, celebrities... My client files include some of the most
powerful and famous people in the country. And now they all know I
can’t be trusted.
The
Underground is secret no more.
“No,
I can’t be sure what other names were revealed. Whoever the
source is, they didn’t access my files, I can promise you
that.”
I’m
in my office at The Underground now, trying to run damage control on
the phone with another scared client. The club is shut down on Sunday
nights, and there’s nobody around to field calls. I raced over
as soon as I realized the extent of the damage.
“I
understand your concern. I promise that if anyone breached their
non-disclosure agreement, they’ll be dealt with to the full
extent of the law.”
I
hang up, and grab the bottle of whiskey that’s been emptying
all night. It’s lies, all of it. I know damn well who spilled
my club’s secrets to the press.
And
still, I can’t bring myself to set the lawyers on her. Not Zoe.
“Fuck,”
I curse.
“Bad
time?” Dominique is waiting in the doorway.
“It’s
all bad timing.” I grit my teeth, and beckon her in. “You’ve
seen it, I suppose?”
She
nods. “I came in as soon as I got the news. It’s not just
the newspaper,” she adds, taking a seat. “Gossip blogs,
news stations, they’re all running with it now. This club is
the hottest story in town. You’ll have reporters and camera
crews lined up outside the minute they get an address.”
I
slump in my chair. “And there goes our business. Nobody will
want to risk having their face plastered on the six o’clock
news. I’d be surprised if we have a single member show up
tomorrow night.”
“What
do you want to do?” Dominique looks sympathetic.
“I
haven’t a fucking clue.”
I
take another drink. Bad enough that my business is crumbling around
me, but I feel like I have a bullet wound in my chest.
Zoe
did this.
I
trusted her. I let her in. And now look at the wreck she’s
made.
“Should
I call the staff, and tell them we’re closed temporarily?”
Dominique has her tablet out, ready for my command.
I
don’t want to think about a plan. I don’t want to think
about anything at all. I just want to drink until the pain numbs.
“Sure.”
I gulp at the whiskey. “Why the hell not?”
“How
long for?” she presses me. “A week? Do you think it’ll
have blown over by then?”
I
snort. A political sex scandal will keep the feeding frenzy alive for
weeks, if not months. People will be crawling out of the woodwork to
go on the record now: former employees, the few members we’ve
had to ban permanently, current members’ guests. The floodgates
are open, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Dax?”
Dominique asks again. “What do you want me to do?”
“I
don’t fucking know, OK?” I see the disapproving look on
her face and try to pull it together. “Sorry, my head’s a
mess right now.”
“We
need damage control,” Dominique decides. “To shut this
thing down before anything else leaks. If we’re lucky, this
stays a story about one guy. Not everyone else on our membership
list. Our PR firm has been emailing and calling, and I’ll also
have the lawyers call every single person who’s ever crossed
the threshold and threaten to sue if they breach their agreements. If
we come out fighting, we should be able to stop anyone else going to
the press. If anything, it’s still publicity, right?”
I
nod, worn out. “Sure. That all sounds fine with me. You really
think it’ll work?” I pour myself another drink, spilling
some on my desk in the process.
Dominique
looks pissed. “I don’t know, but at least it’s a
plan. I happen to like this job. I’m not just going to sit
around drinking myself into oblivion while the whole place falls
apart.”
She
stalks out, leaving me alone with my self-loathing anger.
Fuck,
she’s right. I should be fighting, at the top of my game. But
somehow I can’t find
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