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“Oh, don’t I?”
“We both know why you’re doing this.”
My stomach contracts, but I quickly dismiss the feeling. “Do we?”
“Yes,” she says, an edge in her voice, “you’re out to get him because of what he did to you all those years ago.”
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk as people grunt and push past me. My secret is safe with Andrea.
Because for the past two weeks, I’ve beencertainthat no one had any idea about what happened. It’s been more than five years since I shared this with Andrea, and I thought she would not make the connection.
“What?” I’m trying to sound as self-assured and aloof as I’ve sounded since the call began, but I hear the word come out as a rasp.
“Come on,” Andrea says impatiently. “You know what I’m talking about.”
A graying man pushes past me, bringing me to my senses. I start to walk again, hurrying towards the Wharton Media building in Times Square.
“I don’t,” I say, feeling a confusing mix of emotions boiling in me, making it hard to think through my words before I spit them out. “This isn’t personal, Andrea. Your husband’s friend is an obnoxious pain-in-the-ass, and I’m just giving the readers what they want.”
“There are a lot of obnoxious pain-in-the-asses everywhere you look,” Andrea says, her voice maddeningly calm. “Whyare you so interested in him?”
We both know I’m lying. I wishshe didn’t call me out on it. She’s supposed to choose me over the obnoxious asshole, her husband’s friendship with him be damned.
“Because he’s the current topic of interest,” I say, obstinate till the end. “If and when he starts behaving like a redeemable person, I’ll considernot writing that much about him.”
“Gigi…”
“I’m late for work,” I cut in, grateful I’m not lying this time. I step through the doors of Wharton Media and head for the elevators. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“But—”
I hang up, grateful for the blissful silence that follows as I step into the empty elevator. I punch the number for the seventh floor, fighting hard not to think about everything Andrea said.
Some memories are best kept in the past, after all.
Instead, I allow my mind to dwell on yesterday's article about the Stawarskis. I decided to take a slightly different approach. This time, rather than researching a specific campaign promise of theirs and deconstructing it, I opted to write a mock comedy piece. In it, two billionaire brothers, whom I deliberately left unnamed, have a conversation about being bored with their wealth and decide to run for an election just for the fun of it.
Even Hayley, who had grown increasingly worried with each article I printed about them, found it hilarious. The piece had five thousand reads within an hour, growing exponentially as the day went on. I received a direct positive commendation from Ivy Brown, the editor-in-chief ofEnchantéand a woman difficult to please.
A surge of pleasure rushes through my body as I remember her email. I never imagined dragging the Stawarskis would be what I needed to do to get Ivy to notice me. All I need to do is keep at it, and I’d become a senior editor in no time.
Who knew I could achieve my dreams by doing the kind of work I was happy to do for free?
As I step onto theEnchantéfloor, an immediate sense of unease settles over me. The hushed whispers of two junior editors near the elevator abruptly cease as soon as they catch sight of me, and Ella, the receptionist, springs to her feet with an air of urgency.
“Gigi!” she says, sounding partly relieved, partly annoyed. “You’re late.”
“Oh, sorry. I…”
“Ivy Brown wants to see you.Now.”
The sizzling pleasure in my stomach dries in an instant. Nothing about the look on Ella’s face indicates that Ivy wants to see me to commend me again.
I raise my brows, hoping to silently communicate what I’m thinking:Why?
But Ella merely returns to her seat, her lips pursed.
I take a deep breath and march past her with a mask of indifference, but inside my mind, a whirlwind of possibilities stirs. Although I haven't published an article since the one that impressed Ivy yesterday, I know I must remain vigilant and ensure that I remove any potential defamation or libel. Despite my efforts, I can't shake off the nagging doubt about whether Brandon Stawarski has found a way to sue me regardless.
