Sunnyside (a Sebastian Stan story)

Damage

    In the time it had taken me to wash my face and brush through my hair, pulling it up on top of my head, Bonnie had managed to make me a sandwich and find my juicer. She had herself a glass of something rather orange that she sipped delicately as she watched me perch myself at the counter and take a bite.
    “We need to do something about your liquor selection. This would have been better with tequila.”
    I’d suspected, of course, that she occasionally slipped a little something into her ever present concoctions, but this was the first time she’d ever admitted it. I gave her a smile as I chewed. Swallowing, I addressed the issue at hand. “She isn’t going to answer.”
    “Have you tried?”
    “Once,” I nodded. “It rang once and went to voicemail.”
    Bonnie shook her perfect silver head. “So she’s screening her calls. Of course she is.”
    “I don’t want to try again. I don’t even know what I’d say. The betrayal…” a sour lump rose in my throat.
    “You have to try again,” Bonnie said matter-of-factly. “You have to try again today. You have to try again tomorrow, and the day after that. Because your lawyers are going to want to be able to show that you tried repeatedly to reach her to discuss her illegal publication of her article.”
    I nearly choked on my sandwich. “Lawyers? I don’t have lawyers.”
    She reached forward and patted my cheek. “Darling, you have Bonnie McBride, and that means you have whatever you need.”
    I shifted uncomfortably. “I appreciate it, Bonnie. I really do, but I could never pay you back for that. It would take me years.” Truthfully, I hadn’t even considered the legal aspect of the whole mess. I had been so focused on the soul-crushing devastation of losing my boyfriend and my best friend stabbing me in the back that I hadn’t thought much outside of my little grief-bubble.
    “Why on earth would you think you’d need to pay me back?” Bonnie actually threw her hands up in the air. “Besides, she has no defense. I don’t know how she managed this, but however she got her little article published, it wasn’t by any honest method.”
    I pushed my now empty plate to the side and rested my forehead against the cool surface of the countertop. It certainly hadn’t been honest. My stomach turned as I thought back over the last few months with Sam. Had she been honest with me even once? Had every laugh, and late night chat, and every friendly gesture only been her worming her way into my confidence so she could take advantage of the relationship she built with me?
    It couldn’t have been. Not from the beginning. She hadn’t even known who Sebastian really was at first. Which meant that at some point, she had decided that our friendship meant less to her than her career. Not only that, but it meant so much less, that it was actually worth throwing me, my boyfriend, and my entire life into the mud and running everything over with a bus.
    Well, not my entire life. I still had Bonnie, and Iz, and Barry and Sunnyside. But as comforting as that was, the fact remained that she had run the most important part of my life out of the picture, and with that thought, suddenly I was reeling again. Tears, pooling hot at the corners of my eyes, threatened to take over again. I raised my head and looked at Bonnie.
    “He really thinks I let her do this. He thinks I helped her do this.”
    “He’s angry. He’ll come around.”
    “He won’t pick up the phone either.”
    “He will. He will or he’s a fool. Now I realize I don’t know him very well, but honey, he chose you. That’s a decision that tells me he’s not a fool.”
    “Maybe. Or maybe we’re both fools. Me for letting this happen, and him for believing me to be anything other than a gullible, trusting moron.”
    Bonnie hushed me. “Tell me; what exactly is wrong with a little trust? A little faith? You moved across the country on faith. Started a successful business because you trusted you could. Made wonderful friends,” she said, lifting one perfect eyebrow. “I am a wonderful friend.”
    I smiled at her, but I know it wasn't the glowing grin she was hoping for. She came to take my plate and patted my cheek.
    “Call Sam again. Tell her you'll call every day until this gets sorted out or your lawyer tells you to cut contact.”
    I nodded. I guessed I could do that.
    Bonnie scrubbed my plate and put it in the rack to dry. “Then call Sebastian. Tell him what happened. If you have to leave a message, so be it. Then let him decide how much groveling he needs to do and how soon he needs to start.”
    “He had every right to walk out.”
    “Screw his rights," she said sharply.  "He should have listened. And he will. He overreacts. I know he does, don't deny it.”
    I had started to protest and defend him. This was all my fault.
    “He's a good man though. So make the call. Tell him what happened. Then we'll do damage control from there.”
    Damage control. How much more damage could possibly be done?

****

    I left two voicemails. One for Sam, and one for Sebastian. I ugly cried in the shower. I deep cleaned my apartment all night and then went to work in the morning. I had hoped for a normal day, but of course I wasn't that lucky.
    Damage control. The whole situation was getting away from me and I had no idea how to stop it. Barry sat across the desk from me, arms hugged to his chest, so stressed he'd been running his fingers through his perfect hair, leaving it on end. Barry never messed up his hair.
    “I didn't know what to tell them, Win, I'm sorry.” The tone of his apology broke my heart. He had even less control over this than I did.
    I stared at the monitor in front of me and the room tilted under my chair. I forced myself to breathe. “It's okay, Barry. There isn't anything you could have done.”
    The words “contract terminated” screamed at me from next to no less than six accounts. That was money desperately needed to pay staff. Staff I had just hired. Staff I didn't know what I was going to tell.
    Apparently using my professional relationship to cultivate a romantic one and then spilling the beans about a client's personal life was something that made people unhappy. Sunnyside was no longer a trustworthy name.
    The phone rang and Barry hustled to answer it. I couldn't move; the weight of my situation settled into my bones and pinned me to my chair.
    His face fell and his shoulders rounded and I started paying attention to his words.
    ...not reputable...no permission given...yes, of course you have every right... I'll take your name off the books…
    We'd lost another one.