Page 122 of The Golden Scoop

“You’re wrong. There’s not a hair on that man that’s shallow,” I shoot back. “Matt’s so much more than what you’re trying to box him into. It’s funny, because you don’t even know him.”

“We get it, darling. You have a crush, but this is your job,” she replies. “I don’t need to know him. And if you want to keep doing what you do, neither do you.”

Fuck this.

Mentally, I’m already done. I’d rather sleep in Julia’s basement and work flipping burgers than keep writing for this woman.

This place was never going to make me the journalist I actually want to be.

In Martha’s eyes, though, I pivot. If I’m going out it’s going to be on my own terms. I might not be able to save my career, but I can still salvage Matt’s.

“Fine,” I say, like I’m folding. “I’ll fix the article. New draft will be in your inbox tomorrow morning.”

She relaxes, and gives one solid, satisfied clap.

“Wonderful. That’s what I like to hear!”

My mouth pulls tight, but I force a smile anyway. She’s right where I want her.

“Would you like me to stay in the office, or can I work from home?”

She waves a hand around, dismissing me.

“Darling, I don’t care. Just deliver.”

The Jeep’s still double-parked outside where I left them fifteen minutes ago, except now, the girls are holding iced coffee and a box of donuts.

Adrenaline is pumping. I never took Adderall as a kid, but I imagine this is what it feels like. There’s direction. My plan’s in motion.

I slide into the passenger seat and take a long sip. I deserve it after keeping it together. Olivia shoves a strawberry-sprinkled donut at me, and I tear off a bite.

“I’m not fired,” I mumble, around the donut. “I will be tomorrow.”

They both gasp, then freeze.

“You might want to brace yourselves,” I say, swallowing. “I made a split-second decision in there and I can’t undo it.”

“I want to follow,” Julia says slowly, “but I’m really not.”

“Martha told me, straight to my face, that if I don’t write the article she wants, she will find someone else who’s willing to lie for her.”

“Cool. Your pick is between you trashing Matt, or one of your peers doing it… Either way, he’s pretty much fucked,” Olivia reasons.

I nod. That was the thought process that led me here.

“It doesn’t have to be Matt,” I whisper, glancing around in case Martha’s sent some spies. “I go home, finish the article—everything, including sketchy practices—and publish it tonight. Before she has a chance to spin her own version.”

Julia’s already shaking her head, brows pulled tight.

“Absolutely not, Emma. You can’t burn your life down for this. How are you going to survive?”

“Thanks to you, Mom, I have savings,” I say, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’ll be okay for a month or two.”

In the back, Liv taps her fingers together like her personal world domination plan is coming to fruition.

“I have so many ideas. That Cruella de Vil is going to regret ever crossing the Millers,” Olivia growls.

“Is this really the only way?” Julia asks quietly.