Page 86 of Burn Protocol

I chuckle and find myself nodding. But is that what you really want? You would still be underpaid and yelled at. No. No… I don’t just want to work for Woman at the Front—I want it to be mine. And not just this magazine. I want my own. The realization hits me square in the chest and I need to blink a few times before I dare to admit it again. Why have I not thought about this sooner? If you did, you wouldn’t have met El. I feel my lips tug up and I shake softly to myself.

“I am relieved you’re telling me now, Helen. It… it changes everything.”

I offer her a warm smile. She frowns slightly and tips her head, expecting more to follow.

“But…”

“But I want more. No, I need more.”

“Yeah, we can discuss your salary. I am surprised you only…”

I shake firmly, raising my hand to cut her off.

“It’s not about the money. Well, not just that. Helen, writing these kinds of articles brings me so much joy. I want to be in editorial control of that. To share my views with the world, not just in my articles, but with everything.”

She stays silent for a moment, as if she is weighing my words. Then a slow smirk crosses her face. I am so taken aback that I fall back into the chair again.

“It really took you all this time to figure that out?” she lets out a low chuckle.

“Wh…what do you mean?”

“Maya, other than me, nobody has as much passion for the job as you do. You have always been meant for more.” Her cheeks turn slightly pink. “And I’ve always known that.”

I nearly choke on my breath and stare at her in shock. She shrugs once, apologetic.

“If you ever needed a sign to just do it,” she says softly, “this is it.”

“Wow, I…I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You will figure it out. Your pay will be in your account by the end of the month, as agreed. You are welcome to freelance for me as long as you want. I would be a fool to turn you away. Just…” she looks me in the eye. “Don’t freelance for us for too long.”

I can’t help but chuckle at that and nod. When she extends her hand, I grab it without hesitation. I never expected this meeting to turn out the way it did. It really couldn’t have gone any better.

When I walk out of the glass building, I turn my face toward the sun. My soul hums and my heart sings. This is the moment where the rest of my life begins. A life where I am starting a brand-new magazine, where my voice is heard, where I get to go home to Elena. I would not change it for the world.

“Valesco, with me.”

Tommy freezes the moment I use his surname. Nobody here ever calls him that. His spine stiffens as he turns to me, already calculating how much I know and what I can prove. It radiates off of his face. For a moment his disdain flickers through him as he scowls and his eyes narrow for a beat. He opens his mouth to reply, but I cut him off with a simple command.

“Ahora.”

I turn on my heels and am about to step through the door when he pipes up.

“Can’t leave the desk, Elena. You know somebody has to be present at all times.”

I glance over my shoulder, barely able to bite back my smirk. Then I step aside and give a small nod at Carmen from HR, who passes me and sinks down in the chair next to Tommy’s.

“I know, Valesco. It is covered.” I look at Carmen, whose eyes glimmer with glee. “Let’s go.”

This time I don’t wait. I take long strides through the maze of hallways into the bay. Several people look up and welcome me warmly, but it stays eerily quiet when Tommy tries to greet them. We are nearly across when somebody coughs.

“Rata.” It sounds soft.

I halt my steps and cock my head. Torn between my professionalism and personal vendetta. Do I defend him? The guy who nearly took Maya away from me because he wanted to ‘get in there.’ I shudder at the thought. “Don’t turn it into a witch hunt.” Salisar’s words echo through my mind. Tommy will have a rough time ahead of him. Not a single firefighter in here will ever trust him again or want to work with him. He will not be invited out for drinks anymore. He will get the silent treatment and the cold shoulder all at once. There is no need for me to add to that. But there is no chance in hell that I’ll write up the person who just stood up for me.

“That’s quite enough,” I say. My voice is quiet and even.

It’s no slap on the wrist, it isn’t even a reprimand. It’s merely an acknowledgement of my position and a plea to them not to make me act on it. I don’t await a reply. The boys hear me loud and clear. They’ll understand and respect my stance. I continue my walk and hear Tommy’s shuffling feet reluctantly behind me.