Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
OLLIE
From the moment I stepped into Silas’s apartment, I knew this was a bad idea.
The last thing I’m sure he wants to see when he gets home after a brutal road trip is me, but Ross is right. If I’m going to have any chance at salvaging this relationship with Silas, then I need to talk to him. And the only way I can do that is if I’m at his place.
Doesn’t make it any less intimidating.
Because I have this horrible feeling that this is the end of us. That there is no coming back from this. And the more I think about that, the more I can’t hold back my emotions. Because I love this man. I love him more than anyone I’ve ever loved, anyone I’ve ever been with.
He’s made me feel beautiful again.
He’s made me feel like I matter.
He’s put a smile on my face every day, and the knowledge that it could all end after tonight has my stomach in absolute knots.
I got a text from Ross about a half hour ago letting me know that the boys landed, so Silas should be home any minute.
I check my phone for the time just as the front door unlocks.
Nerves shoot through my veins, and as the door opens, I brace myself for what’s to come.
I stand from the couch, wearing his sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, hoping and praying he’ll give me a chance.
He steps into the apartment wearing a stunning dark gray three-piece suit that clings to every part of his body. He rolls his suitcase inside, then shuts the door behind him and locks it. When he turns around and spots me, he freezes.
His lips thin.
His brow turns down.
And I immediately know I’m not welcome.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks.
Hands trembling, legs about to give out, I take a step forward and say, “I really need to talk to you.”
“About what?” he asks as he tosses his keys on the entryway table and walks over to the kitchen.
That’s when I catch the black under his eye as well as the swelling.
My heart aches, knowing I’m the reason he has that.
I’m the reason he’s had such a rough few days.
I’m the reason his team now has two losses.
“About the article,” I say.
“Nothing to talk about,” he replies as he grabs a beer from his fridge and pops it open. “You decided to take advantage of me to gain momentum in your career. Simple as that.”
He downs what seems like half of the can.
“I . . . I didn’t write that,” I say.
He lowers his can of beer and looks me in the eyes. “Do you really expect me to believe that? You wrote that fucking article. I read it before you turned it in. That was yours.”
“Yes, it was,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper from how tight my throat is. “But that part about you, it wasn’t written by me. I wouldn’t do that to you, Silas.”
“Wouldn’t you, though?” he asks. He takes another gulp of his beer and then sets it down on the counter. “You were desperate to make something of yourself, to impress Roberts, so what would stop you from using me? Seems like it’s worked out for you. The story is everywhere.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Silas. I wouldn’t do that to the man I love.”
“Love?” He scoffs with an ugly laugh. “You don’t fucking love me, and don’t even try to claim that you do,” he says while reaching into the fridge for another beer. “No one would ever write that about the person they love.”
“Silas, I didn’t write—”
“You fucked me, took what you wanted, and left me bleeding,” he says, his voice growing angrier. “Was it worth it?” He tips his beer back and chugs.
For the third time, I say, “I didn’t write that—”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Ollie,” he yells and slams his beer on the counter next to his empty can. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Before you turned in your article, three fucking people knew about Sarah cheating on me.” He holds up three fingers. “Me, Sarah . . . and you.”
“Well, did you ask Sarah? Maybe she said something.”
“She came up to me, horrified because her life has drastically changed. She’s getting harassed, about to lose her job, and her name is being dragged through the mud. She wouldn’t have done that to herself.”
“And you believe her?”
He takes a step forward. “Why the fuck would she damage her image to make you look better to your boss?”
It’s a good point.
“You’re out of options, Ollie. You sure as hell know it wasn’t me who said anything. No one else knew, so tell me again how this is not your fault.”
I can’t.
I have no answers for him.
No reason as to why or how this happened. I’m just as confused as he is.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Silas.”
He shakes his head. “Get the fuck out of here. Leave your key on the table.”
“Silas, please. Just give me a second to figure this all out. I can talk to Roberts and see what happened.”
“What the fuck do you not understand when I say get out of here?” he asks, yelling. He flings his arm toward the door. “Leave. You’re dead to me, Ollie.”
“Silas . . . you don’t—”
“Leave!” he yells. “Now. Get the fuck out of my life.”
And with that, he walks toward his bedroom without looking back. And I know, that’s the last time I’m going to see him.
That’s the last time I’ll talk to him.
There’s no coming back from this.
A sad, heartbreaking reality I’ll have to face.
* * *
Ollie: Five minutes and counting.
Ross: How do you feel?
Ollie: Nauseous.
Ross: You can do this.
Ollie: The only reason I’m doing this is so I have answers.
Ross: I know. You’ve got this, Ollie.
“Mr. Roberts will see you now.”
I tear my eyes off my phone and lightly smile at Roberts’s assistant as I stand up. “Thank you,” I say before pushing through Roberts’s glass doors and straight into his office, where I find him typing away on his computer.
“Miss Owens, is this about the email I sent you?” he asks, eyes still on the computer.
“No,” I say as I sit in one of the chairs across from his desk. “I was hoping to speak to you about the article.”
He moves his mouse around, clicks a few times, then finally gives me his attention. “What about it?” he asks. “It’s picked up a lot of traction. I’d think you would be happy to see your name everywhere.”
One would think.
“Well, there was a part in the article that I didn’t write, and I was wondering where it came from.”
“What part in particular?” he asks as he presses two fingers to his temple.
“The part where it talks about Silas and how his girlfriend cheated on him.”
“Ah, well some changes were made in the editing process. It probably was added then.”
“Added? That’s what everyone is talking about. How can you be so casual about it being added in there when I didn’t write it, but my name is on the article?”
He picks up a pen from his desk and tilts his head to the side, silently studying me. “Do you have a problem with the article, Miss Owens?”
Nerves flit through me as I slowly gulp. I don’t want to make him mad, but I also want to get to the bottom of this.
“I do.” It feels like my internal organs are shaking from his stern look. “You see, that information about Silas was private. It should never have been available to the public.”
“Private?” he says. “Funny, because my source heard you talking about it with your friend.”
“Talking about it? I never—” I pause, my mind flashing to my lunch with Ross, where I accidentally told him.
“I can tell from your expression you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“That was . . . that was accidental,” I say. “That wasn’t public information.”
“You should know anything said out loud is public information, Miss Owens. Or have you not learned that in your years studying to be a journalist?”
“But who . . . how . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” Roberts says. “The information was brought to me, and I thought it was an integral element of our article that was missing. Frankly, it was boring up until that point.”
“But you can’t do that,” I say, growing angry. “You can’t just change my article like that.”
“Yes, I can. It’s in the contract you signed when you first joined the company. I can change anything you write. And I did.”
“But that messed up my relationship with Silas. You . . . you hurt us.”
“Are you looking for an apology?” he asks, a maniacal smile passing over his lips.
“I’m looking for some decency,” I say. “Good God, where’s your integrity? You’re talking about a man’s private life here, one that’s being dragged through the mud.”
“You’re talking about the same thing that happens to every professional athlete and celebrity out there. They’re in the limelight, and they know the consequences. They get paid a lot of money, so their private lives are fair game.”
“No, it’s not. They’re humans. You shouldn’t have the right to destroy someone based on the narrative you believe is correct in your head.”
“Are you telling me how to run my business? A college student, really, Miss Owens?” He tosses his pen on the table and then folds his hands together. “I suggest you stop and think about what you’re saying to me.”
“I know exactly what I’m going to say to you.
” I stand from my chair and say, “You’re a pathetic man who has made millions bashing other people’s lives.
You’re a sorry excuse for a human, and I truly hope that when it’s your time, karma comes back to bite you so hard in the ass your mustache falls right off. ”
His jaw ticks, and he stands as well. “That was a mistake, Miss Owens.”
“What are you going to do? Fire me?” I ask. “I already quit. I will not subject myself to a man who deems it suitable to pry in other’s lives to fulfill some farsighted Napoleon complex you’re embodying.”
“You think this conversation will remain within these walls?” He shakes his head and then presses his finger into the desk in front of him. “I’ll make sure you never get a job within this industry. You can count on that.”
“If that’s what’s going to make you sleep better at night, then go ahead. I don’t give a fuck. You’re a tiny man with a fat ego. I feel sorry for you.”
“You won’t get credit for this internship. Insubordination.”