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“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to see the Editor.”
“That you, Booker?” I heard her half-shout from the interior of her office. “Come on in, and actually, hold on a sec, Phil, let me introduce you two.”
I let my eyes fall shut for just a second. “Yes, Editor.” The man–Philip–held open the door with a polite half-smile, although his eyes still seemed to scrutinize me.
“Booker, this is Phil Prince. He writes a wine column–well you know, you’re the one proofing it when Smith is busy.”Yes, thank you for that absolutely mortifying description of my job, Editor Stevens, ma’am. This is Ella, she does the shit no one else wants to do at this trash pile of a “newsroom.”I almost had to laugh.
“Thank you,” he said, his half-smile still fixed in place politely. “I’m sure editing my writing is not a well-loved assignment, but I appreciate your hard work.”
Editor Stevens barreled on. “Phil, this is Elizabeth Booker.” I could sense what she was going to say next before she said it, like some advance deja-vu, and I could feel the heat already rising to my cheeks. Despite my frantic attempts to somehow ESP her intonot,she continued. “You know, I couldn’t make it to your thing, the gala, so I sent Booker instead. She told me she had a great time, so thanks for the invite. Right, Booker?” I nodded, my lips pressed together and cheeks burning. “I meant to say that earlier, Phil. Slipped my mind. Thanks.”
When I managed to drag my face up to look at him, I noticed his polite smile was less polite now. Still a half-smile, but now there was a spark in it, of–was helaughingat me? This was not what I intended when I had left my desk.
“Booker will be taking the lead on the new cover story about the non-profit.”
It took me a second, then… “What?”
“Didn’t you see the interview I scheduled for you on your calendar?” The editor’s brow crinkled. “I thought I did it right this time, but…” She turned towards her computer, as if to check.
“No, I–I saw the invite.” And I had been planning on faking sick to get out of it. “I didn’t realize you meant for me to be lead on the story.” My heart jumped.Lead reporter.I would have a byline, not on a social events calendar. I would have astory. Even if it was just a puff piece, the profile would be a few pages, the highlight of the issue. The cover story.
The cover story.
I couldn’t suppress the smile that slipped onto my face.
“Booker here is a great reporter,” the editor said, talking to Philip. I was sure I was still red from my embarrassment about the gala, but now I was blushing for a different reason. “She’ll be reporting out the story on the non-profit your brother’s involved in.”
“He’s not–”
Editor Stevens continued unphased. “We’ve had a hell of a hard time getting him to agree to an interview in the past, but I blocked out some time on Booker’s calendar Friday, just in case… I was hoping…” She trailed off. I had never heard the editor sayplease, but this was pretty damn close.
“Oh,” Philip said, his eyes boring into mine. I couldn’t look away; I was transfixed by his blue irises, so like and yet unlike his brother’s. “I think he’ll agree this time. I’m sure of it.”
I glanced over at Editor Stevens to see a broad, beaming smile on her face.
“Well, then,” she said, sounding satisfied. “Booker, you’ll have something to look forward to. Friday afternoon, Charlie Prince.”
All I could do was nod.
Charlie
Philip had droppedme off at the empty townhouse feeling even more lost and lonely than I had when Lara–notLara,the omega at the gala, I reminded myself–had first vanished.
I moped around for a few hours, wishing I had stayed at Jack’s, where I would still have been alone-ish, but at least surrounded by family and blissfully unaware of the complete and utter lack of clue I had re: my mate’s identity. I opened the fridge, as I always found myself doing when bored, and stared inside unseeing: Jack still had chef-prepared meals delivered once a week to the townhouse, as he always had, ever since all four of us lived here and squeezed in dinners between school and homework, but I was considering giving into temptation and ordering delivery of a different kind (probably Schezuan, maybe Hunan) when the door to the townhouse slammed open downstairs and I heard Philip’s voice, excitement audible in his tone.
“I’ve found her. Charlie! I’ve found her–”You’d think all those assholes still fucking lived here, the way my brothers just show up all the goddamn time,I thought momentarily. Then it hit me what he had said. I scrambled to my feet and rushed down to the living room, where, despite the eagerness in his voice only moments ago, Philip was now casually pouring himself a drink.
“A little early, don’t you think?” It wasn’t even dinner time yet. I had been hoping he would come by, since I didn’t think Margaret was coming back into town tonight, but I mentally rescinded my offer if he was going to be fucking annoying about his intel.
“I don’t, actually,” he retorted, a smile teasing across his lips. He tried to hide it behind his glass. “I just got out of quite the meeting.”
“Fuck your meeting, Philip–”
“Fuck the meetingattendee,you might say.” My stomach dropped. But no–Margaret was too important to him. To all of us. He would never. “I mean…youmight say that. You, not me.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Get to the point–”
“It was your girl. In the meeting.”
