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“Tell me about your storyline?” I slipped on my thong. We both worked for the Times. It was where we met. I was hired on as an intern while studying abroad in London during my final year at university. Sam was an investigative journalist. Not just any investigative journalist but an award-winning. Last year, he was given The Press Award for best young journalist of the year. Since then, he has been the first to be afforded any opportunity that came his way. My job, on the other hand, amounted to nothing more than an errand girl.
“It was something I heard at the funeral yesterday.”
“Really?”
“I told you my great uncle was a bit peculiar,” he said, watching me pull a t-shirt over my head. “My mum always referred to him as eccentric. Maybe it comes from having so much money.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I overheard a group of men discussing a secret society.”
“A secret society?” I questioned. “How very British.”
“Please stay,” he said as I stepped into my jeans. “I’ve barely seen you.”
Now, he was being desperate. “I don’t think I can. Finish your story.”
“You know if you moved in, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
Hell no.
I shook my head. “What does the secret society have to do with the missing girls?”
“I’m not completely sure.” He got up and followed me into the kitchen. “The men alluded to the fact they thought my uncle’s death seemed suspicious, and one of the men mentioned going home to St. Ishmael’s to lay low. I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but one of the missing girls was from St. Ishmaels. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but it seems worth looking into. Perhaps it was a case of human sacrifice. These secret societies are steeped in rituals and superstition.”
“It seems like a stretch,” I said, gathering my purse and backpack.
“Maybe. The man mentioned a place called Môr Haven Manor. I looked it up, and it is owned by the Ellis family. I’m going to present it to Granger tomorrow and see what he says.”
“Hmm.” Sam was Richard Granger’s prized pet. The crime and security editor of the Times adored him. “I’m sure he’ll let you run with it.” I turned and looked at him, hoping he wouldn’t make the moment awkward. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I really wish you would consider moving in.”
“I don’t want to rush anything,” I explained for the hundredth time.
“We’re not rushing. I love you. It makes no sense for you to rent when you could live here for free. Plus, it’s closer to work, and you wouldn’t have to take the Tube.”
“Not yet,” I said, looking down.
“Come here.” He held his hand out to me, pulling me into his chest. “I’ll see if Granger will let us collaborate on the story.”
“It’s your story, not mine.”
“I can help you, Navy. If we work together, Granger will see you are serious and start giving you your own stories.” He ran his hand through my dark hair.
“No, I want to build my own name.” I kissed him quickly on the lips, not wanting to prolong my exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I love you,” he said.
I shut the door behind me, walking down the pavement. Not only was Sam needy, but he was also privileged. His great-uncle was a bona fide knight. His wealth and name alone opened doors for him, and he never really had to work hard for anything. I had to scrape for everything I had in life, and I was tired of always being overlooked.
* * *
The Times was located in The News Building next to London Bridge Station and The Shard. I exited the Tube the following day and walked the short distance from Duke St to London Bridge St, entering the glass building. My stomach tightened with apprehension. Richard Granger was a womanizer. Everyone at the paper knew it. He had tried it on with me several times, smacking me on the bottom after I fetched him a cup of tea or whispering under his breath, “Now that’s a bit of skirt,” when he thought I was out of earshot.
I let him.
It’s not that I liked it. I actually found him disgusting. But I wasn’t above using it to my advantage. And if I was going to make it in this world, I was willing to play as dirty as the rest. Or so I thought.
