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I brace myself for Jace to come out of his office. He’s going for the TV interview and he hasn’t left his office since he returned from the lunch meeting. The door opens and I freeze. Jace doesn’t head down the corridor. He comes to my desk. I look up from my computer with a smile.
“Dinner tonight? I’ll cook…or rather, I’ll order food,” he says with that boyish smile that melts my inside.
I want to say yes so badly. I’ve missed him and it feels as if in a matter of hours we’ve grown apart. I don’t want it to end this way. The only problem is that I have no idea what Amelia wants and how long I’ll be at the office.
“I’d love to but I can’t,” I tell him with real regret in my voice. I scramble to come up with an excuse. Or rather a lie. God, I hate this. There’s a part of me that will be glad when the assignment comes to an end. Even though I’ll lose Jace, at least I’ll stop living a lie.
I’ve also learned that I’m not cut out for undercover work. I’d rather request interviews rather than pretend to be someone I’m not. I would not be surprised if I have had new wrinkles since I started working at The Anderson Clinic.
“Oh,” Jace says, raising his eyebrow questioningly.
“I’m going to Marcus’s for dinner. We arranged it days ago and they’re really been looking forward to it.” I hate that I can lie so convincingly. It’s not a nice thing to learn about yourself.
Jace nods stiffly. “No problem. Enjoy yourself.” He turns and leaves without so much as a kiss or any show of affection.
Pain ripples through me as I watch Jace disappear down the corridor and listen as his footsteps fade away. Tears fill my eyes. It’s nothing less than what I deserve but it still hurts. I wipe my tears and open my personal email. I find one of the articles that I’m working on and lose myself in it.
Work is a life saver and it keeps me occupied until it’s time to leave for my meeting with Amelia. I clean up and grabbing my purse, I leave. I pretend to be in a rush so I don’t have to talk to anyone on my way out.
Twenty minutes later, I’m parking my car at the rear lot of the building. I glance up and down the street before ducking into the safety of the building.
The lift deposits me on the lifestyle floor and as I stroll in, I feel proud. I love that I work here and that I have a career that I’m passionate about. It’s not where I want it to be but time and hard work will get me there. What I’ve been doing for the last two months and a half at The Anderson Clinic is my stepping stone to get there.
“Hey, Olivia,” James, one of the staff writers at the magazine, calls out as I walk through the open-plan office.
I wave back and go straight to Amelia’s office. I knock gingerly on her door and she calls me to enter. My stomach clenches with apprehension, which always happens when I’ve no clue what my boss wants with me.
Amelia smiles at me and I instantly relax. Whatever it is, it’s not bad.
“Hi, come on in and have a seat,” she says.
“Thanks.” I sit down and while she finishes up on what she was doing, I take in her office and imagine myself in her place. It doesn’t excite me. All I’ve ever wanted to do was to write. I’d hate to be the boss of Lifestyle magazine. All I want is the opportunity to write the kind of stories I love writing.
“Sorry about that,” Amelia says, shifting her attention to me. “It must be crazy at the clinic?”
“It is, especially this morning but hopefully in a couple of days, things will get back to normal.” I’m careful not to mention Jace’s name. I’m afraid my feelings will show in the way I say his name. Amelia misses nothing.
“So, I have some exciting news. We’ve had quite an influx of people contacting the magazine and today has been all about sifting through to see if there are any legit accusations against fertility hospitals and clinics.”
Dismay settles in me. Jace had warned me about this but it had sounded unreal, farfetched even. What I don’t get is this: If people have a real concern and complaint, why not use the proper channels? Even as these thoughts go through my mind, it dawns on me how much I’ve changed.
Prior to working at The Anderson Clinic, I only saw issues from one point of view: the magazine’s. Now that I’m on the other side, it distresses me that one person’s not-quite-true story can have a huge impact on a business that is making a big difference in people’s lives.
“We have a few leads but there’s one couple in particular that I wanted to talk about with you. At first glance, their story seems legitimate. We’ll of course dig deeper before committing but I wanted to give you a heads up that you’ll be doing that interview if we do go ahead with the story.”
Pleasure courses through me. This is what I’ve been working so hard for. Hearing Amelia say with confidence that she’s entrusting me with a human interest story my blood pumps faster and I find myself inching to the edge of the seat.
“You might be wondering why I picked you for such an important interview,” Amelia continues.
I haven’t wondered that but I keep my mouth shut. I want to believe that she picked me because I’ve proven my professionalism. Who am I kidding? I haven’t provided Amelia with substantial investigative stories.
“You are conversant with The Anderson Clinic and you know the processes. You’ll know what doesn’t add up and question them further,” Amelia says.
My blood goes cold. “The Anderson Clinic?”
“Yes, sorry, I’m going ahead of myself,” Amelia says. “So this couple has a damning story to tell about The Anderson Clinic. Apparently, they’d had a financial arrangement with this woman to surrogate for them. Everything went ahead as planned and the woman got pregnant. Except a mistake happened and the clinic used the wrong sperm.”
My heart races to near explosion. I have no doubt that the couple in question is the same couple that Ivy was supposed to surrogate for. It cannot possibly be a coincidence.
