Homewrecker (Novel Sample)

Sucker Punch

One week later

"Ready?" Cody gave his cameraman a stern look. Steve, or Scott, if he remembered correctly. For the money he was paying, he should have Scorsese himself holding the camera but instead, all he had was a film school dropout slash surfer-dude. "Get her reaction, okay? Don't stop. Tears, crying, everything."

"Yeah, dude," Scott agreed.

"Even if she runs," he pressed. In the world of social media and celebrity gossip, tears were as valuable as diamonds. The humiliation was what he was really after. From his cursory research, Mrs. Wilder was the daughter of none other than Associate Chief Justice Edith Graham and potential senator Benedict Graham. A scandal in House Wilder would ricochet all the way to the capital when the little princess went crying to the Queen Mother. Even if she wanted to play the good wife and stand by her man, Mother Justice would never tolerate it. Nuh-uh. And Joshua would be left in the cold.

He tried to imagine the emotional pain Joshua would suffer, seeing his family ripped apart. Losing his wife. Crying children. Custody battles. Alimony... "If she tries to run away from the camera, go after her. Jerry Springer style."

"I'm not trying to get hit, Cody," Scott grimaced. "They don't call him Wild for nothing."

"He's not going to be here."

"But if he is—"

"If anyone gets hit, it'll be me." Joshua might be a cheater and a fraud, but he was also a Stanford economics grad. The definition of a gentleman and a scholar. He wasn't going to physically assault a civilian cameraman. "Just stay on the wife."

Time to pay the piper.

It had taken him all week to talk himself out of simply selling the video to Peddler. He'd have gotten enough to buy a house, maybe even on the beach, but how long would that last? Going through Peddler was too clean. It would be too easy for Joshua to get it taken down. On his own, Joshua could take the hit, but Little Princess Arabecka was his soft spot. Sucker punching her just right was the key to the whole shebang. The first rule of lion-fighting was to avoid the teeth at all costs; you had to go for the underbelly. He'd admit it was a little diabolical, targeting a woman who had done him no harm, but he was no hero. He was no stranger to dastardly deeds. And Arabecka was no harmless innocent tied to the train tracks.

Mrs. Wilder might not be an A-lister herself, but she'd been on the red carpet with her husband for the Black Jaguar premiere. She'd had a lavish time, living it up in her Beverly Park twelve-bedroom mansion, all Let them eat cake. It wouldn't be fair if she didn't take the bad along with the good. If hurting her was the price he had to pay to fix his life, he'd pay it gladly. All wars had collateral damage.

In times of doubt, all he had to do was think of New Zealand. If he played it right, he'd be there by the end of the year. He needed to be somewhere saner. Nicer. Happier. He'd buy a house that looked like it could have been in one of the Lord of the Rings movies. A cottage. Something small and modest, with sun and fresh air. On a mountain with no neighbors for miles. Somewhere no one knew his name. He'd have a dog and some sheep and maybe a horse.

Cody got out the car, stretched his limbs, put his game face on, and then burst through the doors of the gym with a shouted "Huzzah!"

He nearly fainted in relief as the cool AC hit his skin. For some reason he was sure had made sense at the time, he'd decided on the tweed suit for today's performance. He was wearing a shirt, with a tie, and then a waistcoat on top of that, with a cardigan, scarf, and jacket to top it all off. It had all been tailor-made, so the tapered cut fit him well, but God alone knew how hot he was underneath it all. He hadn't been specific when he had it made. He'd only asked for the most pretentious thing a man could wear in California. The end result was that he looked like he was trying out for a role in Downton Abbey.