Faking Us Forever (B-School Billionaires #4)

Chapter 1 Ava

AVA

Influencer Denies Nose Job, Blames Sudden Facial Shift on the Moon.

My eyes twitched with irritation as I re-read the headline glaring back at me. It mocked my very existence. Four years getting a journalism degree only to document the moon’s gravitational pull supposedly causing facelifts. The subhead was worse: Internet Divided.

How? Who in their right mind would even consider that this was true? It caused me literal pain to write crap like this. Yet, it was this that I relied on to pay the bills. My editor wanted the full article by three, so I’d better get to it.

Heaving a sigh, I rubbed my temple.

“Pulitzer here I come.”

As I started to write the article, I heard the sound of wheels on the carpet next to me.

A head with a mop of blonde curls popped around the thin wall separating our cubicles. Along with the torture of being subjected to the gossip column, I had to spend my days in a matchbox.

“Hey, Ava, are you okay?” Melody asked.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” I had to slather on a layer of false cheer, and I almost winced.

“Well, the sigh heard around the world sounded a little… I’ve-had-enough-and-I-might-jump-out-this-sixth-floor-window.”

My eyes narrowed on her pale, freckled face. “Are you projecting?”

Her shoulders dropped, and her eyes rolled almost to the back of her head. “Yes. Yes, I am. I’m the one who wants to jump out the window, Ava. Look at this.”

I wheeled my chair back to peek at her computer and read aloud, “I unintentionally joined a cult for free snacks. How do I leave politely?” I glanced at Melody with sheer amusement. “It’s signed Hungry but Enlightened.”

Melody huffed, and I had to purse my lips to hold back my giggle. I wasn’t sure which of us had it worse. Me with the gossip/entertainment column or her with the advice column. Our only saving grace was that our cubicles were side by side. Melody and I had been friends since we were kids.

“Journalism is dead,” she muttered.

“Mmm, just for us. We’re small fish around here.” The big shot— Walt, lord of the Springfield Sentinel—got all the cool assignments.

“Scurry back to your cubicle, Ava,” Melody hissed. “The Komodo is coming.”

That was the code name for our boss, Allan Gale, editor-in-chief.

Most times, he was like a Komodo dragon skulking around the office, searching for someone to devour…

with his sharp words and demanding attitude.

I reversed my chair as if it were a getaway car.

One wheel caught in the carpet and did a little spin, causing my knee to bang against the desk.

My coffee sloshed onto my keyboard. Hissing, I dabbed at the spill with the first thing my hand landed on, a Post-it.

Melody sniggered from the other side of the partition at the sound of my growling, “Son of a comma-splicing troll.” As a writer, I enjoyed getting creative with my swearing. Just as I got into place and pretended to work, Allan barreled past. He was on the phone, and he sounded pissed… typical.

“Walt, I don’t care if you’re on the moon having margaritas with ET himself. Get your ass back here. You’re doing this piece. He’s Massachusetts’ story, and we are Massachusetts.”

At that moment, keys paused mid-click, and every head popped up from its cubicle.

“What do you mean it’s not possible?” Allan barked as he walked into his office—the throne room—and slammed the door.

Melody jumped up. “Ava, it’s time.”

“I don’t even know what the assignment is,” I grumbled.

“Who cares? Go, kid!” Perry, the office’s grumpy grandpa, whisper-shouted.

No further encouragement was needed. I was up and power walking toward Allan’s office.

To my left, I saw Mark practically sprinting in the same direction.

My jaw dropped. That asshole. He knew the unspoken rule.

Aside from Perry and the other older folks who were content where they were, the few who sought to climb the ladder took turns by order of seniority.

I’d been at the Sentinel for five years.

It was my turn to get a newsworthy assignment.

Mark had only been here for four months.

Margaret, another contented elder, who wrote the business column, maneuvered her chair to block Mark’s progress. She winked at me over her glasses. I grinned as I dashed toward my chance.

Pushing the door open, I caught Allan in mid-rant. When his steely gray eyes landed on me, I realized I hadn’t knocked. Hastily yanking the door shut, I followed the polite order and lightly tapped on the door.

“Come in again, Montgomery.”

The annoyance in his tone was almost enough to deter me. Almost.

Gulping, I opened the door and stepped inside. Allan spared me a glance, held up a finger, and kept talking.

“Dammit, Walt, this feature on the kid is big.”

A feature. That was good. I’d board a spaceship to do one on a freaking alien if I had to.

“Massachusetts’s own success story,” Allan continued. “How long has it been since we had such a huge success story?”

I studied my boss while he paced with his hand on his hip.

The old-school editor had a bark that caused terror among the Springfield Sentinel’s staff.

He had the bite to match, too. While I was a tad wary of the man, I couldn’t help being amused by his appearance.

Allan looked as stressed as he perpetually sounded.

His shirt was always rumpled, his tie ever-loose, and the tail stained with whatever meal he’d last eaten.

His gray hair constantly stuck out at all angles, too.

“Yeah, the last big one we had out of our beloved state was Lincoln Ford. That was a whole decade ago. No one can do this feature but us!”

Lincoln Ford.

The name made my breath catch, which caused my exhale to come out as a choked sound. The noise caught Allan’s attention. Those laser-sharp eyes cut to me again, and I looked away, pretending to study the various awards he had on his wall. But the damage was already done.

It was like someone yanked the floor from under me, and I plunged into a sea of memories.

Green eyes I could never forget, softening whenever they landed on me.

My heart hammered with anticipation as the face I loved inched closer to mine.

Warm summer nights wrapped in strong arms. A teasing smile that always made my stomach flutter.

Laughter. Young love. Hope for a future together.

It all rushed back in overwhelming waves.

Somehow, I yanked myself back to the present.

Stop thinking about him.

He’s dead to me.

He had been, for quite some time. I absolutely refused to get sucked into memories of my ex-boyfriend from when I was a stupid kid.

“Jesus, Walt,” Allan groaned.

I guess that meant the golden child—or should I say, reporter—wasn’t going to make it home. Good for me… hopefully.

“Whatever, Walt,” Allan said with an air of resignation and hung up. Running his fingers through his hair, he added, “Montgomery, get that guy…” He snapped his fingers. “Er… the new kid.”

I ground my molars. He’d give Mark the big assignment over me? Five years, dammit! “Mark—and he won’t be necessary.”

Allan’s eyebrows shot up. His expression asked how dare I not jump at his command. “He won’t?” he asked dryly.

“No, because I’m here, and I can take Walt’s place. I can do the feature.”

Silence.

Allan sat down slowly. As he leaned back in his chair, it groaned under his weight. The way he steepled his fingers and stared at me with unreadable eyes made me sweat a little.

“It’s in Los Angeles.”

My eyes darted from side to side. “I… uh…I can be on a plane to anywhere you need me to be by this afternoon.” Yes, I was close to wilting under the hardass’s stare, but I refused to go down without a fight.

That fight to scrape and crawl far away from the ridiculous gossip column to a real journalism career. So close.

“Huh,” was all he grunted.

“Huh, I’ve got the assignment… or…?”

“You’re entertainment, Montgomery.”

I almost scoffed out loud. As I stared at him, I hoped he didn’t mean that the way it sounded.

There was no way he was implying that my writing the gossip column made me a joke.

Taking a deep breath, I reined in my tongue.

It could be as sharp as Allan’s sometimes, and I couldn’t let it ruin this opportunity for me.

“I’m a journalist,” I cooly corrected.

“Do you even know what a term like… sack means in football?”

Ah, so this was a sports thing. A sliver of disappointment went through me.

I’d have preferred something else, but I’d take sports over gossip any day.

Straightening my shoulders, I looked him square in the eyes.

No, I did not know what sack meant in football, but…

“I can spell it, and I can learn what it means on the flight.”

A spark of amusement lit his eyes. “It’s a high-profile feature of a rising NFL star.”

“Any journalist worth their salt can do a feature on anyone, sir. Give me a chance. I won’t screw it up.”

“If I send you…”

“You’ll get a delayed lede that makes the world weep and fall in love with the subject—a piece worthy of a damn Pulitzer.”

He studied me for another beat. “What the hell, Walt will never make it back in time. Finish your current assignment and head home early.”

My shoulders drooped. “Right, I understand. Maybe next time…” I blinked as his words registered. I was just so used to being turned down, I responded automatically.

“Wait… are you saying…?”

He picked up his glasses and perched them on his nose. He then got busy shuffling files around his desk. “Your flight leaves tomorrow morning. You’ll hit the ground running, heading straight to an event, so get your shit together.”

“My shit’s already together, sir. Thanks.”

I wheeled around and exited before Allan changed his mind about treating

me as a serious journalist for once. When the door closed, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

I looked up to find several pairs of eyes on me. The way everyone had their torsos sticking out of their cubicles to watch me with hope was heartwarming. They all knew how much I wanted this. Smiling, I gave a thumbs-up.

There was a round of finger snapping—no loud clapping to get the Komodo dragon’s attention—before everyone disappeared back into their box. It felt good to see my co-workers happy for me, except Mark. He glared at me, and I shot him a triumphant smirk.

Flying high on cloud nine, I got back to the silly piece about the nose job and the moon with gusto. But then I took a tumble off the cloud, and my thoughts came to a screeching halt. Lincoln Ford. Los Angeles. He lived there. The man who broke my heart twelve years ago…

“Oh, stop it,” I whispered.

I’d only be in LA for a few weeks. What were the chances of running into Lincoln Ford in such a big city?