Chapter 21
BECCA
I sucked in a breath and marched toward Ed's door. I raised a hand to knock, then froze like a rotisserie chicken in the deep freeze. Damn, now I was hungry for chicken.
Okay, Becca, I told myself. You can do this.
I sucked in another breath and was about to knock when the door opened.
I almost fell into Ed's office. Just as well I didn't, because I would have fallen right at his feet. That was exactly the place I didn't want to be. That and a vegetarian restaurant. Nothing against vegetarians, but that wouldn't satisfy my current chicken craving.
Oh great, my mind was babbling again.
"Rebecca, are you okay, sweetheart? You look pale. Come in, sit. Unless you'd prefer to lie on my desk." Ed gave me a wink.
"Uh, I'll pass." The idea was nauseating, but he did help to settle my mind. I went from seventy-two, to ninety-nine percent sure I was about to do the right thing. "I need to talk to you about that article."
He walked around his desk and flopped down on a chair which groaned under the sudden weight. For a moment I thought it would break, but it didn't.
He rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "Which article is that?"
I was sure he knew already, but I decided to humour him. "The one about Hawk Florence's mom," I said simply.
"Ah, yes. You have it ready?" His eagerness was thinly disguised. He looked so hungry I felt slightly sick. He was clearly hoping I'd found some dirt, or hoped this story would lead to some.
"I wrote it," I said slowly. "But I won't be giving it to you." I shook my head to reinforce my words. "I showed Hawk and he insisted we not run with it."
Ed smirked. An unpleasant expression at the best of times. Right now, with so much at stake, it looked menacing.
"If I had a dollar for every celebrity who tried to stop a story from running, I could buy the Lowball Bay Humpbacks. You wanna guess how many have been successful?"
"The ones you respect?" I asked. "The one you want to have a good relationship with?”
Ed laughed. "No, the ones with grounds to sue the National Daily out of business.
" He lowered his palms to the desktop. "Look, I know you have these lofty ideals about integrity and running feel good stories and that's admirable.
That's what you're good at. Human interest. This story is just that. People want to know."
"It's none of their business," I said.
I knew what his response to that would be before he spoke.
"The public think it is." He shrugged. "That's the price of fame. These folks know what they're getting into when they sign on the dotted line. They get money, success, and the public gets to live vicariously through them."
"And judge them for every failure," I said bitterly.
"Yep." Ed nodded. "The whole stinking barrel of fish. Life isn't always perfume and sunshine. People want to know it's not just their lives that suck."
"At the expense of the privacy of other people," I argued.
He tapped a fingertip on the table. "Exactly. It's a dog eat dog world out there, sweetheart. You can eat or be eaten."
"Or be a flea." Like Harvey. "The kind that leaves an itchy bite, long after it's gone."
"You're too young to sound as bitter as me," Ed said with a short laugh. "I guess they learn younger and younger these days." I couldn't tell if he was impressed or disappointed. Possibly both.
"Yeah, well, it's been a rough couple of days," I said. "But I won't change my mind. Hawk said he would never speak to the National Daily again if you run any articles about his mother, without his consent."
"Not even to you?" Ed asked.
I turned my face. "Especially not me." I struggled to keep the hurt off my face. Ed didn't need a way in. I'd sure as hell try not to give him one.
"Ah. All the more reason to run it." Ed sounded pleased for some reason.
I glanced back at him questioningly.
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he misquoted. "I'm sure you have a few more… interesting stories to share with our readers." He looked about ready to lick his lips. "Salacious ones."
Ick.
"I'm not the sort of woman who writes ugly, bitter break up songs," I said firmly.
"Great, I'm not asking for songs." Ed looked pleased with himself at his own joke.
I gave him one of my best eye rolls. The kind I usually reserve for people like Harvey, or the guys who give you a ticket when you parked for half a minute too long. I mean, there's doing your job and then there's taking things a bit too seriously. In this case, not seriously enough.
"Although," Ed said before I could respond further, "I'm pretty sure I could make you sing."
"I'm sure you're not implying what I think you're implying," I said coldly. I was just about done with his bullshit. "Because I could sing in court, if you prefer. After you're charged with sexual harassment."
He blinked, then his face slowly turned red.
"Are you threatening me, because there's no place on the National Daily staff—"
"You're right," I interrupted. "There's no place on this staff for me." I tossed an envelope on the table.
"I'll give you the 'Too Long; Didn't Read' version.
" I stood up. "I quit. The National Daily, and you, don't support the perception I have of myself as a journalist. Maybe I'm an idiot for trying to have morals in this job, but I'm not ready to let them go.
Some day I might wish I'd given in and wrote about all the ugly things readers seem to want, but not today. " Not ever, if I could help it.
"You're right," Ed said. "It's stupid to take the imaginary higher ground when you have bills to pay.
" He eyed the envelope, but didn't touch it.
"I'll give you a minute to reconsider. You're one of the best writers here.
You run rings around guys like Harvey. He's great at digging up dirt, but the execution could use some work.
" That was a hell of an admission, unless he was trying to flatter me into staying. Whatever, it wouldn't work.
"I doubt he or his readers care," I said coolly. "They can't see past the entertainment value and the impact it has on the people he's writing about."
"I guess." Ed shrugged. His hand hovered over the envelope. "Last chance."
I hesitated. He was right about one thing, I did have bills to pay. I had a bit of money in the bank, but not enough to last for long. Maybe I had a bag of rocks in my brain too, because I shook my head.
"I won't change my mind. I'll clear out my desk."
He waved me out the door and picked up the envelope.
I closed the door behind me and tried not to freak the hell out.
What had I done?
I sat down at my table and opened my laptop. I brought up a browser page and clicked on my blog. I hadn't posted anything to it for a couple of months, so of course I couldn't remember the password.
I sent a 'reset request' to my email twice—it didn't show up the first time—clicked the link, changed my password and gave them the access code they sent to my phone.
If anyone wanted to hack my blog so badly they got past all of this, I felt sorry for them. Even my virtually nonexistent life was more exciting than that.
I finally reached 'Becca Writes' and opened a screen for a new post.
I stared at the blank page for a solid ten minutes before I got up and got myself a coffee. Caffeine would help my brain get in gear.
As I sipped, I knew it wasn't my brain that was struggling with this, it was my heart. I was about to pour everything onto the page. It felt like stabbing myself in the chest with a longsword.
I set my coffee aside, scooted my chair forward and started.
The day I screwed up my life.
Yeah, that was the heading. It would do for now.
For the next hour, I wrote about everything that happened in the last few weeks. How I had planned to get some childish form of revenge on Hawk. How I'd dressed up and acted all fake to get his attention. How I'd wanted to make him fall for me, then pull the rug out from under his feet.
What was I thinking, playing games like that? I wrote about that too. How, if I'd been honest with him and with myself, things might have turned out differently.
I wrote about the ill-fated article and what I should have done differently. If I had the chance, I'd do it all again, the right way this time. I'd talk to Hawk and try to explain. I wouldn't have written the article at all if he objected. I'd be thoughtful and sensitive.
I'd put him before work.
And so, I finished my blog entry, I screwed up the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time, maybe ever, by not being honest and up front.
I re-read the entry and corrected a few typos and some badly worded sentences. I was careful to check that nothing would identify Hawk. I didn't mention his name, his job or the subject of the article. Anyone who knew the situation would know, but they already did anyway.
Did I question whether or not I should post this? Hell yes, I did.
Was this any better than the first article? In a way it was. This was my way of saying sorry. If one person read it, and this blog post stopped them from ruining something amazing, then it would be worth it.
Since I wasn't working for the National Daily anymore, I wouldn't get any exclusives from Hawk. If he hated me even more for this…he wouldn't have to see me and talk to me. He could hate me from a safe distance.
My heart ached, but undoubtedly he'd be relieved. He'd made it abundantly clear he was done with me. This way, we'd have a cleaner break. He could live his life without having to think about me.
As for me… It would take a while longer to move on, but I would. Somehow.
I reread the article again, then pressed 'publish.' The screen went blank and, for a full two minutes, I thought my work was lost.
"Damn, damn, crap," I muttered under my breath.
I pressed 'refresh' a couple of times and got the same blank screen.
I ran a hand over my hair before I did the only thing I could. I picked up the laptop, threw it out the window and shouted "Yeet."
No, wait, I didn't. I pressed the power button and restarted the computer. My heart in my throat, I reopened the blog site. I clicked on my account and exhaled when I saw my post in the drafts folder.
Crisis averted.
Just in case it was a sign, I reread the article and found a typo I missed the first time. I really had meant 'shift'. Oops, the missing F changed the whole sentence. I fixed it and pressed 'publish' again.
This time, the post published. In moments, it was live. I thought about deleting it, but instead I closed my laptop and sighed at yet another cup of cold coffee. That was getting to be a bad habit.
I decided that I'd indulge in another bad habit and grabbed out a tub of ice cream from the freezer. I picked up a spoon out of the drawer and curled up under a blanket on the couch. I channel surfed, and streaming platform surfed until I found a cheesy romance.
I could do with a nice happily ever after right now.
After several minutes of watching the happy couple make doe eyes at each other, I changed to a superhero movie and settled down deeper.
A few Hollywood explosions, action and some fight scenes were much more than what I needed right now.
Romance was all very well, but I wanted to escape from reality with a hot hero or two.
I dug into my ice cream and sighed. This should be the perfect night, but I'd never felt so alone.
Damn, there are things ice cream can't fix.