Dirty Diana by January James
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Ok, so you know that shit we were all expecting, and the fan it was destined to fly into?” Carlos announced, smashing a proverbial axe into the jovial banter. Sheridan, Jude and I were tying up some loose ends before we all finished up for the day. “Well, it’s happened.”
He laid the newspaper down on a desk in the center of the table and we all peered over his shoulder. I felt Jude’s breath on the back of my neck, then it stilled as we all read the headline.
Hey Jude: The fool who played it cool. Former friends and employees speak out about failed fixer.
It had been a week since Jude had quit as CEO of Empirical and a week since we’d all taken up residence in his townhouse. As expected, we’d been bombarded with calls from journalists and people posing as concerned music fans, as well as damning press articles and TV reports accusing us of being reckless and acting in our own interests, and not in those of the fans and artists. We’d ploughed ahead, regardless, all of us spending hours putting right every single contact we valued from across the industry.
Jude and I had slept apart for five nights, each night feeling longer and emptier than the last. Every evening, I fought the urge to stay awake, to tiptoe across the hall, to knock on his door and climb into his bed. Every evening, I’d resorted to satisfying myself with my own fingers, remembering the feel of his tongue lapping against my skin, as I buried my face into the pillow so he wouldn’t hear me screaming his name as I came. Every morning, I’d shower and dress with one eye on my door, hoping he’d walk in, make me stop whatever I was doing and throw me back into bed.
Every time I walked barefoot into the kitchen I held my breath, hoping he was there, barely dressed, waiting to lift me onto the surface and fuck me before anyone arrived for the day. My mind was indeed full and occupied, and not just with thoughts of Phoenix and my stepfather, but with dirty, incriminating thoughts about the man now standing behind me, pressing an obvious hard-on into my back. I didn’t get it. If he was as turned on having me around as I was living under his roof, why wasn’t he making sure I knew it?
We all fell silent as we read the words. It was the first big personal attack any of us in the team had received, and it was damning. I’d known Jude for six months and still knew very little about him. I felt as though he knew everything about me; I’d laid it out bare, warts and all. But he’d disclosed very little to me about his past, and now it was all here, in black and white, staring up at us from the pages of the New York Times. Whoever had written this piece was fully in bed with Hoffman, Zeiger and Weissenberg—as pliable and moldable as the acts they were turning out onto the airwaves.
Following the announcement that notorious business fixer, Jude Peyton-Harris, quit his role of CEO with Empirical Records just a mere five months into the job, former friends and employees have been stepping forward with stories of broken trust, abuse of power and blatant betrayal. According to numerous sources, Peyton-Harris’ brand of corporate restructuring is characterized by extreme emotionless criticism at best and bare-faced bullying at worst.
Peyton-Harris move to New York soon after the death of his father, leaving Loughborough University in the UK without completing his degree in International Business Management. Former tutors described him as ,“passionate, enthusiastic and highly intelligent,” until the death of his father, after which he became “reclusive” and “withdrawn from student life”. According to sources, Peyton-Harris was close to his father, and the death of City financier Andrew Peyton-Harris hit him hard. As the story goes, the financier was on route to Loughborough to watch his son compete in a rugby tournament when his car was hit by a truck that had spun out of control.
I reached behind me to feel for Jude’s hand but he’d stepped back, out of reach.
Peyton-Harris quit his education only weeks later and landed his first job in New York with debt collection agency, CreditGain. According to former colleague Casey Bernhardt, Peyton-Harris was “emotionless and determined”. He rose up the ranks quickly, becoming VP Operation within two years. “I never knew anyone to work so hard,” Bernhardt remembers. “But he never made any friends at the firm. He was single-minded and only interested in how the firm could make more money. It was great for business, but he wasn’t popular.”
Peyton-Harris went on to become CEO of numerous businesses, hired for his unemotional approach to business restructuring, doing the painful dirty work of cutting the fat from tens of underperforming corporations, including Silver Star film studio. He also joined the boards of a number of other businesses, advising on operations and strategy.
Teresa Long was an employee of Silver Star. “Mr. Peyton-Harris not only removed my job from the organization, he seemed to take extraordinary pleasure in doing so,” she explained, fighting tears. “I developed social anxiety following what my therapist defines as prolonged, systematic bullying at the hands of Peyton-Harris, and I wasn’t the only one.” Numerous others have stepped forward with similar stores but have preferred to remain anonymous.
I couldn’t read any more of the article. It was tearing Jude apart and I could feel the hurt radiating from him.
“That’s really below the belt,” Sheridan said, angrily. “There has to be something there our legal team can work with—libel?”
“Leave it,” Jude said, firmly.
“We can’t,” Carlos said. “This affects our reputation.”
“They won’t retract it without proof,” Jude sighed. “And if I did find people to provide counter quotes, it would take time and the damage will be done anyway.”
“You’re not a bully,” I said, quietly, turning to face him.
“I am,” he replied, his eyes empty and resigned. “I deserve this article. It was a long time in coming.”
“I think we should call it a day,” I said, folding the paper and handing it back to Carlos. “Let’s reconvene in the morning, make a plan then.”
“Sounds good,” Sheridan nodded. “I’m exhausted.” She turned her eyes apologetically towards Jude but he’d turned his back to all of us, and was staring at the wall.
“We’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
Sheridan and Carlos quietly gathered their belongings and sloped out of the house, leaving me alone with Jude.
“I’m sorry to read about your father,” I said, softly, as I walked up behind him.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago.”
“Still. It can’t be pleasant, reading about him in an article like that.”
“No, you’re right. He doesn’t belong in there. He doesn’t deserve to be associated with the bastard I’ve become.”
“Don’t say that, Jude,” I tried to turn him around but he wouldn’t budge. “You’re a good man.”
“I’m not, Diana. Just ask my mother.”
“What do you mean?”
Finally, he turned to face me and I was shocked to see his eyes damp with tears.
“It was my fault my father died. I am the reason my mother is a widow.”
“What?”
“The article was right. He was on his way to watch me play. The weather was horrendous—torrential rain. He was late leaving work and he put his foot down. He was doing ninety miles an hour when the truck veered into his lane. He had nowhere to go; he would’ve seen it coming.”
His voice broke as he relayed the tragic story.
“I went ahead and played the game, none the wiser, just thinking he’d forgotten or couldn’t make it. I probably cursed him.”
“You weren’t to know…” I gripped both of his hands.
“My mother… she—” He swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.
“Jude, it’s ok.”
“No, it isn’t.” He withdrew a hand to rub his eyes. “My mother blames me for my father’s death. She held it in, all the while we were preparing for his funeral and sorting through his belongings. But she was quiet; she never attempted to comfort me. Not once.”
“People handle grief in different ways,” I said.
“No,” he shook his head. “She told me exactly what she thought. It was one morning. I was about to leave to watch a game. I forgot to fetch something from the shops for her—it was an innocent oversight, but she just snapped. She screamed at me, told me I was good for nothing, all I cared about was myself. She let rip all the horrible thoughts she’d had about me over the years and just laid them on me right there. Then she topped them off by saying it was my fault my father died. I thought I was numb by that point but that final accusation drove into me like a knife.”
“Jesus, Jude…” I began, but I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t imagine how that must have felt.
“She apologized after she’d calmed down, profusely. But, you can’t ever take those kinds of words back. I couldn’t carry on the way I had been after hearing that. I couldn’t stay in England using my parents’ money to get through university; I didn’t feel worthy. So I came here. And that’s that.”
“You know it isn’t true, though, right?” I said, pulling him towards me. “You weren’t responsible for his death. It was an accident.”
He nodded but his eyes swam. “I do—rationally—of course I do. I wasn’t driving that freaking truck. But the fact it’s what she thought. That’s what hurt.”
“God, Jude. That’s awful. No one deserves to be told something like that.” I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his heart beating fast against my ear.
“That’s why I do what I do,” he said, murmuring into my hair. “I learned early on how to switch off my feelings. Once I realized I could do that, I became invincible in business. I could do all those jobs other people found difficult because I’d trained myself not to care.”
I nodded against his shirt, feeling the muscles rub against the side of my face.
“But I can only shut myself down like that for so long. That’s why after every job I disappear. Because the feelings come back, a hundred times stronger. I fucking hate myself for doing what I do and for treating people so inhumanely…”
“It isn’t inhumane,” I argued. “It’s just not a nice job to have to do, making people redundant.”
“I don’t make it easy for people,” he buried his lips into me as he confessed. “I get a kick out of being a senseless bastard, for that window of time. But the worse my behavior, the harder it hits me afterwards. I get everything I fucking deserve, Di. Including this.”
I pulled back to face him. “You do not deserve this, Jude. Listen to me.” I brought my hands up to his face. “This stops now, ok? You are not a fixer anymore, you’re the CEO of an indie label that’s doing its damnedest to survive. You’re leading a team of people who respect you, who want to follow you. You’re a good man. Look at everything you’ve done for me.”
Finally, he made eye contact.
“I want to be good for you,” he whispered. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you. You were so nervous, so unaware of how beautiful you were, how good you were at life. I couldn’t believe you had so little confidence. You were my opportunity to do some good for once, to help you understand you were more than what you believed yourself to be.”
“And you did that. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Are you?” His mouth curled, sadly.
“Yes,” I replied, and I meant it. “I’m under your roof, just as you wanted me to be.”
He sighed, his eyes penetrating mine, as though he was searching for something else.
“This will pass,” I said. “People will only remember the tragedy of a young man losing his father. They won’t remember the scathing comments made by ‘sources’ that were probably fake anyway, and even if they do, they’ll probably forgive you given everything you’d been through.”
He nodded slowly. “We’ll see, I guess.”
He pulled out of my grasp. “I’m going to call it a night,” he said, turning away. “Jenny made a lasagna for us but I’m not hungry. You go ahead and tuck in. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He walked away, out of the room, leaving me feeling as though there were a million things he still wasn’t telling me. But he’d never opened up to me before; I didn’t want to push it too much. I was grateful in a way. I was beginning to know the real Jude, and I was falling even more deeply, even if it wasn’t reciprocated.
* * *
I washedand changed into my satin camisole and shorts. I’d been back to my apartment once during my stay at Jude’s, to retrieve a fresh set of clothes and the latest letter. Jude had insisted on reading it, his fists turning white as he pinned them into the kitchen surface.
“How much longer, Diana?” He’d hissed. “How many more of these do you need to receive before you do something about it?”
“I’m going to do something,” I assured him, more confidently now that I was living under his roof, feeling safer than I did in my tiny apartment. “I promise, I am.”
I had more space to think, finally. The team was doing everything they could to keep the acts and the business afloat; I wasn’t in it alone. If I could just rid my head of inappropriate thoughts about Jude, I might finally be able to devote the time and space I needed to, to figuring out how the hell I deal with my stepfather.
I padded around the room, barefoot, imagining what he was doing across the hallway. If it was me who’d been the subject of such a damning press article, he’d have been knocking at my door, making sure I was ok, making sure I had everything I needed. Should I be doing the same? I wanted to. I wanted to see if he still wanted me. I was falling for him more and more each day and the risk of my heart being completely broken should he not return the same feelings, was getting greater and greater. But I was suddenly consumed with nerves. Why the hell did I pick this moment to decide I wanted to make a move? It was obvious Jude was in a bad way. He’d been attacked publicly, his background dissected for the world to see, his character exposed for that of a villain—someone who couldn’t be trusted let alone liked, or even loved, as he’d insisted was the case.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I’d flung open my door and I was knocking on his.
“It’s me,” I said quietly. “I just wanted to check you were ok.”
“Open the door,” he said, his voice distant.
My heart thumped at the base of my throat as I did as he asked. It was dark in his room; it took my eyes a moment to adjust. I could make out his form standing in front of a window—his broad shoulders, narrow waist and thick thighs sucking all the light into his rigid posture. As my eyes became used to the low light, I swallowed a gasp. He was naked. Completely naked, completely exposed, and turned away, staring out of the window.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from devouring him, greedily, running from his round buttocks, down his muscular legs and back up his spine, flanked by rippling curves. He literally took my breath away.
“I… I’m sorry,” I started, as I went to close the door.
“Stay,” he ordered.
I suddenly became aware of my torso—throbbing, everywhere. My legs were shaking with lust, the tops of my thighs growing damp with need.
He turned slowly to face me, daring me to not look away. My eyes attached to his but my peripheral vision could not mistake his giant hard on, aimed right at me. My breath came and went in short, sharp bursts and he arched himself forward, concaving his chest, as though he was trying to stop himself from pouncing.
“Are you finally going to let this fucking happen?” He growled.
A breathy moan escaped my mouth. I was nothing but pumping blood, weak bones and need.
“Or are you going to make me lay here for yet another night, fucking my own hand while you pant out my name in the next room?”
My legs gave way and I collapsed to the floor. In a second he was standing over me, lifting me, his breath suddenly hot against my skin, and carried me as though I was as light as a feather, across to his bed. His eyes ate me alive as he laid me down.
“You heard…” I gasped, feeling his lips against my throat. A rush of air licked my skin as he pulled away.
“Yes. Even as you screamed into a pillow, I felt the words vibrating through the walls.”
My hips bucked at his words. Now I was the one who was exposed. “And you were…” What was wrong with me? I was incapable of finishing a sentence.
“I was fucking myself, Diana. Every night. As soon as you closed the bedroom door.”
He dragged his teeth along my belly, pushing my camisole up and bunching it on my chest. “As soon as I heard your breathing, getting heavier…”
He smoothed his hands around my breasts, kneading them gently, licking his tongue along the waistband of my shorts. I squirmed beneath him earning grunts of frustration each time I broke his contact with my skin.
“That’s when I gripped myself harder.”
“Jude, please…” I took one of his hands and pushed it inside my shorts, pressing his fingers against my heat. I cried out, preliminary tremors shaking me to the core.
“That’s when I thrust into my palm, imagining it was you.”
I pushed one of his fingers inside me and gripped it, giving a cry of release. By now, both my hands were down my shorts, desperately trying to maneuver his fingers exactly where I needed them.
“I rolled onto my stomach,” he rasped, “imagining you were beneath me…”
“Jesus,” I gasped, trying to bury his fingers as deeply as I could, bucking my hips up to meet them.
“I knew when you were almost there. I could hear your breath getting hard. I heard the bed moving as you writhed about on it.”
“I..” I couldn’t get him far enough in. I needed more.
“I closed my eyes and fucked you into the mattress, Diana. When you came, so did I.”
“Aargghh!” I cried, rolling him onto his back with a strength I didn’t know I had. I found his cock and sat above it, my hands shaking uncontrollably with the urgency of need.
“I can’t…” I sobbed.
He smacked my hand away and angled himself at my entrance then pulled me down, hard. I screamed with the intrusion and collapsed across his chest feeling him panting beneath me.
“Finally,” he gasped, catching his breath. “Fucking finally.”