Chapter 39
CHAPTER 39
NOW
I got back to my cat and my girls late afternoon. As soon as their voices boomed through the open windows, arguing about the last Love Island rerun, I realized I’d missed them terribly, although it’s only been two days. How would I survive not living with them once we graduated in a few months?
The thought stuck with me. Because right then, tragically, I remembered it wasn’t a few months anymore. I’d gotten so used to saying it— well, at least we still have a few months! —that I’d forgotten that time went on, days passed. And it was no longer early March, with trees becoming green and flowers blooming, but late April. Sun high, sometimes burning, and we only had weeks until graduation.
Only weeks with the people I’d shared every aspect of my life with over the past four years.
Exams passed, projects graded. The only thing missing was the profile. There was nothing left to do but wait until we’d put on those robes, get handed our degrees, and go out into the world.
What a terrifying thought.
Similarly to the one that my profile would be released the same day, when graduates were more likely to get and keep an issue for the sake of it. And there was a gigantic difference between having it graded and read by professors, and having it scrutinized by your peers. The latter being much worse.
After editing, rewriting, then editing some more, I’d sent the draft to Eddie by the end of the week as promised. And, I thought, maybe I could have the best of both worlds, because I’d done it all while having incredible sex with Henry.
Without neglecting my work or prioritizing him.
When Henry would text, and I’d reply CAN’T YET. WRITING. he’d told me to make him look good and left it at that. Sometimes ordering food to be sent to my place because he knew when I was in the zone: I was in the zone . Forgetting to eat and drink or simply care for my basic needs, until the flow of words ebbed.
He never demanded my time when I couldn’t give it to him. In return, I’d go over to his place the second I could.
Thankfully, I was too busy writing to worry about what all of this meant for our relationship. How the Hamptons and his groveling had changed things between us, and how we hadn’t talked about any of it.
I wasn’t worried when Eddie called me into his office. I was confident I’d nailed that profile. Humor, dynamic, facts and all.
It showed Henry the way I’d gotten to know him. As his ex-girlfriend and friend and journalist. Wasn’t that what would make it unique? That I’d seen and written about a side of him not many people would ever experience? That he’d spoken about his parents, his childhood more candidly than ever before?
Ed smiled at me when I got to the office, door open like always. “Paula,” he said by way of greeting, walking around his desk. But my attention wasn’t on him or the fact he was closing the door behind me further, leaving only a small crack open.
It was fully and entirely on the perfect blonde blowout and the body attached to the hair. Lacy threw a glance across her shoulder, smiled. “Hey. Thought you might not make it in time.”
Her backhanded comment was like a slap to the face, and I whirled to Eddie, watching him walk back behind his desk. He sat.
“What is this?”
He gestured to the second chair on the other side of his desk, and I followed the request. He cleared his throat.
“Lacy has—” He hesitated, shook his head. “Asked to meet us. Both.” His tone indicated he had no idea what for, either. By his preliminary door closing, though, he expected it to be… unpleasant.
“Yes,” she quipped. “Thank you.” Her eyes slid to me when she spoke next. “I didn’t want to go behind your back with this, Paula. It would’ve felt wrong not to have you here, I think.” Innocence radiated in the blue of her eyes, her soft voice.
I tensed up when she handed Eddie a brown envelope, and I interpreted the curl of her lips when he pulled pictures out of it as an I wanted to see your face when I did this .
“What am I looking at?” Eddie asked, eyes narrowing at the A4 print of a very familiar photo. My eyes snapped to Lacy.
“How—??” How did you get those? I wanted to ask. But it sounded so incriminating, I cut myself off. My eyes trailed back to Henry and me on the photo.
Had Hallie sold us out?
Even if she had, she wouldn’t have known what she was selling us out for —wouldn’t have done anything wrong, technically. Just sold photos of the newest NYBE addition and a rumored girlfriend to the highest bidder. But somehow, she didn’t seem like the type. Seemed like she would’ve at least let me know.
And anyway, how would Lacy have known to look for them in the first place?
She cleared her throat. “I found these in my inbox, Ed. Coming from Paula, of all people. Maybe she wanted to forward them to Henry but copied me instead?” She speculated out loud to make her lies more believable. I knew that. Did Eddie?
I hadn’t sent her anything. I didn’t think Lacy was even in my email contacts. But when I frantically felt for my phone in my bag, logged into my school email and clicked on my sent folder, there it was.
An email with attachments, addressed to [email protected]. Two weeks ago, on the day of my first draft deadline, which had robbed me of so much sleep; it would probably be burned into my brain for the rest of my life.
Coincidentally, it was also the day Henry had called me, came to the office and almost had me in that broom closet of an interview room. The day I’d left Lacy alone in the office, and I couldn’t remember whether I’d locked my computer before I answered that call.
“And…” Eddie cocked his head, brows drawn together. “What are these supposed to… show me?” He shuffled through the prints, then placed them on his desk. The one where Henry and I laid on the pitch topped the stack. I cringed.
Lacy blinked one, two, three times before landing her killing blow. “That Paula fucks her subjects for information. I heard Riley say it in the office. I know Henry came to see Paula here, too. And who knows what happened in New York?” Nothing! “I think the pictures speak for themselves, though.”
I flinched at the harsh language; how unapologetically she threw the accusation around the room. All the circumstantial evidence that, presented like this, seemed damning enough. Even Eddie, who wasn’t shocked by much, drew back in his chair.
“That’s coercion,” Lacy offered, when neither of us said anything—I was still too shocked, and Eddie was probably trying to figure out the best way to reply. “Clearly,” she pressed, eyes beginning to flicker between us. “And who knows how long she’s been doing that? In what other instances she’s used her body to get what she wants?”
When had I ever gotten what I wanted?
Last I remembered, I hadn’t gotten a damn thing for an entire year, then got stuck with a project I did not want. I almost roared the words at her, but I stayed quiet. I wasn’t sure why, either.
“Those first external gigs, The New York Times . Then the Ivy project.” She trailed off. “They always seemed a little too good to be true, right? Who knows. Maybe she knew a friend of a friend of a friend, who knew the editor in chief, and… you get my drift.”
The breath I’d drawn in was so sharp, I couldn’t speak—couldn’t do anything but shift my eyes to Ed, watching his reaction carefully. “She uses her body to get what she wants, then to get them on the record with what she needs. Maybe that’s why that source said she lied—”
“ Lacy ,” Eddie finally snapped. “That’s enough.” His voice reverberated in the hallway, bounced off the walls.
“No!” She matched his tone. Snappy and loud. Like she’d had enough—of what, I wasn’t quite sure. “I should’ve gotten this profile, Ed! And you know it!” Her chair scraped against the floor when she pushed it back, stood, and spread her hands on the mahogany desk. “I’m tired of losing shit to Paula fucking Castillo.”
Eddie rose to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what kind of jealous rivalry thing you two have going on. Frankly, I don’t care.” His eyes twitched into a glare. “But how on earth am I going to give you a profile Paula was specifically requested for?”
“Oh, please.” Her eyes rolled before flicking to me, only for a moment. “By who?”
“The subject of it, Lacy.”
Their back-and-forth continued, but I checked out. My head roared and my stomach lurched, and my heart missed a beat, I think.
The subject of it.
Eddie’s words echoed in my mind.
He was very sure he wanted this profile and everything else that comes with it.
It suddenly seemed so obvious. Like it’d been staring me in the face for weeks and I’d just looked through it, ignored anything that had hinted at the possibility, ever since I’d gotten this profile.
Because of Henry. Because he wanted me on it, and he’d made sure it would happen.
“What are you smiling about?” The sweet undertone that usually played in Lacy’s voice was gone. Probably because this wasn’t going the way she had imagined at all. Probably because Eddie’s frown was directed at her, not me.
“Nothing,” I said, so calmly I surprised myself. After her accusations, I thought I’d be ready to physically fight the woman, but my hand didn’t even twitch. No desire to punch her in her beautiful, perfect face. Instead, I got up and wondered “What is your problem, Lacy?”
“Sorry?” she spat, eyes narrowing.
“What. Is. Your. Problem?”
“You are!” Which kind of just bubbled out of her, like she couldn’t bite her tongue anymore. And like she wasn’t my biggest problem.
She huffed, the sound self-righteous as she slung her messenger bag across her shoulder. “You are, Paula Castillo. With your beautiful hair and perfect writing and that awkwardly charming way that just magically opens doors for you!” Her head shook, disturbed by her own list. “I mean, just look at you. Mark actively went against your record; said you didn’t print what he said. And still! Like an annoying little cockroach, you’re still here! Writing the profile of the year for a man half the country will probably talk about soon.” A shrill groan followed her rambling and her hands disappeared in her long blonde hair.
I found it ironic. That Lacy was jealous of me when I’d been jealous of her since the moment I’d started at the HBP . Because everything seemed to come easily for her—friends, projects, words. Effortlessly pretty and successful was her thing. Not mine.
But that I’d somehow seemed talented and beautiful enough to be envied, didn’t make up for the fact she’d just said my source’s name. That source’s name. Mark.
She must not have noticed the slip-up yet. I think Eddie had.
I exchanged one look with him before turning to Lacy. “I keep my list of sources under lock and key,” I said slowly. “Use alibis, delete emails.” And I could see the exact moment it dawned on her. The moment in which Lacy Halloway realized she’d made a mistake. Said too much, too quickly, too passionately—and fucked up.
“Everyone knew it was Mark!” She desperately tried to salvage the situation. Her gaze searched for help from our editor, who was grimly watching from the other side of the desk. He did not give it to her.
“No one knows that,” he said, equally slowly and carefully as I had. And he was right. The only reason he knew were my desperate attempts to convince him that I’d written exactly what Mark had told me. Unsuccessfully.
The only reason Henry had known was that he’d suggested the man himself.
Lacy’s bottom lip quivered, and in the seconds of silence that followed, she tried to contain it. None of us said a word. I, for one, didn’t even breathe.
The situation was so delicate, the unsaid accusation hanging in the air like thick smoke. And it would be the proverbial nail in the coffin of Lacy’s bright career prospects.
Because if she really did what we were all thinking—if she’d manipulated a source, bribed them or got them to lie on the record through whatever other means, just to stop my streak of good journalistic luck… hers was about to run out, then.
Lacy moved toward the door, and I’d been sure she’d leave without another word. But she paused in the doorway. Turned across her shoulder, eyes fixed on me. Her nostrils flared, cheeks a blotching red. “You should ask your boyfriend how I know about Mark Lager.”
Only then, after wreaking havoc in my life once more and throwing the pieces I’d so meticulously sorted through in the past few weeks, back into my face, did she leave.
Me, dumbfounded, confused and angry at a man who was not my boyfriend.
The insinuation lingered between the two of us awkwardly. I was still frozen by Eddie’s desk, and he tried to keep busy by sorting through the pictures of Henry and me. Pictures I didn’t want to see right then—of us smiling and laughing and staring at each other.
As if he hadn’t given Lacy my source. Her insinuation had been so obvious—
Eddie cleared his throat. “I’ll get her back in here tomorrow.” He commented on her departure. “And I’ll get that SPJ record of yours cleared, don’t worry.” His gaze swung from the empty, open door to me. “But there’s probably something you want to take care of now?”
Which was Henry.