Well, gee. That was all kinds of ominous. The cafe was just around the corner, though. Chelsea quickly texted her back, saying she was on her way. It might be a mistake, but since she was already out, she might as well see what the woman wanted.
Then she could tell Sebastian all about it, and he could step in, if needed. But Chelsea wasn’t afraid of a little confrontation. If she had to personally tell “Mama Precious” Cabral that she needed to step off, she would.
Chelsea entered the restaurant and looked for a familiar head of gray hair streaked with bold colors, and a cluster of cameras. She didn’t see anything, so headed for the bar to wait. Rufus was her ever-present shadow. He never talked to her, just kept a few paces behind. She watched as he sat at the other end of the bar and nodded at her. She must have gotten there ahead of Mrs. Cabral. Chelsea set her bags down on the stool next to her and smiled at the bartender, but before she could order a water, someone approached from the other side.
“Psst.”
Chelsea turned, and stared.
Mrs. Cabral was there, after all. She wore an enormous white wide-brimmed hat, the kind you’d see at the Kentucky Derby. Enormous dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she tipped them down to look at Chelsea. “I’m going to sit at a booth in the back, and then you should wait two minutes and join me.”
Okay, this was officially weird. Chelsea nodded and watched as Mrs. Cabral walked away. She wasn’t wearing one of her garish, loud-colored suits today. Instead, she wore black trousers and a black jacket. Huh. Why the need to go incognito? Were they not filming this? Didn’t this woman have everything in her life filmed, including the personal and embarrassing?
So why be anonymous now? It didn’t make sense.
Chelsea drummed her fingers on the counter, and then when it felt like two minutes, headed to Mrs. Cabral’s table. She slid in and the woman held a menu to her face, obscuring it. “Where’s my son today?”
“He’s working out with a friend,” Chelsea said. “Then he’s going to look at real estate.”
“Real estate? For what?” Mrs. Cabral wrinkled her nose. “The man has a perfectly fine town house.”
Actually, the town house was nice and spacious by Manhattan standards, but it had a lot of tiny, unused rooms. Sebastian’s art room was a cluttered, dark pit no bigger than some shoe closets. Chelsea wanted him to have an open, bright studio to work in, and when he’d been looking for real estate for rock-climbing gyms, she’d been shopping for a new condominium for him. Maybe a penthouse in one of the new buildings that boasted spacious, open rooms and lots of windows. She’d shown him a brochure and had casually mentioned that the place was a lot closer to derby practice, and had room for his art, and he had been intrigued.
So she was spending his money for him. So what? She’d asked him how much was in his trust fund from his father once, and had choked at the amount. Billions. Just sitting there. So yeah, he could spring for a new place, even if it cost him thirty million or more.
“He wants a new art studio,” Chelsea said. “He’s trying to move ahead with his art.”
“Those silly doodles? Is he still into that?” She shook her head. “Childish foolery. He needs to grow up.”
“He’s talented. Have you seen his work? He’s very good.”
“So is a monkey if you give him a crayon.” Her mouth pursed as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. “You’d be better off encouraging him to play the stock market instead of playing with paints.”
No wonder Sebastian was so private about his art. Chelsea was immediately sorry she’d brought it up. Mrs. Cabral could be downright vicious at times. “Why don’t we just talk about why we’re here?”
“I’m here because you need to leave my son.” She set the menu down and folded her hands. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work out.”
Chelsea gave her a curious look. “Uh, what exactly is not going to work out?”
“Your marriage. It’s gone on long enough but now it needs to end.”
“That’s not your call to make.”
“It is if you love him and respect him.” Mrs. Cabral adjusted her sunglasses. Her mouth was still pulled into that angry frown. “If you do, you’ll pack up and leave at once.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Then perhaps this will.” She opened her purse and pulled out a USB stick, then slid it across the table toward Chelsea.
She was really confused now. “What’s on that?”
“That is blackmail information.”
“You’re blackmailing me?”
The woman’s lips curled. “Don’t be stupid. Someone is blackmailing me. They’re going to release this video unless I pay them.”
“Video? Of what?”
“It’s you.”
Chelsea’s stomach plummeted. “Me what?” Her voice was a frightened whisper.
“You on tape, you stupid girl. You with some man, to be precise. It’s disgusting.” She flicked the USB toward Chelsea. “Take it home and see for yourself.”
How could it be a video of her? She’d never allowed a lover to have a camera in the bedroom, wasn’t one of those girls that took dirty selfies. There was no way she’d have—
Oh, god.
This wasn’t happening.
It wasn’t.
She felt encased in ice. Like the world had suddenly flash-frozen and she was caught up in the destruction.
Someone had video of her rape. This guy was out there, and he knew who she was, and he was going to use that information and ruin her fragile happiness.
She wanted to vomit.
She wanted to die.
Mrs. Cabral’s mouth kept moving, and Chelsea realized dumbly that she was still talking. She forced herself to listen to the woman, the USB stick sitting in the middle of the table between them like a cockroach. ”. . . I’ve spent too long building up our family name and making us famous. I’m not going to let who we are be ruined because you can’t keep your legs together and have the grace not to film it. If the network finds out about this, we’re going to be the laughingstock of everyone in Hollywood. I won’t have that, and I won’t pay blackmailers. The best way to correct this situation is simply for you to get out of Sebastian’s life. If you’re not around, there’s no one to blackmail over.”
“Okay,” Chelsea breathed.
Mrs. Cabral sat back, clearly surprised at Chelsea’s quick concession. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”
What could she say? What could she do that would make this better? Absolutely nothing. And the last thing she’d ever wanted to do was hurt Sebastian. The thought of him seeing the video was like a knife in her gut.
He’d see that, and he’d realize how ruined she was. How unworthy of him she was. Hot tears started to spill from her eyes, and to her surprise, Mrs. Cabral offered her a napkin.
“It’s not personal, my dear,” Mrs. Cabral said. “It’s business. This family is my business. You understand, don’t you?”
Chelsea nodded.
“So you’ll leave him? Today?” she pressed.
What choice did Chelsea have? “I’ll tell him tonight that it’s over.”
“Leave now,” Mrs. Cabral emphasized. “Send him a note. I can get a private jet for you. Don’t give him the opportunity to convince you to stay. Just get out of New York and go into hiding.”
No. She’d leave him, but on her own terms. Sebastian deserved better than her fleeing like a rat in the night. She swallowed hard and pushed the USB stick back toward Mrs. Cabral. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing he can say that would make me change my mind. This will be the last time you see me.”
Mrs. Cabral nodded. “Good.”
* * *
Chelsea was in a daze as she took the subway home. She didn’t know if she’d lost Rufus, and she didn’t care. If someone had tried to hold a conversation with her, she’d have failed miserably. Horror rolled in her mind, over and over again.