Owning Her

Chapter Eight

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Vivian's phone buzzed.

And then again.

When it finally buzzed the single notification pattern for the sixth time, she pushed off her bed and snatched the phone from her nightstand.

She had never been one for gossip, even though she used to watch Gossip Girl all the time until it got too childish and repetitive for her. But now? With her face from three years ago splayed all over eight different tabloid magazines next to that infamous long red hair? She had never been more interested.

She tried to read one of the articles once. Twice. And on the third time, when her vision wouldn't stop swimming with rage, she dove for the kitchen. Today was her last day off before seven straight days of work and then a week off for her birthday, and it seemed she was somehow neck-deep in a Serena Van Der Woodsen-level scandal.

All she wanted to do was sleep until Greyson got home from work, but now she was standing in their shared kitchen with a glass of his infamous Scotch tucked into her chest. She cradled her phone in her other hand, but her gaze was focused on the floor before her, the black-and-white checkered tiles nearly hypnotizing her.

So far, she had managed to garner that a picture of her and Alistair graced the cover of several tabloid magazines, and all of them were accusing her of adultery. It was accusing her of adultery against Greyson, who was one of the few people to make a name for their selves in a state this small and stay put instead of moving headquarters to a more prominent place. The phone in her hand started ringing with the stock ringtone, an unknown number splayed on the screen. She sent it to voicemail and stared at the article again.

They even refused to release any information on the picture as they were supposed to.

The unknown number called again, and she swallowed the shot of Scotch before answering it.

"Well, hello there, lass," a familiar and haunting voice drawled over the phone. Vivian's blood ran cold as that God-forsaken Scottish accent she used to adore made her stomach twist in knots.

"I don't know how you got this number, but never call me again," she seethed before hanging up and promptly blocking the number.

Another unknown number texted her.

Did someone not like my birthday present for her?

Vivian could practically hear the taunting and demeaning tone in which he would have spoken those words. She blocked the second number Alistair had texted her from and tossed her phone on the counter. With one swift movement, she snatched up the bottle of Scotch and took a long pull directly from the lip.

Her phone started buzzing and buzzing. When that call ended, another promptly started right up. She watched numbly as the phone slid across the counter and landed on the floor. Vivian shrugged and took another deep pull from the bottle. The phone continued to buzz and skitter across the kitchen floor.

After twenty minutes of it dancing around on the tile, she finally snatched it up, jabbed her thumb against the screen, and brought it to her ear. "What?" she growled in answer.

"Oh, come on, lass, a little scandal will be good for his studio." The laughter in his voice made her blood start to thaw out. "Besides, there's no harm. Anyone with half a brain will notice that picture of you is old, lass," he added on as if that were a valid enough reason to keep Greyson from facing backlash over this.

"You're a right rotten bastard, Al," Vivian said calmly as her blood began to boil. He hated that shortened version of his name as if he were above nicknames.