Page 37 of Burn Protocol

The sad part is that she’d be right. And if there is anything I hate, it’s for Helen Dubois to be right. Especially when it comes to ethics. The exact same thing we clashed over only months ago.

I shudder as I think about how determined Helen was to out superstar actress Carmen Farro. She made adaptations to the article I wrote, claiming it was the public’s right to know.

“She has a right to her privacy too, Helen.”

“She gave that up when she became an actress. This is going to print, whether you like it or not. Next week, the whole world will know that Carmen is into women. And that. Is. Final.”

I had called Carmen that same night, sobbing on the phone. Cursing myself for letting just that one detail slip. How I met her and her girlfriend for dinner. So fucking stupid.

I dig my nails into the palms of my hand thinking about that moment. The actress had responded in shock and ended the call before I could apologize. Two days later, she posted a TikTok video with her and Amanda, coming out on her own terms. Sort of. By the time Woman at the Front went to print, her sexual orientation was old news and Helen was so furious that she fired me. To now have her in the position to question my ethics does not only frustrate me—it downright frightens me.

I sigh again as I look at the words in front of me. Elena. Beautiful, powerful, smart, brave, and enticing Elena. Should I break this off? The article? The things that are happening between us?

Before I can spiral, my phone buzzes violently against the table. My throat immediately goes dry, as I slowly reach for it. Is it her? God, I hope it is her. After our kiss, Elena had backed off and sent me home. She argued that I would be a liability because of shock, and that I needed a day or two to come to my senses. I reluctantly agreed, thinking she would reach out to me. But she didn’t. I even sent a message yesterday, but she hadn’t replied to it. Unless…

I slowly turn my phone to see if it’s her calling me, only to feel a short stab of disappointment when I see Mary’s name. It is quickly replaced by a soft smile that the woman actually deserves. I pick up.

“Mary, what a pleasant surprise.”

The chuckle on the other side of the line tells me this is exactly what the writer had aimed for. I smile, which turns into a grin when I hear Catherine mutter something in Spanish at her.

“Good to hear your voice, Maya. We have missed you.”

“We did.” Catherine grunts in the background, and now it’s my turn to chuckle.

“God, I’ve missed you too. So sorry I haven’t called. This new article, it’s…”

I trail off as my mind circles back to Elena. Beautiful, gorgeous Elena.

“Sounds like there’s a story there, querida,” the writer hums, and I nod involuntarily.

“Hm, maybe,” I muse softly. “But, how have you been?”

“Oh, none of that. Talk.”

The gentle dominance that laces her voice leaves no room for argument. In all the months that I’ve gotten to know her and her wife, I now understand how this soft and gentle writer can bring the ice queen surgeon to her knees. Even mine feel like they could buckle.

“It’s just… intense,” I whisper with a hoarse voice.

“The job?” Catherine quips in the background.

“Of course she doesn’t mean the job, amor. You’re talking about something else, aren’t you?”

Mary’s voice drops almost an octave lower as she asks the question. Her voice turns careful, as if she is almost afraid that loud noises might scare me off. I close my eyes and let out an involuntary squeak.

“So, what’s her name?”

“Elena,” I sigh.

I hear a shift in the background and the sounds of heels on the floor. Catherine’s voice is suddenly a lot closer when she speaks again.

“How did you two meet? I mean, you’re so busy all the time you barely have time to even call.”

There is no judgment in her voice, it’s just a simple statement of fact. Still, my throat clamps up at the words. Say something, dummy. My mind races, but I sit frozen on the phone. What could I possibly tell them? If word gets out that I have feelings for my interviewee, I will be in serious trouble. Not to mention the repercussions it could have for Elena. I couldn’t live with myself if she’d lose her job over this. Over me. Even if I am not sure that is an actual possibility, I do know that the Chief can make her life a living hell. She doesn’t deserve that.

Both Mary and Catherine gasp at the same time, and I can practically hear them exchange glances. I am trying to force the words to come out, but they remain stuck in my throat, causing me to make a weird, strangled noise.

“Maya, querida, you know you can talk to us, sí?” Catherine’s voice is honey-soft now, but the implication in her words is clear.