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“I don’t even remember exactly what he said,” I mumble, giving up on trying to read the blurry words au natural and yanking my drawer open to retrieve my glasses.
I was already tired yesterday. I have nothing else to give today.
Sliding the black frames onto my face and blinking to clear my vision, I scan the article and expel a deep sigh. “I think my mind has blocked out his words, like a self-defense mechanism. Though the general gist wasshut up about my family, or you become fish food. ‘Malone and Cannon debut their whirlwind romance,’” I read, “‘stealing the spotlight from an enraged bride and instigating a turf war unlike anything the Malones have ever known. Though those of us atBeguilepride ourselves on fact, and don’t?—’”
“Oh please,” Dana growls. “Fact, my ass.”
I glance up at the woman, eyeing her over my glasses. “You seem… freer with your words today.”
“You told me to be!” She points at the magazine impatiently. “Keep reading. It gets juicier.”
“Ugh.” I draw a deep breath and take a moment to collect my temper and to think of my father. Grateful that he’s not in the office this week to read this drivel.
For him to think, even for a second, I would dare socialize with a Malone… It would put him in an early grave.
“‘Though those of us down here atBeguilepride ourselves on fact,’” I resume, “‘and don’t wish to throw mud, it’s no secret that certain reputations precede the Malones, and although we won’t print such reputes in this article, thus maintaining our credibility, it becomes difficult not to compare the turf wars of New York City’s underbelly to the newest war sparked between two exceptionally wealthy women. Jane Erikson, a controlling force in most social circles, and Christabelle Cannon, decidedly wealthier and with a larger platform to spew her nonsensical diatribe.’Nonsensical? What the f?—”
“Keep going,” Dana drawls. “You haven’t gotten to the best bit yet.”
“Oh god.” I quickly scan the thick columns of text. “‘Ms. Cannon has been a problem child since her inception, her father’s pragmatic business dealings, the least of her troubles. With old man Cannon out of the picture, disappearing months before Ms. Cannon’s odd barrage against the Malone family, sources close to the duo are saying Michael Cannon is furious with his daughter’s double-handling, selling papers using Malone’s name, and then bedding the man when eyes are turned the other way.’”
I slap the magazine down and growl, “That nasty, sniveling bitch! Accusing me of sleeping with him!? Joining his family? Over my dead body!”
“Literally,” Dana mumbles, though her lips curl into a small, delicate smile. “We know that women don’t survive a Malone bed. It’s in all the evidence we’ve collected for our current piece. But, uh…” Gritting her teeth, she leans forward and presses her index finger to the still-open page. “Keep reading.”
“What the hell more could it say?”
My heart thunders with an odd mixture of rage and nerves. My mind, already penning an email to our lawyers demanding they open a slander suit not only against the brainless writer who pushed this sloppy gossip out, but againstBeguile Magazineas a whole.
There’s opportunistic journalism and printing an opinion piece, and then there’s… this. Complete vitriol dressed up as fact, with the direct intention to harm my company’s reputation.
“Here.” When I don’t continue reading, Dana takes the magazine and turns it right side up for herself, her eyes scanning until she finds where I left off.
“‘Ms. Cannon was unable to be reached for comment, no doubt hiding away in shame after her relationship with a certain disreputable figurehead has been exposed. However, Felix Malone was happy to make a statement.’”
“He did not!” Exploding, I shove up from my chair and tear the magazine back, flipping it around and searching for the speech bubbles that will indicate a direct quote.
“‘It’s a shame,’” Felix says, “‘that the public feels the need to insertthemselves in someone’s private life. But if my relationship must be outed, then I wish to make the facts clear.’ Oh god.” My voice shakes, bile pushing up along my esophagus in threat. “Oh no.”
“Finish it,” Dana whispers. “Tear off the Band-Aid.”
“‘—if my relationship must be outed,’” I rasp, “‘then I wish to make the facts clear. Ms. Cannon and I are in love. Truly, madly, disturbingly, and deeply in love. What we have is profound. However, I ask for the public to give us our space. Let us find our way, like other couples are allowed to. When we’re ready to share more, we will. And when we speak our vows, we’ll do so on our terms, in our own way—and hopefully, as soon as possible. Ms. Cannon’s recent articles about my family were not intended to deceive the public, but to move potential heat off something we both consider private. She and I made those choices together. Now we retract those statements. Together. Please give us our privacy.’”
“Chrissy!” a new voice bellows from the hallway.
I startle, almost tearing the magazine as I jerk, and wrench my focus toward my office door as Davis charges through with another copy rolled up in his hand.
“What have you done?”
The perk of working on the thirty-third floor inside the Cannon Daily building is that jumping out the window would gleefully and easily make my day better.
The downside to working on the thirty-third floor inside the Cannon Daily building is that the windows don’t open. Which adds a nasty snafu to my otherwise perfect plan.
My father’s lawyers have been up my ass since nine a.m., and statements have been prepared for tomorrow’s edition of theDaily. Files have been submitted to court portals, lawsuits initiated…
However, people typically sue fordamagesto one’s professional income. Proving that financial loss is how a case is run andsolved. Then comes the resolution. The offending party makes payment. The victim receives recompense. The scales of justice are re-balanced, and everyone goes on with their lives, the lawyers richer than they were before everything started.
The problem we currently face isBeguile’s article has only soldmorecopies of this morning’sCannon Daily, almost doubling yesterday’s record sales.
