Perfectly Lonely - Jessica Marin Page 0,9

life (which it was) and for the story that was going to make me a lot of.

Yes, I’m an asshole.

But desperate times call for desperate measures and I was desperate.

I went straight to the airport and grabbed the first flight to Chicago that morning. I needed to see Jenna and her child for myself. The online white pages directory provided me her address and as soon as I landed, I went straight there and planted myself outside her building until I saw her. I saved her image from the bio on her website and read up on her while I waited. I wasn’t surprised that Cal Harrington would have been interested in her. Besides being a successful business woman, she was also beautiful. I couldn’t help but wonder why she hasn’t gone public with the story yet. According to my research, she was dating a hockey player, but Cal Harrington was worth more money than any successful hockey player. Why would she not reap the benefits of going public of how he won’t support his own child?

My luck continued as I didn’t have to wait long to spot her. I followed her from her apartment as she walked to her destination, which to my excitement, was a pre-school. I positioned myself far enough away so she couldn’t see me, but at an angle where I would get the best shot of her when she walked out. I feverishly pressed the shutter button as she came back out holding a child. I watched through the lens as she put the child down, grabbed her hand, and started walking toward me.

I took as many photos as I could get of them before they rounded the corner, their backs now retreating away from me. I held my breath as I looked through the images I captured on the screen of my camera and zoomed in on one of the photos of the child’s face.

A face that clearly resembled Cal Harrington.

She was a beautiful child, with long brown hair, blue eyes, and a gorgeous little smile. I stared at her image, my heart pounding in my chest as realization started to set in that Layla was telling the truth.

JACKPOT!

I reserved a room at the closest hotel to Jenna’s apartment, willing to pay the exuberant expense of hotels in downtown Chicago. I ordered room service and started writing down the tale of how once upon a time, a divorced business woman from Chicago met a famous actor on a flight to Las Vegas, got pregnant with his kid, and the douchebag wanted nothing to do with either of them. Gossip magazines and news outlets all around the world will eat this story up as golden boy Cal Harrington is not quite the British Gentlemen his reputation perceives him to be. Once I wrote out everything I had learned from Layla and my research, I picked up the phone and pitched my story to every major gossip news outlet in New York, Los Angeles and London. After accepting the highest bid offered to me, I hit the send button with zero hesitation and no regrets.

Two weeks later, I was drowning in regret.

Because within those two weeks, I met a woman who was barely holding herself, and her life, together from the revelation of a story that was not mine to tell.

That woman was a single mother who was working her ass off to make a life for her and her child, while running a successful business.

That woman was a human being who just wanted privacy and didn’t want the whole world to know who her child’s famous father was.

That woman didn’t want or need a reminder of the hurt from the rejection of a past lover.

That woman was now prey to the swarm of vultures in the form of paparazzi who wanted a piece of her and her child’s life.

When Jenna discovered me following her for the first time, I was stunned by her fear and anger toward me, despite her not even knowing I was the whistleblower. She hated me for what I was, what I represented, and how I was the reminder of what her future of now being in the spotlight was going to be. And it was after that day, I realized what I had done.

I irrevocably changed her life.

And at the time, it was not for the good, but for the bad.

And then, at one point, for the worse.

Her disgust toward me made me feel like the piece of shit I