Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Time For A Reality Check
Cynthia POV.
The words pierced through my heart like an ice pick stabbing through ice. Sudden, unforeseen, deep, intense jabs punctured a hole in my soul. I went numb in shock.
“Where the hell am I? What am I doing here?” came his next verbal volley. He scooted away from me and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
Sinacore was sober now and had regained his senses. And it seemed he had forgotten all that happened last night.
“Um…you don’t remember anything, do you?” I somehow mustered up the courage to speak. I knew I had to bring him up to speed with the current situation. But it was easier said than done.
The words that came easily to my mind and flowed smoothly off my tongue yesterday were not to be found anymore. I could not fathom the reason, but I felt tongue-tied and fumbled to find the right words.
I stuttered in response, my gaze trained on the back of his head as I tugged the thin sheet to my chin. “I-I…your friends spiked your drink…a-and brought you here…I followed them and brought you to this room…t-they are waiting outside…the media…”
“What?” he yelled in shock and dismay. He jumped off the bed and raced to the curtain, pulling it aside to take a peek out of the window. The sight of dozens of news vans and hundreds of reporters unnerved him completely.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked in exasperation, running a hand through his messy hair. The muscles in his abdomen flexed with the movement, distracting me momentarily. The black boxer briefs hugging his waist were not helping either. “And why are we half-naked, hmm? What happened last night? And how the fuck did I end up at a damn hotel?”
“I saved you from those media guys,” I mumbled softly, unable to find the right words to explain the situation. “I saved you from your buddies.”
“Really! And how exactly did you do that?” His voice was getting louder, his posture more aggressive, and his tone sounded stubborn and unrelenting. “If I didn’t know any better, I would guess we slept together last night.”
My cheeks flamed at his words. “It’s not what you think.”
“What is it, then? Enlighten me.” He placed his hands on his hips and glared at me.
“Your friends spiked your drink and brought you here. They called the media, wanting to discredit you and show the world that you slept with hookers last night,” I finally spat out the words to lighten my chest.
It didn’t have the desired effect.
“So, what made you sleep with me last night? How is sleeping with me going to save me from a scandal? What part of saving someone involves sleeping with that person?”
His verbal assault was relentless. Merciless. I had no words to explain what I felt for him last night. At that moment, an unknown emotion clouded my senses, but I couldn’t explain the meaning behind it. All I knew was that it was intense and unlike anything I had felt before, not even with Michael. I felt it futile to inform him that he set the ball rolling in the first place. That it was he who made the first move.
I kept quiet.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” he growled. “You drugged me. I don’t know how, but you did and brought me here. You slept with me, for reasons that I can easily imagine. To frame me, blackmail me, coerce me into submitting to whatever vicious plan you have hatched to ruin me.”
“Stop, please,” I uttered, my heart racing in my chest.
How wrong I was to believe his assurances last night. How naive I was to trust that there would be a small chance he remembered the events of last night.
“You stopped on your way to Billy’s Tavern to console me yesterday afternoon,” I said, trying to refresh his memory. In reality, it was a meek attempt to hold onto a precious memory and justify my intervention in his life.
“I don’t want to hear anything more,” he said dismissively. “No more excuses. No more lies. We have to leave now. Show me the rear exit.”
And that was that. The crash landing back to Earth I dreaded. His accusation was the last thing I had expected when I decided to help someone in need last night. I had no idea it would end like this, blowing up in my face.
We left through the rear exit of the hotel. We managed to avoid the media circus and departed as strangers. He hailed a cab, didn’t say goodbye, and simply got in as fast as he could. I watched the cab disappear into the morning traffic, leaving me behind, alone.
Feeling lost and tormented, I walked aimlessly with my suitcase. My feet took me to places I had never intended to visit before. But my eyes saw nothing. They were cloudy with tears. And my mind kept racing.
Was I wrong in sleeping with him while he was clearly out of it? I realized now that I shouldn’t have. But what was I to do? Wasn’t I allowed a tiny sprinkle of happiness on my birthday? On a day I lost my job, my boyfriend, and a roof over my head?
A roof over my head. That was my topmost priority now. My broken heart might heal eventually. But a place to stay was an immediate necessity. I could not be out on the streets anymore.
I had to call Blair.
She had been my best friend since our sophomore year of high school. If ever I were to seek help and advice from someone, it would be her.
“Blair, I need your help,” I wailed when she answered the phone. “I need a place to crash.”
“Of course, sugar!” Blair sounded ecstatic on the phone. “My door is always open for you. Come over this very moment.”
So, off I went to Blair’s place—penniless, broke, unemployed, and homeless. I dragged my tattered and battered suitcase containing my modest belongings. But the welcome I received uplifted my mood completely.
“Cynthia! I am so happy to see you!”
Blair came running outside to greet me. Blair welcomed me with open arms. Literally. She hugged me in the warmest embrace, warming my tattered heart.
“It’s only temporary,” I told her apologetically. “I will move out as soon as I find another job.”
“Nonsense!” Blair shot back. “You are gonna stay as long as I want you to stay. Now, come inside and tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”
That’s what I did. I told her about getting fired, and Michael’s affair with Lily behind my back.
Blair was fuming. “That no-good son of a…” She could not finish her sentence, though. The TV flashed a breaking news alert, interrupting her speech.
I found myself staring at my own image on the TV screen.
“In shocking footage recorded this morning, men’s tennis sensation Sinacore Williams was spotted leaving a downtown hotel in Crystal Town through the back exit with a female companion. Speculation is rife that the female companion seen in this video is a professional sex worker. Questions are now being raised about the golden boy and his match fitness for today’s showdown with his archrival Albert Miller…”
The news anchor kept talking about the sensational ‘scoop’. I sat dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what I just watched.
Blair’s jaw dropped seeing me on camera, with a tennis superstar no less. I held my head in my hands, trying to come to terms with my sudden notoriety.
I realized that Sinacore’s rival had managed to accomplish his sinister objective. The media did indeed catch us on camera, and the gossip would spread far and wide now.
What would happen to Sinacore and his match today, I didn’t know. But I could only shudder at the thought of what this news would do to me. Now and forever.
Reality bites. Hard.
***
Sinacore POV.
“What a clusterfuck!”
Brad switched off the TV and threw the remote on the table in frustration. It was too much to watch. A never-ending cycle of reporters talking about the same video being played repeatedly, spreading salacious gossip with each rerun, casting aspersions on my match readiness while indulging in malicious innuendos about my ‘partying’ habits and ‘addiction’ to sex workers.
Brad is my agent and my best friend. We go way back to our high school days, when I was a budding champion in the making and he was egging me on from the sidelines. Today, Brad handles my PR, my media exposure, my calendar, my assignments, interview schedules, endorsements, sponsor contracts, and pretty much everything else.
I was in his house when the video began circulating online. For the life of me, I could not figure out how the media managed to capture my exit from that hotel on camera and paint me as a wild character bent on self-destruction by indulging in drugs and sex workers on the eve of an important match.
Brad was pacing his living room, with his face between his palms, glasses firmly perched up his nose. A deep frown carved on his forehead like a river on a map. I recognized that look. He was in damage control mode.
“This is bad! Truly bad! We have to nip it in the bud,” he remarked without pausing in his steps. “The longer this video keeps circulating, the worse it’s going to get.”
“Worse? What could be worse than this?” I fumed.
“Sin, you have no idea. If we don’t fix it right now, it will get out of hand. Public perception of your discipline, temperament, and commitment to your career will be the first casualty. Sponsors and endorsements will be the next to go. The media will hound you day and night, questioning your talent and character. Your reputation will lie in tatters, your achievements will be forgotten in days, and you will end up spending every minute of your time defending yourself instead of concentrating on your game.”
Holy shit…Brad was right.
“The last to desert you will be your team,” he continued. “Don’t get me wrong, but nobody wants to be associated with a has-been. Your trainer, coach, physio, and dietician will make a beeline for the exit if this is not taken care of. Immediately.”
“So, how do we do that?” I asked with a hint of despair.
“We have to twist the narrative. The golden boy of tennis was not out with a hooker last night but with his girlfriend.”
I felt my rage building again. “Girlfriend? Who? That woman who framed me?”
“We will deal with her later. But as of now, she is the only one who can help you change the narrative. She needs to corroborate your statement that she is your newfound lover and not a sex worker. She has to show mock outrage at being branded as a ‘prostitute’ by the media and confess her love for you. She has to stand in front of the cameras again and confirm what last night was all about.”
“What was last night all about?” I asked, baffled.
“It was a romantic date. Not a drug-fuelled orgy with sex workers, but a date with your girlfriend. The reason you exited through the back door of the hotel was to keep your relationship secret and protect your girlfriend from being hounded by the media. Now that her face has been seen by millions, she would like to come forward and clear the air herself.”
Brad could get me out of any sticky situation. What would I do without him?
“But, where can we find her?” I asked. “Where do we look for her?”
“What do you mean?” Brad sounded mildly irritated. “Give me her name and I will find her in an hour.”
“Name?” I muttered under my breath. I just realized I didn’t know her name. If she told me, I don’t remember. “I don’t know her name.”
“Are you kidding me?” Brad sounded genuinely annoyed now. “You spent the night together…hours…and you don’t even know her name!”
“Look,” I started, pinching the bridge of my nose, “she is the reason we are in this mess. She must have drugged me and slept with me to blackmail me at a later date. I am certain. So, pardon me for not asking her name. As far as I am concerned, she is the root of all evil, and I do not want to give her the satisfaction of fulfilling her objective. I do not want her to think that she has won.”
“But we need her,” Brad spoke in a somber tone now. “As I explained, she is the only one who can make this mess disappear. Find her. Find out her name. Somehow. Anyhow.”
Easier said than done. How was I supposed to locate her in a city of a million people without a name or an address?
Unless…
Unless she got in touch with me again. Voluntarily. Proactively.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone