𝐯𝐢.
𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

"Bitch, you do realize what time it is, right?" Julia scolds from the opposite end of the phone call.

"I was running on fumes when I got home last night Jules. I needed sleep." I say lowly as I shift through a clothing rack. It's true though. I was exhausted by the time Derek dropped me off at my building.

He didn't talk much either, which was strange. Considering all he did the entire night leading up to the drive home was run his mouth. The final exchange between us was Derek asking if I wanted him to walk me up.

I declined.

"Well, when one goes out clubbing with one of the world's biggest stars on the whole continent, one still needs to call their bestie to break the entire night down for them. Even if they're running on nonexistent fumes."

"One was tired, and their bed was practically pleading for them to lay in it," I sigh, exasperated, "I'm sorry I didn't call."

She hums, a bit outstretched and too long for my liking. "I forgive you. I just wanted to hear you grovel first." A short laugh follows suit, and I roll my eyes.

"How was your night? Did you get home okay?"

"Ela, those guards whisked me away like fucking secret agents. It was kind of hot if I'm being honest," She laughs as she talks, and I'm glad she isn't upset that I left without her. "They even drove me home in one of those blacked-out Tahoes—or was it an Escalade? Fuck, I can't remember. You know, the ones they normally use in those high-speed chase movies? That thing's probably bulletproof proof too."

"Were they hot, at least?"

"Only one of them. The same one that escorted us inside. I think what did it for me were those tattoos of his. I love a man with tats."

"Me too," I bite my lip, trying very hard not to think about a certain someone's neck tattoo I'd been ogling only hours ago.

"Speaking of tatted men," Julia implies, "Spill everything. Please. And don't leave anything out."

I don't.

And once I completely catch her up to speed, she's speechless.

"Holy fuck," Julia mutters after another minute of silence. "Have you told Cady yet?"

"Nope. I've been procrastinating."

"She's going to freak out. Mainly because you didn't tell her right away, but still," There's a momentary pause before she sighs and says, "I think I would've passed out before he even bought those shots. I couldn't even look him in the eye at the club."

"I still have no idea where that confidence came from. Probably the shots. Which is why I hate Fireball so much." That, and because I was dared to chug half a bottle of the cinnamon whiskey on my twenty-first birthday. Not a fun time.

I made a vow to never drink it again and stayed true to that vow until last night.

"If you don't fuck this man, as your bestie, wing-woman, and all-around favorite person ever, I'm going to be thoroughly disappointed. The fact that you haven't already? You're better than me." I laugh as I pluck a hanger from the rack, and study the pair of second-hand denim blue bell jeans.

I've worked for many clothing brands over the years and may have gotten lots of discounted, or even free clothes, but I'm a sucker for anything thrifted. Every article of clothing (besides the majority of my shoes) I own was either gifted to me by companies or thrifted in some sort of way. Half of the furniture and décor in my condo has had other owners other than myself.

"It was his idea not to," I say, tossing the jeans into my cart with the other articles of clothing that caught my eye.

"What? You're kidding me, right?"

Even though she can't see me I shake my head. "Definitely not. Remember when he leaned down to tell me something?"

"I think so. I kind of zoned out while trying to not fangirl like an absolute freak."

"He said something about keeping business strictly business, and how he 'doesn't fuck' said business," I lower my voice an octave and mimic a man's voice, "Then proceeded to give me mixed signals all night. Even if he'd been all over me, I'd never go there with him."

"Girl if you don't, I will." She states jokingly. I can't help but smirk.

"How can you fuck him if you can't even make eye contact with him?" My smirk widens at the silence that follows.

"Ouch. Low blow, Ela. You didn't have to do me like that. But wait a sec, what do you mean by 'mixed signals'?"

I huff out a sigh. "I don't know. Just the things he said to me..." and what he didn't say. "Flirting comes so—effortlessly to him. Like it's second nature. It's irritating."

"Oh, he's definitely tryna fuck," Julia gasps dramatically, "Wait, imagine you two accidentally fall in love with each other like they do in those fake relationship books!" I shake my head again.

"There will be no falling of any sort. If Derek likes to play games, let him play by himself. I won't entertain him. Simple as that. Besides, I'm nowhere near ready for anything yet. No matter who they are."

She's about to slap me with her rebuttal, but I stop her. "Business, Julia baby, business."

My response does me no good.

"You can tell yourself that, but I know for a fact it'll happen. If not now, eventually. I know you, Elara Stewart."

Julia is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to something she wants. The same goes for Cady, which makes it incredibly hard for me to say no to anything. But this? This is where I put my foot down.

"You're only saying that because you want it to happen. It won't."

My phone beeps. I take it away from my ear just as Julia starts to say something along the lines of "I'm trying to play matchmaker and you're ruining all the fun—" to see that Wil sent me a message. I let her talk as I pull up our thread.

Just a link.

Ominous dread pours into me as I hold my breath, and tap it. I read the headline and immediately rip open my purse in search of my wireless headphones.

When one is in my ear, Julia's voice blares, "Are you even listening to a word I'm saying right now?"

"Wil sent me an article about last night." I hiss, trying not to sound too panicked as an older woman walks passes me.

"And? What does it say?"

I skim through it and have to stop when it mentions Ryan and Melody, absolutely horror-stricken. The feeling only amplifies when I see who wrote the article: Scan-delish, one of the hottest gossip pages out there right now.

"Elara? Shit,"

I'm a shaking mess when I read, "Or is it all just a ploy for revenge?".

Shit.

Could I lose my career over something as big as this?

"Take a breath with me Elara, okay? Ready? On three. One, two," We both inhale on three, hold for three. Then release, and repeat.

"They're just doing their job. They don't know anything besides what was seen at the club, and they're only in it for the drama, to skim a buck or two off of it."

Job... right.

I've never gotten this type of exposure.

Sure I've been featured in magazines, done runway shows, been in ads and such, not to mention the Melody media storm but never have I had eyes on me like this.

On this kind of scale.

With my—our—dirty laundry airing out to dry for the masses to judge and assess.

Notifications start to stream in from all of my socials. New followers, likes, messages, comments. I feel my phone start to overheat in my palm. I should've put more thought into this.

Shouldn't have let intrusive thoughts win, shouldn't have listened to Cady's persuasive words or Julia's affirmations. Even if the feeling his expression gave me was better than any orgasm Ryan Patel has ever given me. I shouldn't have done any of it.

But there's no back button to press.

No way to reverse time and rewrite a different high and mighty path to take.

I chose this route. One that's leading me down a one-way street at an aggressively high speed into unknown territory.

"I feel like I should be doing something." Something that doesn't involve shopping, which I'm no longer in the mood for, which is a definite first for me.

"Call Wil. I'm sure he's already trying to manage the situation, he always does."

"Yeah, I'll call him."

Julia's collected calm emanates through the phone as she says, "I love you, babes." Which effectively calms me—to an extent. My breathing slows, and my heart relaxes, though it's still thumping annoyingly hard in my chest.

"I love you more," I say before ending the call.

Before I dial Wil's personal number, I put the clothes back on the put-away rack, roll my cart back where I'd gotten it, and leave the store.

"Wil?"

"I was just about to call. I've got it handled." Soothing as always, although there's an edge that raises a red flag within my head. Usually that twinge of a Southern accent can relax my nerves. But not today.

I rummage through my purse yet again in search for my car keys, taking longer steps to reach my car faster. "What's happening?"

He sighs. "I'm on hold with another publisher, even bigger than Scan-delish who's about to post photos of the two of you dancing, along with photos of Melody and Ryan quote on quote, 'withdrawing' from the club." 

"Any photos of Derek and I leaving too?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I think they're planning a jealousy-type story, which may work to our advantage if I can talk to the editor before Melody's team can switch the narrative. That's all I know so far about that article. I'm trying to get more information as we speak." The elusiveness in his tone has my stomach tying itself in knots, twisting and turning the avocado toast I had for breakfast, that's now threatening its assent up my throat.

"What else?" I ask. I unlock my car and climb inside.

Clicking from a laptop keyboard drowns the silence as he types something on his computer. "There's a video circulating online of the whole encounter. Derek's team is working on rubbing it entirely off the internet."

I nod my head, hand instinctively going to my collarbone to fiddle with my necklace. I move it along the silver chain, finding solace in the motion. A nervous habit of mine—one I would've been turning to throughout last night if I'd kept it on.

"Work your magic, Wil."

"You know I will Ela."

A sigh leaves my lips as I start the engine. My phone connects the call to the car, "Wil?"

"Yes?"

"Is there anything I else should know about what you said to Derek's manager yesterday? Julia didn't really fill me in."

"Well, let's start with what you do know."

I brief him on what Julia told me, and what Derek had as well, and how it's left me in the dark looking like an absolute idiot.

"Sorry for not calling, I should've handled that better. You know I only have your best interests in mind, right?"

"I know. Just a heads up next time?"

"Noted," He states. I nod and listen to his response with my fullest attention. "I was told this morning, and was going to tell you once I called, that filming starts for the first music video in a week, and they'll need you down at set to get your measurements and whatnot tomorrow at 10:00 AM. You know the drill."

"Sounds good," I say, entering the information he gave me into my calendar app. "Thanks, Wil. For everything."

"No need to thank me. That's what you pay me for." I can practically hear him wink through the phone.

"How could I forget?"

I pay him a lot. But considering everything he does for me, I should pay him more.

He's done so much for me over the years. I used to give him trouble back in my partying days. I'd got myself into a huge mess one night, one I will never forget, and one I still haven't healed fully from. But Wil was there in an instant.

He's seen me at my worst, and instead of giving up on me and jumping ship, he stayed to help get my life back on track. Wil's the main reason D.D. hired me. Without him I wouldn't be as successful as I am now. I wouldn't have met my best friend, either.

An indistinct voice that isn't Wils snaps me back to reality, followed by a whispered cuss from my manager. "Shit, that's the publisher. Gotta run."

"Let me know how it pans out."

"You'll be the first person I tell. Talk soon, love." Accent prominent, the nickname he gave to me years ago causes a smile to tug at my lips.

With that, the call ends, leaving me to accept the repercussions of my actions.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

a/n
little shorter than usual.
currently at home sick w covid :(
going to continue to write as much as i possibly can while i quarantine at home.