“You haven’t seen?”
“Seen what?”
“The news, it’s everywhere.”
“What’s everywhere?”
Pip cries. “Fuck, it’s so–I can’t even say it.”
Terror grips me by the throat. “Say what, Pip, for god’s sake!”
“He’s not been named yet, but from the way everyone is freaking out it’s pretty much confirmed.” She sniffs. “It’s Dad.” The way she spits his name makes it clear he’s not in mortal danger.
Frustrated, I pull my phone away from my ear and with shaking fingers search my father’s name. Nothing comes up with his name attached but plenty of articles crop up instead.
HOLLYWOOD PRODUCER ACCUSED OF SEXUAL ASSAULT
My heart pounds in my chest. I pull my phone back to my ear but wince when I hear Pip’s sobs.
“Pip, take a breath.” I say, my heart thudding in my ears. “Breathe in, and out.”
She takes a shaky breath.
“I don’t understand.” I grip my hair in my hand. “Who’s saying that this is him?”
“I don’t know, but why else are we being asked to keep quiet? I’m sure you’ve had the no comment instruction?”
“Yeah.” Dread forms like a rock in my gut. “Do we know—” I swallow barely able to stomach the words. “Do we know who?”
Pip takes a breath. “They think it’s Georgia.”
Georgia, the cheerful blonde the same age as Pip. Georgia who carefully highlights all my scripts and adds smiley faces to the ends of emails. My father’s assistant.
I collapse onto the rickety bar stool in the kitchen. “Fuck.” I swallow harshly. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been told not to contact her by the lawyers.”
“There are lawyers involved?”
“Yeah,” Pip says weakly.
“Have you heard from Mum?”
“Yeah,” Pip scoffs. “She’s checked into a facility in upstate New York, no phones but lots of Chateau Lafite probably.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“Have you slept at all?”
“No.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No,” she sniffles again.
“Okay, can Cassie come and be with you?”
