Hook'd (2 page)

"Why is my boy on every headline with everyone saying he's a rapist? I thought you was supposed to be on your job, Yasmine," Slick scolded as he paced around his office.

Slouched in the plush seat, Cam glared at the sunny New York City view through the glass window, too enraged to speak. His foot tapping the carpeted floor, he clenched his broad jaw out of habit. He listened as Slick chewed up his publicist, like the raw dog he was. Since the allegations had come out, his manager had made calls to everyone in Cam's camp, from his PR team, marketing team, financial advisors, down to his legal team, making sure they were all shaping up. This was what Slick did. Lit fire under people's asses. Which was what made him the cut throat manager he was. Exactly what Cam needed at a time like this. 

"You took a look at TMZ right?"

"
Yes, I took a look at TMZ
," Yasmine's voice rang from the phone’s speaker.

"No, I don't think you did, because you wouldn't be telling me this bullshit right now. They got my man out here looking crazy and as his publicist, you should be handling that."

"
I'm doing the best I can
."

"Well it ain't good enough."

"
Well, I'll have Cam decide on that. You're not my client, he is, in case you forgot
."

"And I'm his manager, in case you forgot."

"
Well, when you start cutting me a check, we can have this discussion. Until then, I'll direct my information to him
."

"Let me tell you something," he growled, glaring at the phone on his desk. "The one thing I don't play with is my money. Period. And right now, this shit that's going on, is messing with my paper. So, you better get on ya fuckin' job and reach out to all the press, I'm talking TMZ, Newsday, CNN, all the TV execs, and spin this shit around. You're his gotdamn publicist, so act like it." He slammed the phone on the hook.

Cam huffed out a sigh without a word.

Slick plopped himself on the leather chair, rocking back and forth.

"I say we just pay the bitch off."

"What?" Cam fleeted his eyes to him. "Hell no, I ain't giving that bitch none of my money."

"So, what else you got in mind?"

"Fight her ass in court."

"Look at this shit, Cam!" He slammed the newspaper on the oak desk. Cam cringed at the sight. On the cover of the New York Times, was a picture of the woman's battered face, with the bold title,
'Battered Victim Tells Her Side of the Story
.'

"In case you haven't noticed...things aren't looking too good for you right now."

Cam tossed the papers away, fuming. It made him sick.

"Look, I know a lot of powerful people in this business. Trust me. I could shut this bitch up if you want. Permanently." A sinister glint blackened his eyes. "Just say the word."

Cam knew exactly what he meant. And as tempting as that plan sounded, he couldn't risk it.

"Nah." He shook his head. "I'm a just fight this. I gotta clear my name."

His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen to see Yasmine's name.

He answered, "Yeah."

"Alright, so I just scheduled a press conference for you later this week. All the major media outlets are going to be there, so you'll get the chance to share your side to the world. It'll be important for your image. The quicker we address this, the better."

"Alright cool," He nodded, more at ease. "What day will it be?"

"This Thursday. That's only 3 days away, so we have to hop on this pronto. Me and the team are already working on the speech as we speak. What time will be good for us to meet up?"

"Hold on, let me check." He removed the phone from his ear, and sifted through his schedule for the week. Surprisingly, he had no other arrangements today, other than the meeting with his lawyer this afternoon. He put the phone to his ear. "I could do 3:00 today.”

"Okay, sounds good. See you then."

"Alright." He hung up.

"What did she say?" Slick asked.

"Got a press conference this Thursday."

He nodded. "Good."

*

"Just take a deep breath, relax...you'll do fine," Yasmine advised, as his stylists brushed the lint off his blazer, while adjusting his suit, backstage.

It was the day of his press conference and he was nervous beyond belief. Today he would have to get on stage and give his statement in front of the entire world. This would be the first time he ever spoke on the allegations since the incident last week. And with his brand now tarnished, he was forced to say his piece.

"Remember what we rehearsed. Be brief. Don't disclose any more information than needed, just your feelings and concerns. And don't answer any questions."

He nodded.

Yasmine had been his publicist for 5 years now. A seasoned veteran in the business, she helped to build his brand, connecting him with the most prominent people in the industry. She knew how to spin a story so damn good, it even amazed him. He couldn't count the many times he had gotten caught up, whether it be cheating scandals, pictures and videos of him drunk or fighting, and other nonsense that landed him in the tabloids, only for her to revamp his image for the better. She was great at what she did. And with her help, his brand managed to remain intact. He just hoped this time would be the same outcome.

Slick approached him. "Aye, good luck out there. You got this."

"Thanks, Slick." They grasped hands, embracing each other into a hug.

Cam stepped on stage and camera lights flashed at his entrance. He stood behind the podium. His brown eyes bounced around the small conference room, filled with TV cameras, journalists, news reporters, and bloggers, waiting for his speech. His heart pounded with intensity. He couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous. He adjusted his navy blue tie, and cleared his dry throat.

"Uh..." He fixed the mic on the stand. "I know there’s been some allegations about me recently, and I came up here to address it. I just want the world to know, that those allegations are false. Every single one of them. I would never in my life, violate a woman. Ever. So, everything you hear in the media, is bullshit. Excuse my language." He stared at the TV cameras, not even bothering with the cue cards. "And to the woman who put me in this predicament...fuck you."

Gasps filled the room, as cameras snapped endlessly.

"On everything I love, I'm a see you soon. Best believe, you're gonna regret doing thi—"

Slick snatched the mic. "Alright, that’s all. Thanks everyone for coming out today."

He rushed a fired up, Cameron off the stage.

"What the fuck was that?" Slick scolded in the empty hallway.

"I had to get that off my chest."

"By cursing the bitch out on national television? What is you stupid? You wanna ruin your rep even more?"

"I don't give a fuck. The world needs to hear it, especially her—"

Slick yanked his shirt, slamming him against the wall. "You wanna ever box again? Huh?"

Cam pushed him off and Slick got in his face. "Keep fucking around and they’re gonna lock your dumb ass up. You already lost millions. You wanna lose some more? If you don't get your shit together, you gonna be finished out here! Is that what you want?"

Cam glared at him, his nose flaring. 

"Cam," Yasmine called, walking toward him. "What the hell happened up there?"

Without a word, Cam stormed away.

3 years.

3 fucking years.

For nothing.

His career, his freedom, all taken away. Everything he had worked for. Gone.

He couldn't believe the jury found him guilty. Despite the fact that there had been no evidence of forcible entry. Throughout the duration of the 2 week trial, various witnesses from doctors to police officers, even people from his team such as his bodyguard Big Polo, Slick, and others that had traveled with him to the club that night, recounted their own versions of the event leading up to that moment. None of his people dared to testify against him.

His lawyer fought hard for his innocence, convincing the jury the best way he could, that Cam had been indeed framed. But his case still wasn't enough to explain the accuser’s bruises, in which she claimed had been inflicted by Cameron. According to her, he had drugged her, persisted to have sex with her, then beat her repeatedly when she resisted him. And just his luck, the toxicology tests revealed traces of ecstasy pills in her system, backing up her claim. Even in the surveillance footage of her walking out of the hotel room that night, she had worn shades to conceal her face. Which only disapproved any opportunity for the defense to refute the claims. In the end, the jury had found him guilty of 1st degree rape, landing him in Clinton Penitentiary prison.

All these years in the business, he had worked so hard to avoid situations like these. Never had he forced a woman to do anything she didn't want to do. He had always been cautious. Smart with his moves.

And now here he was.

Locked up.

Losing his fucking mind.

Since the conviction, his boxing license had been revoked. He lost millions. His endorsement deals had been stripped away, and he had spent chunks of his money on lawyer fees alone. His name tarnished. His brand irreparable. Most of his supporters abandoned him. The people he once trusted. Gone.

It broke him. It truly did.

"Six-hundred and three...six hundred and four...six hundred and five..." Cam forced with a heavy breath. His hands pressed against the cold pavement, he rose then descended with each count, pushing the weight of his muscular frame with all the strength he had. Beads of sweat dripped from his dark toned skin, as veins bulged across his brawny arms. He glared at the gleam of sunlight through the small barred window, the only once of light within his darkened cell.

Cam did his last push-up and stood with heavy breaths, his muscles aching from the strenuous work out. He plopped himself on the hardened cot, running his fingers through his coiled fro. Over the course of 3 months, his low cut fade had long grown into a thick afro, his now scruffy beard a full contrast from the trimmed facial hair he once sported.

"Lewis."

His sharp gaze bounced to the steel door, only to meet the blue eyes through the thick glass window.

"You have a visitor."

He didn't even have to ask. He knew exactly who it was. One of the few left in his corner.

He trudged to the door. He slid his wrists through the small opening, and allowed the correctional officer to latch his wrists with the steel cuffs.

Escorted by the officer, he entered the visitation room. A small area in which inmates and their visitors were seated around tables, conversing amongst themselves. When he found, non-other than Slick seated around the table, his mood lightened a bit. Just like he expected. Out of everyone, he was the only one who visited him often. And he appreciated him. He truly did.

When he arrived at the table, the C.O. released his wrists, and sat across from Slick whose lips lifted into a cool smirk.

"How you holdin' up?”

He scoffed. "Whatchu think?"

"Well, I got some good news."

"What is it?"

"You gettin' out of here."

He blinked, unsure if he heard him correctly. "What?"

"You heard me. You getting out of here."

"Whatchu mean?"

"Let's just say...I had a few people take care of some things. Now the bitch is recanting her story and claiming that she was lying the whole time."

His brows rose. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. And I got the lawyers already on it." Slick nodded with vehemence. "Now, all we gotta do is petition this whole thing, and get the court to set up a new trial. But best believe, you gettin' out before you know it."

"Yo, ya'll give it up again one time for the boy, C. Lewis! We’re glad to have him back, ain't been the same without the champ!" The DJ announced from the booth, erupting cheers from the crowd.

Cam lifted up his bottle of Champagne with a nod, as everyone continued to cheer. It was the night of his return, and his team threw a private rooftop party in L.A. in celebration. The most prominent celebrities in Hollywood had attended, from Diddy to Jay Z. Dressed in his black and gold printed Versace crewneck T, matching designer jeans, with exclusive pair of black Prada sneakers, with his sleek Ray bans to finish off his look, he dressed fresh for the occasion. A total contrast from the dingy, blue jumpsuit he had worn for months. He had even gotten rid of the ruffled afro and beard that had him looking like a bum off the street, and kept this hair in a low fade, with his facial hair neatly groomed.

It felt so good to be out. 

To no longer be confined in a 8X7 cell, with no ounce of freedom, the feeling was liberating. Within 6 months, they had petitioned a new trial and his conviction had been overturned. He had never felt so blessed.

But even as he sat amongst everyone within the exuberant atmosphere, a deep sense of emptiness arose in his chest. Prison gave him time to reflect. And the one thing he realized, was how alone he really was. The same people in attendance that had welcomed him with open arms, were the same ones that had turned their backs on him during his time of need. He realized now, he couldn't trust anybody. In that moment, Slick's past words lingered his mind. The piece of advice he had given years ago, when he was just a budding athlete new to the game.
"Son, people are moths drawn to your light. And the moment that light dims, they'll all disappear before you even know it.
" That always stuck with him. But for this all to actually happen, it really put things into perspective for him.

From here on out, he would only keep his circle close. He was done with all this fake, Hollywood shit.

His publicist, Yasmine, sat next to him on the plush chair. She crossed her legs with her phone in her hand. She began to speak, but the pounding rap music drowned out her voice.

"What? I can't hear you," He said, leaning his ear closer to her lips.

"I said, I booked you an interview with Don Lennon, next Friday."

Cam tilted his head. "Yas, you at a party right now and you wanna talk about that?"

"Yes, I do."

As usual.

One thing he could say about Yasmine, she was always on her A game. At all times. 

He scoped her frame, admiring how good she looked tonight in her royal blue dress. Her long slender legs looked more than tantalizing under her short cut dress, as well as her perfectly manicured toes adorned in her 6 inch stilettos. A definite plus. There was nothing worse than a woman with bad unkempt feet. With that smooth light mocha skin, long straight black hair, and perfect body, Yasmine was sexy as hell. No doubt about it.

There were times he thought about getting at her. They flirted from time to time. But that was where it stopped. She was professional enough not to take it any further. And he respected her for it.

"Oh, and we have to start revamping your image. So, for the upcoming weeks, you're going to be doing a lot of charity work. Like visiting shelters, group homes, schools, speaking to kids, the whole 9. Oh, and speaking of which, I actually have a friend that runs—"

He grabbed her phone. "Stop."

Yasmine rolled her eyes with a sigh. He picked up the Peach
Cîroc
from the table and poured some into her empty glass. "Drink. You're at a party, we don't gotta talk about all that right now."

"But seriously my—"

"Yas."

"I know, I know. Just one last thing." She took the phone back from him.

"Alright, what is it?" He leaned back, taking a sip of his drink.

"My friend, Reese, runs a shelter for battered women. So, I'm thinking if you were able to at least volunteer or do a speaking engagement there, it would really help your image."

"Hell no." He shook his head. "I'm all for speaking to kids and all that other shit. But a women's shelter? Nah."

"Why not? It's only gonna help you."

"Help me how?" He turned to her. "How do I look, speaking to women about abuse? 'Oh, ladies abuse is bad. Rape is bad. Yada, yada, yada. Oh and never mind my abuse charges, by the way.'" He mocked.

"Don't sound like that."

"Sound like what? It's a bad idea. After everything, I don't even wanna be associated with that kind of shit."

"Look, in case you haven't realized, your brand is the gutter right now. Do you really want the rest of your legacy to be known of you as a rapist?"

He shuddered at her words. The thought of that haunted him each day.

"I'm gonna be known as that, regardless. Ain't shit gonna change," he said defeatedly, and took a long gulp of his drink. It didn't matter that he had been found innocent, people would always see him as a rapist. His legacy was ruined. He knew that much.

"But it can.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

"Cam, you need this."

With a sigh, he stared ahead in deep thought. Then took the last of his drink.

"I'll think about it."