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I half-feign a full-body shudder of disgust, and Maggie laughs. “Ew. Now I’ll have that image in my head all day. Thanks a lot, Elise. You suck!”
I grin, blowing Maggie a kiss. “Well, in the right circumstances, yes, I do suck. Even been told I’m pretty good at it. But I think we’ve established that it’s not happening here.”
I scan the room with a pointed finger. “Yup, not happening, not happening, not happening, and never, even if he was the last male on Earth and we needed to repopulate the species. So . . . what are you working on now?”
Maggie laughs again, brightening my day. I love making Maggie laugh and blush. She’s so easy since she’s a bit innocent, and I’ve got no shame in my game and generally give zero fucks. “Nothing great. I’m currently looking into a senator who’s supposedly cheating on his wife. But I’ve been undercover as a copy-making volunteer in his office for two weeks and haven’t seen anything other than a man who works too many hours. Seems like a bust.”
“Sorry about that. At least he’s not cheating. Hell, that alone would likely make me vote for him, considering the options lately.”
Maggie grins, nodding. “Yup. He’s even polite. I’ve been wearing my cutest tight skirt and blouse whenever I go by, and he keeps looking in my eyes.”
“Maybe you don’t have the equipment that entices him?” I ask, making Maggie laugh. “What? He wouldn’t be the first politician to reach across the aisle for entertainment.”
“Nah,” Maggie says, smiling. Waving fingers at me, she walks off. “See you later, babe.”
Refilling my coffee to the top, I head to my desk too but am sidetracked by Donnie’s yelling. “Elise! Get your ass in here!”
Damn, you’d think a great prime story would at least get me twenty-four hours of peace, but apparently not. I consider saying as much as I sit in the chair across from Donnie, but when I see how red his face is, I decide to leave it be. Fuck it, I don’t need the headache. “What’s up?”
Donnie’s in a pissed off mood for some reason. “You’ve got proof on the Perkins story?”
I nod, confused but answering anyway. “Of course. Pics of him in the store, putting things in the shopping cart, including maxi pads in the hygiene aisle, and then again at the register for a close-up. Why?”
Donnie sighs, running his fingers through his thinning, greasy hair, and again I’m reminded why I could never get to the top the way Francesca does. I might be a girl who enjoys sex, but I’ve got standards. Donnie ticks none of my boxes. “I just hung up with Perkins’ people. They want a retraction and correction.”
My jaw drops open. It happens in our business from time to time, but it’s never happened to me. I’m too damn good at my job. “No way. I followed him legally, pics are in public places, thus legal, it’s obviously him, and I didn’t say anything that could be libel. It’s all true.”
Donnie smiles, relieving me a little bit. “I know. That’s what I told the guy who called too, but I just wanted to check.”
“I appreciate that you had my back,” I tell him honestly. Donnie’s a sleazeball, but he’s a dedicated sleaze. He won’t back down from a story he prints unless he has to, and that usually involves lawyers. “So, what now? We’re obviously not pulling the story, right?”
Donnie shakes his head, reaching for the bowl of jellybeans he keeps on the corner of his desk and popping three into his mouth. “No, actually, when I told him that wasn’t going to happen, he had another idea that’s pretty interesting. He proposed a series of interviews, probably three or four at least—but maybe more—with Perkins himself.”
Perkins himself? At the words, my pulse quickens. I can’t seem to keep my thoughts about him not tied up in how fucking sexy he is. “Really?”
Donnie nods. “They’re doing some damage control and wanting to write their own narrative about his life. Control the narrative, you know?”
“That sounds great!” I exclaim gleefully, and not totally professionally. “When do I meet with him?”
Donnie laughs, almost like he’s amused I’d ask. “I’m thinking Frannie can take this one, Elise.”
My jaw drops. Oh, hell no! Giving the best initial slots to Francesca because she’s giving you her slot? I get that . . . but to take a story from me? “Like hell! This is my story . . . a follow-up from my expose. It should go to me and you know it, Donnie.”
He narrows his eyes at me, not liking that I questioned him, but I’m right. This is my story. A small piece of me wants to stamp my foot and yell Mine! but since that’s not likely to get me what I want, I quickly figure out a different tactic.
