CHAPTER TWO
VERONICA

“Victoria!” My editor is leaning against the doorframe to his office and yelling for someone who doesn’t work here.

“Are you going to go see what he wants?” Alyssa asks. She pretty much adopted me the day I started working here. We’ve been besties ever since. I hate that word, by the way, but it’s what she calls us, and it gets stuck in my brain. I just shake my head and keep typing with my eyes focused on my computer screen and not our raging editor. “The last time I checked, my name isn’t Victoria.”

“You know he’s calling you.”

I nod. “Yep.” But he can learn my name. “I’ve worked here for almost three years. He should know who I am by now.”

She mumbles her agreement and goes back to the story she’s prepping for our next print deadline. “That vein in his forehead is growing and he’s on his way over here. Put your earbuds in, then you won’t have to explain why you didn’t run when he called.”

“Ugh,” I sigh as I push myself up out of my chair. It rolls backwards and bumps into the makeshift cube wall behind me with just enough oomph that it makes one of Alyssa’s stuffed critters to tumble over the edge landing on her keyboard. “Oof. Sorry.”

She shrugs. “No biggie,” she says, putting the little owl-squirrel thing back where it belongs.

“Sir,” I raise my hand, feeling like I’m back in high school with all eyes on me as my peers’ peek over the tops of their screens and cube walls, looking at the weird girl getting yelled at by our kind-of boss. I say ‘kind-of’ because he’s the editor, so if we want to get published then we have to do what he says, but we’re freelance so he’s not our boss; he just controls everything we do while we’re here.

“Victoria!” he growls. “I’ve been looking for you for over ten minutes.”

“Actually, sir,” I say, with one finger in the air. Not the finger I would like to be waving in the air, though. “My name isn’t Victoria, it’s Misch—”

He waves a bundle of papers in the air and grumbles, while motioning for me to follow him to his office.

“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes. I lean over the cube wall and whisper to Alyssa, “If I’m not back in ten minutes—”

“I’ll just wait longer.”

Groan. “Not helpful.” Here goes nothing. How am I going to explain that I was face-to-face with the subject of the scoop and came back empty handed? How do I make someone who clearly sold his soul to the publishing world at least half-a-lifetime ago understand some things in this business aren’t worth the cost?

“Victoria…” He closes the door behind us as I take the seat in front of his desk.

“It’s Veronica, sir.”

“Whatever.” He sits behind his desk and shoves the stack of papers in front of me. “Do you see this?”

It’s a pre-print of an article being published in our competitor’s journal with the headline, End of a Musical Era: Amaryllis Drummer Losing It. “Yes, I see it.” It’s plastered over a picture of Travis Miller making a ridiculous face from inside the cab of his truck. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I cringe. It worked. I didn’t laugh even though I wanted to. “How did you get a copy of that?”

“My sources are not the subject of our conversation. You know what is?”

A middle-aged male with ego issues? I hope I didn’t say that out loud.

“You missed the scoop—again.”

“Sir,” I say, scooting the papers back across his desk, “with all due respect, there is no scoop there. That’s a bogus headline. He was mocking them for climbing all over his—”

His fists slam down on the mahogany-colored desktop. “Are you telling me you were there?”

Gulp.

“How did you miss this?” he asks, holding the paper up in front of him, so that Travis Miller’s face is now mocking me.

“Well, he was just trying to get some space. It’s not what they’re making it out to be.”

He sighs and leans back in his chair. “Do you see the trophy on top of the bookcase behind me?”

I nod. Here we go, again. Every time anyone gets called into his office for missing a story, he goes over the history of Alan Richards and his rise to half-assed fame in journalism.

“I didn’t get that award, or this job, or any of my credentials by being soft. You’re soft,” he growls while pointing at me. “You’re never going to make it in this business unless you stop caring so damn much about the subjects.”

“They are people, sir.”

“And that’s why you failed. You will always fail with that attitude.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “They’re not people. They’re subjects.”

Fail? That hits me hard, and it’s everything I can do to swallow my pride, so I don’t lose it right here in this office. “Sir, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of my qualifications. After all, that’s why you brought me on the Entertainment4You team.” Before I wound up here, in this second-rate gossip rag journal, I was at the top of my game as an investigative reporter.

“You mean the credentials you had until you pissed them all away on a personal vendetta piece?”

“It wasn’t a personal vendetta, sir. It was a piece exposing media bias and checkbook journ—”

He holds up a hand and fake snores. “I don’t care. You cared. You failed. That’s the bottom line.” 

Clearly.

“You work for me now, so do your job. Bring me the stories I tell you to cover and write them how I tell you to write them. Period.”

“There was no—”

“Let me make this simple for you. You can bring me the story and get paid, or I can assign it to someone else and they’ll get paid.” He pushes a button on the phone perched on his desk, which causes a loud beep to come through the speaker. “Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir?” The familiar voice calls back, making me cringe as soon as I hear it.

“I’m putting you on the Miller Brothers. I want a four-page spreadwith a headline threatening their entire career.”

“You got it, sir.”

Sell out.

“And have it on my desk in one week.”

“On it.”

Bullshit.

“Now, you’ve got competition. Get me the story, and get it here before Jenkins does, or you’re canceled… again.”

That’s a low blow. “Yes, sir.”

---

“Maybe you should just do the story the way he wants, Roni.” Alyssa scans the menu like she has no idea what she’s going to order.

I shake my head, shoving my menu to the side. “Two things we know about each other,” I say, holding up one finger. “First, you’re going to order the pad Thai. You always order the pad Thai and I always order the special. You love knowing what you’re going to get because it’s comfortable, and I get the special because it’s something unexpected but always a great experience.”

“What’s the second thing?” she groans.

I hold up a second finger, “I’m an investigative journalist, not an entertainment news reporter and even if I was, I can’t give him a made-up story.”

Her nose wrinkles as she scowls at the menu. “You’re right. Why am I even looking at this thing?” she scoffs.

“I do not know,” I admit.

“You have to pay your bills, though, Veronica. Hopes and dreams only carry us so far.”

Sigh. She doesn’t know how right she is. “There was an eviction notice waiting for me in today’s mail.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got two weeks before they kick me out. I can make something happen in two weeks. Alan will get his story, and it will be the story that needs told.” Even if it isn’t the story, he wants or expects to see on his desk.

“I’m worried about you,” she admits. “Just want to make sure you don’t end up on the streets because of your convictions.”

“I won’t.” It’s not me I’m worried about… A lot of people are counting on a miracle, but that’s not something I want to think about right now. I need to focus so I can make things happen. “I have a friend who has a couch,” I say with a wink as I pop a piece of firecracker shrimp in my mouth. “I just can’t bring myself to write an article that’ll be a complete lie.” No matter how much I need the money, I have to stay true to myself.

“Are you sure that’s what the problem is?” she asks with her eyebrow cocked.

I purse my lips together, feeling my eyebrows arching down, pulling my entire face with them. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You were close enough to maintain sustained eye contact with a Miller brother. The word on the street is that’s all it takes to get swept into the spell.”

“What spell?”

“Can I take your order, ladies?” A handsome man with an addictive smile is standing at the edge of our table, waiting for us to decide. Any other night and I might flirt with him, but not tonight. Tonight, I need to eat my feelings and probably sob into my pillow when I get home.

“The special, please.”

Alyssa rolls her eyes and snickers. “According to her, I always get the pad Thai.”

“So, is that what we’re going with tonight as well?” as asks with a special flicker in his eyes.

She nods.

“I’ll have that right out for both of you.” He turns around and smiles at Alyssa one more time before darting behind the kitchen doors.

“I think he likes you,” I whisper, leaning forward to close the distance being put between us by the table. 

She laughs and takes a bite of her lettuce wrap appetizer. “Whatever.” She’s trying to pretend she’s not interested, but I caught how her eyes lingered after him when he left. “Anyway, about the spell…”

“What spell are we talking about, again?”

“The hot rockstar with amazing eyes spell.”

“Oh, my g—” I start to protest just as Jimmy Jenkins flops down in the booth beside me and throws his arm around my shoulders. I shrug to free myself from his grip. “What’s up?”

“I’m not in the mood, right now.” I stuff my mouth with another piece of shrimp to keep from saying everything that’s been running through my mind since I heard him accept Alan’s offer this afternoon.

His face distorts as his eyebrows smoosh together and his nose wrinkles. “I thought—”

“I know we were supposed to see a movie tonight, but I’m just not feeling it.”

He nods. “Does this have anything to do with Alan giving me your story?”

He knew it’s my story to cover, and he still said yes? “It’s not my story.”

“Okay,” he deadpans.

“Wait a minute.” Alyssa holds her hands up like she’s in church. “Are you telling me you scooped your own girlfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I growl through a mouthful of shrimp. My eyes are watering from the spice. He better not think it has a single thing to do with him.

He chuckles under his breath and tilts his head toward me. “She’s just playing hard to get, right now. It’s okay sugar plum.” He kisses me on the side of my forehead.

“You’re pushing your luck.” I shove him back, so he’s not invading my personal space bubble quite so much anymore. “Whatever this is…” I wave my finger back and forth between the two of us, “I need a break from it.”

He nods and swallows hard. I imagine he’s trying to keep his mouth in check. He’s got a hell of a temper. That was the first red flag I ignored. The second was when he couldn’t contact a subject, so he just copied and pasted a story together from articles already on the internet. “You’ll regret that. I don’t stand still for long.”

“Yep.” I nod, looking away from him and focusing on Alyssa.

The energy flowing from him right now is enough to make me sick to my stomach, so I try to block it out. “Is he gone?” I whisper, refusing to turn and look.

She nods. “He’s gone. He’s also going to be a pain in the ass until he finds someone else to focus all that gross energy on.”

Ugh!

“Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with it as long as you did.” She holds her hand up for a high-five, which I gladly accept. “He’s so toxic.”

“Don’t remind me.” I cringe. “I think I was just lonely.”

The handsome man who can’t seem to take his eyes off my friend, returns with our orders and places them in front of us. “Here you go,” he says, letting his hand brush Alyssa’s just slightly as he pulls back from setting her plate down. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Her eyes are wide when she looks back toward me. I’m trying to hide my amusement, but I don’t think it’s working. “Oh, my goodness.” She whisper-squeals. “He’s cute.”

“Hot.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She bites her lip and cranes her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of him. Her face twists into a scowl, so I’m guessing she didn’t have any luck. “What are you going to do?” she asks, finally coming back to the moment.

I shrug and poke at my food. “I’m not sure, but I know what I will not do.”

“Give Alan what he wants?”

“Exactly.”

“And that means you’re going head-to-head with Jackass Jenkins.”

“Yep.”

I take a bite of the special and just as always, it’s delicious. “Maybe that’s a good thing, though. It’ll push me to get there first and, with any luck, maybe I can block them both from ruining good people’s reputations.”

“How do you know they’re good?”

Hmm… “I guess I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”

“Uh-huh.” She snickers. “I know what feeling you mean and trust me that one lies.”

“It’s not that at all,” I say matter-of-factly. “Travis Miller was just a perfect gentleman when I dropped my keys. He could’ve been a real dick to all those reporters, but he wasn’t. He dealt with it and just let them wear themselves out, instead of going on an angry rampage like some celebrities.”

“So, he deserves a medal of honor for keeping his temper in check?”

No. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just trust me.”

“I trust you. Just don’t let your heart and your desire to help other people screw you over. Your career is also at stake here. Don’t forget that.”

“I think that’s why I have to do this my way and not Alan’s, or anyone else’s, because I’m not willing to give my career to anyone on a silver platter.” Never again. “I’m also not willing to give it up because someone doesn’t want to hear the truth. Sometimes the truth isn’t what it appears and maybe this is the first step to getting back to where I want to be.”

“Makes sense,” she admits, stuffing another bite of noodles in her mouth.

This might be my last chance.