The dark, hot look he gives me lets me know that’s the last thing he wants to do. But we both know this is the last place we should be doing this, so he finally replies, “Yeah, let’s do that, then.”
I tell him I’ll catch up with him, and he leaves, but not before murmuring in my ear, “I fucking love the way you taste.”
I shiver at his words and his hot breath on my skin. Then I lock the door after him, making quick work of using the bathroom and straightening up my appearance. As I’m making my way back out, I turn a corner and almost bump into Una Harris. Her normally coiffed hair is slightly dishevelled, and it looks like she bit so hard on her lip it started bleeding. Also, her pupils are completely dilated.
“Looking at me like she thinks she’s better than me,” she slurs, and a waft of alcohol hits my nose. If my assumptions are right, she’s on something and she’s been drinking. Jesus, she picked the worst possible place to unravel.
“I’d rather not look at you at all, Una,” I say, raising my chin.
She screws up her mouth and wags her finger at me. “Oh, the other night didn’t scare you, did it? You should be scared. It would be very wise on your part to be scared.” She reaches out and runs her hand down my scar. “How did you get this again?”
I immediately recoil from her touch. “I don’t recall telling you. Now please, get out of my way.”
“Una, that’s enough,” comes the hard voice of Brian Scott. He walks toward her and sleekly slides his arm around her waist.
Jessie’s at my side then, asking, “You okay, Matilda?” She shoots a sharp glance in Una’s direction.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Who the hell are you?” Una asks, slurring her words again.
“Uh, none of your fucking business,” Jessie answers, folding her arms and levelling her eyes on Brian. “You’d wanna go get her cleaned up. She’s a hot mess right now.”
“Yes,” says Brian, voice steely. “I have every intention. Goodbye, ladies.”
He steers Una away, as she swears her head off. “Fucking leave me alone, Brian. I can walk perfectly fine on my own.”
“Bitch has more issues than Vogue,” Jessie mutters under her breath, and I laugh.
The rest of the day moves fairly slowly, and there are no more big revelations. I leave the courthouse with Dad and Jay, the press hounding us with questions, to which they receive a firm “no comment.” We quickly locate Jay’s car, and he drives us home. Unlike yesterday, he doesn’t stay for dinner, but instead leaves right after he’s dropped us off.
The next day of the trial goes as follows: Una’s second PA (yes, the woman actually has two assistants) takes the witness stand. This one is a guy, and he basically goes against everything Emma Feelan said the day before, painting Una as the perfect, most generous boss a person could ask for. Then Dad calls Una to the stand, and that’s when things start to get interesting.
“Miss Harris, in 2004, did you write an article exposing the private life of government TD Victor Nugent?”
Una narrows her eyes at Dad. “Yes, I’d been covering politics at the time and discovered that Mr Nugent had been procuring the services of prostitutes.”
“And how did you come by this information?”
“I have informants,” Una replies sharply. “All journalists do.”
“Did you tap his phone or hack into his computer like you did with my client?”
“How is this relevant?” Thomas Jenkins objects. “We are not here to talk about past articles. We’re here to talk about the articles Miss Harris wrote about Mr Fields.”
“I assure you, my line of questioning is extremely relevant, Justice,” says Dad to the judge.
“Continue,” says the judge with a casual gesture of his hand.
“You can answer my question, Miss Harris,” says Dad, turning back to Una.
Her one-word reply sounds strained. “No.”
“Mr Nugent took his own life a few months after you broke the story. Are you aware of this?”
“Of course I am.”
“Do you hold yourself responsible?”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “No.”
“Do you think that if you hadn’t written the article, Mr Nugent would still be alive and well today?”
“I can’t know that. But I will say that Victor Nugent was supposed to be an upstanding member of society, and the things he was doing needed to be exposed.”
Really, the irony here is just laughable. Una Harris judging someone else’s tawdry private life after everything that’s come to light about her. I guess everyone’s the hero of their own story.