Page 35 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

A slight fucking issue.

Fuck him.

He put the phone down, but as he glared at me, that smile was still on his face. I wanted to smack it off.

“What. The hell. Did you do?” I seethed, the boldness I’d always wanted to use when I spoke to Mr. Gold was spilling freely now, with no hesitation on my part. I really didn’t care anymore.

“I just did you the biggest favour of your career.” He beamed, then leaning back in his chair, he said, “Close the door behind you. You don’t want the rest of the office to hear this.”

I turned to close the door, noticing how Dan huffed from his desk that he wasn’t going to get a front-row seat to what was about to happen.

“I didn’t want any of this,” I hissed, pointing at him as I stayed on my feet, despite Mr. Gold gesturing for me to take a seat. “Did you hack into my emails?”

Mr. Gold sat forward, placing his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers as he regarded me.

“You know that’s illegal, right?” I went on. “I could go to H.R. right now and report you. You invaded my privacy.”

“You’d have to prove it first,” he replied, his eyes narrowing on me with evil intent. “And I don’t think you want to go down that road, Emma. I could make life very difficult for you.”

“Are you threatening me?” I scowled back at him, and he leaned back in his chair again and held his hands up.

“No one is threatening anyone. This is all just a misunderstanding. One which could benefit both of us.” He leaned forward again, pointing his finger at me, now. “Do you know what a story like this could do for your career?”

“It wasn’t my story, though, was it? I didn’t write that, and yet, I’m the one hurting from the fallout.”

“Did he email you again?” Gold questioned. He was hungry for this to go on, to spiral out of control until he could bleed every drop of this story dry like some kind of twisted puppet master.

“No.” I lied. I’d never tell him anything again. I needed to work smarter to survive this jungle of an office.

“Well, if he does, you need to tell me. We need to run with this, Emma. The nationals are starting to show an interest. And who knows, if they pick it up, you could get some television interviews off the back of it.”

“And be known as the girl who was trolled and stalked? No thanks.”

“Is he stalking you?” Mr. Gold pressed.

“That’s what you said in the article you wrote for today’s edition, isn’t it?” I countered, and he smiled and nodded.

“I don’t think I want to work at a place that’s corrupt, or for a boss who thinks he can use any means necessary to exploit his workers, even if it means...”

Mr. Gold held his hand up.

“I’ll stop you there, Emma. I suggest you take the day to think about this. Because if you think I’ll stand by and let you slander my name in this profession...”

“Like you’ve done with mine?” I added, but he ignored me.

“If you make waves,” he said, glaring menacingly at me. “If you quit this job and threaten me, I’ll make sure you never work again. You won’t even be able to scrub floors for a living when I’m finished with you.”

I stood for a moment, my body shaking with anger, my mind a jumble of hatred, loathing and confusion.

I needed this job.

I needed the money.

I barely made my rent payments every month as it was. Okay, I could’ve sofa-surfed for a week or two, but I had no savings. If I didn’t get another job, and let’s face it, in this economic climate, jobs weren’t easy to come by, I’d be destitute. I had to bide my time. Play smarter. Mr. Gold’s luck would run out sometime. It had to. And when it did, I wanted to be here to grin at him, like he was grinning at me right now.

“Emma.” He tilted his head, faking empathy. “Enjoy the notoriety this story gives you. It’ll be fleeting, trust me. They soon move onto another car crash.”

And that’s exactly what it felt like. A car crash, and I was hanging out of the vehicle with every degrading part of me on show for people to gawp at.