Chapter Ten
Lyra
Idon’t think I can stand the beating spray of a hot shower on my ass, so as soon as I get home, I draw myself a bath.
It isn’t much better than the shower. Quite literally everything hurts. Using the bathroom is as arduous as any contact whatsoever on my backside. What’s worse than the physical pain is the shame and embarrassment, and the deep-set knowledge that Killian has only just gotten started with me.
I have another eight weeks of this to tolerate, and as I climb into bed—face-first, since I’m no longer able to lie on my back—I cry like a child.
I decide to give myself the rest of the day to cry and mourn the loss of my dignity and control of my own life.
I don’t even have the presence of mind to type up notes from my interview, because the very thought of Killian is painful…
so I simply spend a good eight hours throwing myself a pity-party.
Before bed, I text Annalise to let her know I won’t be available this weekend, and apply some old arnica cream I found in the bathroom to my ass.
I go to sleep praying that I wake up in less pain, my eyes swollen and my nose stuffed from all the crying.
A quiet resolve begins to creep over me.
I might be beaten down now, but I won’t be forever. Tomorrow, I intend to get to work.
First thing in the morning, I outfit my desk chair with a mountain of pillows, and spend ten minutes wincing through discomfort as I open my shiny laptop from Timmy. In lieu of typing up notes regarding Killian, I instead dive into researching him.
I go to his company website and search up a list of current employees, jotting down their employment dates in my notebook.
I realize that his current secretary has only been working for him for a year, so I do a deep-dive, searching out who his previous secretary was and whether they might be someone I could contact as a source.
It takes two full hours of searching through everything possible—social media, online forums—for me to find the previous secretary’s name.
Rhea Seymour. I look her up on various social media platforms, searching for posts she made around her time of leaving Helixon Biopharma as the CEO’s executive assistant.
Executive assistants are more prestigious than secretaries, and they usually manage all of their employer’s affairs, from their calendar to their meetings and workloads.
I find a brief post she made on Twitter a month after leaving Killian’s service: Got my severance package. Finally closing that chapter of my life and moving on. #goodriddance.
My heart speeds up at the tone of her post—she was happy to leave. Maybe even relieved. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll meet with a reporter, but if she does, I bet she’ll have a lot to say.
I look into her a bit more until I find her current position—executive assistant for a nonprofit hospital’s CEO—and her personal email address.
I draft a brief email to her, attempting to play on her heartstrings without divulging too much.
I mention my background (prizes and awards tend to catch people’s attention), the fact that I’ve been hired to do a full profile on Killian, and I’d like to learn as much about him as I can.
I don’t overtly state that I’m looking to dig up dirt on him, since there’s always a chance Rhea is loyal enough to forward this to Killian, but I do let the general tone of the email hint that I’m looking out for myself while spending time with him.
What shocks me is that her reply comes two minutes later. Either she’s that eager to speak with me or eager to tell me to fuck off. My heart races as I open her email, which starts out with “My condolences on your assignment.” The rest offers a meeting this Thursday evening at 8p.m.
I’m shocked at how easy it was to gain her agreement. Usually, I don’t get any replies when I’m digging into potential sources, and when I do, the tones are derisive and suspicious. Rhea seems almost eager to talk with me. It’s possible she has a story she’s been wanting to tell for some time.
It’s possible that Killian did to her what he’s doing to me, and that no previous reporter has dug into him far enough to find Rhea. He did comment on how easy it was to fool everyone who came before me…
I don’t mark the meeting on any of my calendars in case they’re being monitored, but I do memorize the date, time, and place, and mentally shift around my Thursday schedule to accommodate it.
What Rhea doesn’t realize is that she’s unwittingly given me hope.
I’m careful not to be too optimistic, this could end up being a fluke…
but Rhea’s reply tells me that not everyone who’s been in Killian’s vicinity is enamored with him.
I could still write an exposé that would ruin him—I know I can.
When I power down my laptop for the night and go to sleep, I feel decidedly more optimistic about my future prospects—and the hope even significantly dulls the pain from the bruises on my ass.
One of the worst parts of heading into work Monday morning is that there are no pillows I can put on my office chair to soften the blow of having to sit down. Fortunately, however, I have a small couch in my office, so that’s where I set up for the day, laptop in my lap.
I work on a couple of smaller projects I have going on and review some work from the junior staff writers I help manage. At around midday, during my designated lunch hour—which I seldom take—I get a text on my phone from an unknown number.
As soon as I read it, Dinner tonight?, I know who it’s from.
Killian King has some fucking gall to continue asking me out after the things he’s put me through. My blood boils at his arrogance and entitlement—I want to write out an entire essay that details all of the illegal things he’s done—but instead, I delete the message and report it as spam.
Another one comes thirty minutes later, from the same number. This one has an address of an upscale steakhouse and a time for a reservation. I delete it as well, but yet another text comes.
Don’t disappoint me, Lyra.
Disappoint him? Disappoint him? As if my refusal to entertain his ludicrous suggestions is a disappointing fault of mine?
Fuck him. Fuck everything about him. Very few times in my life have I felt the sort of hatred that boils inside me any time I think of Killian.
I shut down my phone for the day, toss it aside, and throw myself back into work.
I’m skating on thin ice with Sarah since I pushed back on working with Killian, so my performance needs to be top-notch, or she’ll get petty.
I like Sarah overall; she’s smart, sharp, forward-thinking, and extremely good at her job…
but I’ve also seen how bitchy she can become when people don’t do what she tells them.
We aren’t friends, per se, but we’re friendly and she likes me, so I think as long as I never mention my desire to get as far away from Killian as possible again, I’ll be fine in a few weeks.
Before I know it, the end of my workday rolls around. It’s 7p.m., so I start packing up, but pause when Annalise strolls into my office unannounced.
Anna is a beautiful woman. She’s a little taller than me, with a head of gold-coast blonde hair, grey eyes, and a pretty face. Her beauty certainly helps her job, but she’s sharp as a tack and has eyes like a hawk.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, pointing a finger in my direction. She sniffs. “I’m unimpressed. My magnificence deserves attention.”
I crack a half-smile. “I promise I haven’t been avoiding you, Anna, I’ve been fucking swamped. Killian King requested me for a profile, so I have that in addition to the rest of my workload. This weekend was insane.” For more reasons than one.
Her face softens. “Oh, shit. Well… that’s good, right? I mean, Killian King wanting you to do an exclusive on him will bode well for your traction here.”
There’s no bitterness in her words even though we both started working here at the same time, and I was promoted much faster than her. She became a junior staff writer only six months ago.
I want to tell her everything I’ve experienced, about my humiliation, shame, and the way I’m using negative emotions as fuel. I think I could trust her, but also, I don’t want to put her in danger… so I keep my mouth shut. “Yeah, it should be good.”
She tilts her head to the side. “You don’t seem excited.”
That’s because I’m not. I’m horrified. “It’s a lot of extra work, Anna,” I say with a shrug, “but I think it’ll pay off after I’m through the scheduling changes and the thick of it. We’ll just have to wait and see how everything pans out.”
“Gotcha.” She smiles. “Well… drinks this Friday? If you’re not careful, I’ll have to demote you from best friend to good friend.” She gives a mock shudder. “Trust me, you do not want to be in the good-friend-zone.”
“You’re making it sound like best friend comes with sexual bonuses.”
Anna’s smile widens. “I mean, if you’re so inclined, I could show you a few tricks. I’m always up for some charity.”
I laugh, shaking my head. I didn’t think I’d be capable of laughing after my recent experiences. Warmth skitters over my skin like rays of sunshine—Anna has a way of brightening people’s days. “You’re a goof.”
“And you haven’t answered my question. Friday. Drinks.” She pauses. “In case you’re wondering, the only correct answer is yes, please.”
“How about yes, daddy?” I quip.
“Usually I hear mommy, and those hookups don’t last very long, but I suppose it’ll do.
” She beams. “If you cancel on me again, I’m knocking down your apartment door with a crowbar and dragging you to the club in whatever you happen to be wearing.
” With that, she flits off, whistling under her breath.
I head downstairs, eager to return home and order in dinner. I’m in no mood to cook, and I could use some comfort food, so I’m thinking of grabbing Indian.