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I try to push everything else out of my mind in preparation for my meeting.
He stands in the open doorway of his office, monolithic, as if he expects to conjure whomever he wants to see by the sheer force of his position. He is argumentative, pigheaded, sexist and a pervert. I haven't liked him since day one.
But the love I had for my best-friend Jenn has always overpowered the hate I have for Frank; the one and only reason I have not resigned.
Everything changed after her murder by her ex-boyfriend, Liam, in high school.
Her innocent face pops in my mind.
Her beautiful, bright smile.
Her lively eyes.
The last day I saw her and the empty chair next to me for the next four years.
I have flashbacks from the week of her murder. Not a single media channel sympathized with the victim’s family, instead they let Liam go free.
I made a promise to her that day on her grave.
A promise to get her justice.
"Ah, Ella," Frank says and I realize my eyes have welled up.
The interns in our office fall flat for his looks, and I have to agree. The guy knows that he can pull of anything with that charming face of his.
Not with me.
I hate him.
He doesn't like me either, not only because I happen to be a female and young, but also because I don’t believe everything he says. He claims to be a Ph.D. in Media and Journalism but has never been on a single prominent channel or media platform, let alone been offered a job as a reporter. He ended up joining Bel-Air Magazine thanks to his contacts.
My first year as a blogger, he assigned me food reviews in the cheapest of bistros and cafes, and when I complained and asked for a tangible project, he simply raised his bushy eyebrows and said that it might do me some good to become more well-rounded.
Now he waves me into his office and motions me toward the chair that faces his tremendous desk.
He is grinning, goddamn him, as he starts to speak the words, "I'm sorry to tell you–"
That’s it.
I have heard this phrase too many times to not know what it means. He is going to come at me with another restaurant review assignment.
I jump up from the chair, unable to hear anymore. "Don't tell me at all," I say, smiling tightly. “Another sponsored review.”
I take a step toward the door.
"Ella Hart."
I stop with my hand on the doorknob and turn.
"Sit down. Now. I mean it."
I slip into the chair again, wondering how many points this has set me back in Frank’s mind.
"This one is different," he continues.
I tighten my fingers around the armrests of the chair. "If you'll excuse me, Frank, for the past three years–"
"You've been an exemplary writer. Yes, I know! We all do. But sometimes–"
