28. Emma
TWENTY-EIGHT
Emma
“Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you?” Julia asks, double-parking in front of Golden’s headquarters. Olivia sticks her head between the front seats and nods excitedly. “Harrison’s got Matt covered.”
Both of them deserve some credit. Olivia’s kept her cool after finding out about my real job. I’m sure she’s created a new note where she’s jotting down everything she wants to ask me, but for now she’s behaved.
Yesterday was a nightmare. ‘Spiraled’ feels generous. Not hearing from Matt wrecked me. Julia my voice of reason, kept me grounded long enough to finally put myself in his shoes.
Imagine going out with the person you’ve been into for two years, only to accidentally discover it might’ve all been a ruse.
So yeah. I knew exactly what I had to do.
I’ve overlooked some questionable behavior at Golden during my time here. It’s why I only get along with Kate and a handful of editors. The rest of the pack couldn’t care less what they write, as long as their paychecks clears.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure them. “Martha’s the one who should be worried.”
They start cheering so loudly half the street turns to stare as I get out of the car. I give everyone a dramatic bow, then head inside.
I debriefed Kate on the way over. She’s on lookout duty, making sure Martha stays put—and she’s taking it very seriously. A few minutes after I text her, my phone buzzes repeatedly.
Kate
Prey is secured.
Sent her a decoy article. Outdated references. Four aggressively incorrect then/thans.
There’s no way she’ll be mad at you after that.
Martha’s feelings are the last thing I’m concerned with. I don’t do well with threats. Any hesitation I might’ve had twelve hours ago went out the window when I saw Matt’s message this morning. If he’s not giving up, neither am I.
I’ll admit, the anger’s been building. But it’s sharp, focused. Keeping me from falling apart. The kind you wish you had mid-argument, when your brain goes offline and you can’t think of any good comebacks. Well… I’ve got all the comebacks this time.
The walk through the office does the rest. Kate gives me a thumbs up from her vantage point behind the printer. Martha flips through last week’s issue like she’s completely unbothered. All while turning my life upside down.
I don’t knock on the door. Her head snaps up, eyes locking on mine. She leans back, holding her pencil between her fingers as if it were a cigarette.
“Emma,” Martha says, with a plastic smile. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Good. I bet she has.
“After what you pulled yesterday,” I scoff, “you should be surprised I showed up at all.”
She narrows her eyes. We both know I don’t go down without a fight. It’s why she played this the way she did.
“I thought you needed a little… how should I put it?” Martha taps the pencil against her lips. “Encouragement. Guidance, maybe.”
“Encouragement?”
“You were getting too comfortable,” she says, eyes dropping back to the magazine. “Too soft. We can’t have that from a gossip columnist.”
This is unbelievable. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen when I came in here, but it certainly wasn’t this. Not someone this high up being so blunt about the kind of work she delivers to her readers.
“Right,” I spit. “Except… this wasn’t for the column, was it?”
“Oh, darling. Why do you think I picked you if not for the fact that you know your way around those movie stars?”
I turn around to compose myself. Kate’s gaze meets mine through the glass. She gives me a small, encouraging nod.
“You got this,” she mouths.
Count to three. Deep breath. I got this.
“You leaked something I didn’t write.”
“I had to move things along,” she says, like it’s nothing. “Did you expect me to sit on a feature this big until you decide to turn it into something decent?”
“I expected you not to lie,” I growl. “Not only that, but you made it look like it came from me.”
“I didn’t lie. My employee, Emma Miller, is the journalist assigned to that article. Deliver what the headline promised, and there will be no deception.”
Martha’s got to be pulling my leg. Because—
“What about the actual article, Martha?” I snap. “That headline is not what happened. Writing anything else means sacrificing the integrity we’re supposed to have as journalists.”
“You’re always so strict on yourself, Emma. It’s about time you start softening those edges,” she says, like she’s offering advice. “It’s why you’ve been stuck for so long. And why it will stay that way, unless you deliver what I asked for.”
My body stills at her ultimatum. I never put this past her but hearing her say it makes me understand that this article was never a steppingstone in my career. It was a test.
Martha wanted to see if I was finally going to fit into her mold, if I would twist and turn a story for her.
For years I thought as long as I stuck to the truth I’d be okay, but it turns out I was just lucky.
I skimmed the surface. If I’d have dug deeper like I did with Matt, I’m sure I would’ve found most of them were not that bad.
“What happens if I don’t, huh?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. “If I turn in the same draft again?”
“Then I’ll find someone else willing to take it on.”
“Someone willing to lie?”
“No, Emma. Someone willing to succeed.” Martha shrugs. “Why do you even care so much? Matt Hunt is the most manufactured man in Hollywood. Shallow. No different from the rest. I’m sure he played a perfect role while you were around. Got you eating right out of his hand.”
This is exactly what fake press does. Makes us forget these people are someone’s kids. That they feel things. They struggle, just like the rest of us.
“You’re wrong. There’s not a hair on that man that’s shallow,” I shoot back. “Matt’s so much more than what you’re trying to box him into. It’s funny, because you don’t even know him.”
“We get it, darling. You have a crush, but this is your job,” she replies. “I don’t need to know him. And if you want to keep doing what you do, neither do you.”
Fuck this.
Mentally, I’m already done. I’d rather sleep in Julia’s basement and work flipping burgers than keep writing for this woman.
This place was never going to make me the journalist I actually want to be.
In Martha’s eyes, though, I pivot. If I’m going out it’s going to be on my own terms. I might not be able to save my career, but I can still salvage Matt’s.
“Fine,” I say, like I’m folding. “I’ll fix the article. New draft will be in your inbox tomorrow morning.”
She relaxes, and gives one solid, satisfied clap.
“Wonderful. That’s what I like to hear!”
My mouth pulls tight, but I force a smile anyway. She’s right where I want her.
“Would you like me to stay in the office, or can I work from home?”
She waves a hand around, dismissing me.
“Darling, I don’t care. Just deliver.”
The Jeep’s still double-parked outside where I left them fifteen minutes ago, except now, the girls are holding iced coffee and a box of donuts.
Adrenaline is pumping. I never took Adderall as a kid, but I imagine this is what it feels like. There’s direction. My plan’s in motion.
I slide into the passenger seat and take a long sip. I deserve it after keeping it together. Olivia shoves a strawberry-sprinkled donut at me, and I tear off a bite.
“I’m not fired,” I mumble, around the donut. “I will be tomorrow.”
They both gasp, then freeze.
“You might want to brace yourselves,” I say, swallowing. “I made a split-second decision in there and I can’t undo it.”
“I want to follow,” Julia says slowly, “but I’m really not.”
“Martha told me, straight to my face, that if I don’t write the article she wants, she will find someone else who’s willing to lie for her.”
“Cool. Your pick is between you trashing Matt, or one of your peers doing it… Either way, he’s pretty much fucked,” Olivia reasons.
I nod. That was the thought process that led me here.
“It doesn’t have to be Matt,” I whisper, glancing around in case Martha’s sent some spies. “I go home, finish the article—everything, including sketchy practices—and publish it tonight. Before she has a chance to spin her own version.”
Julia’s already shaking her head, brows pulled tight.
“Absolutely not, Emma. You can’t burn your life down for this. How are you going to survive?”
“Thanks to you, Mom, I have savings,” I say, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’ll be okay for a month or two.”
In the back, Liv taps her fingers together like her personal world domination plan is coming to fruition.
“I have so many ideas. That Cruella de Vil is going to regret ever crossing the Millers,” Olivia growls.
“Is this really the only way?” Julia asks quietly.
“Martha leaked that headline on purpose, J. She called it ‘encouragement.’ Said the reason I’ve been stuck on The Scoop for years is because I have too many principles.”
Olivia slams her fist into her hand. “She’s forcing the narrative! We can’t allow that!”
I grab her face and plant a loud kiss on her forehead. “I’m proud to have raised such a perfect miniature me.”
“Okay… let’s say we go through with this,” Julia says, still wary. “What if no one sees it? That’s how the internet works. Then you’d be out of a job, accomplishing nothing.”
“Oh! What if we send Matt’s manager an email?” Olivia suggests, raising her hand. “I’m sure she’d want this out there.”
Matt’s career flashes through my mind. Three weeks we’ve spent together, and every moment he’s chosen honesty over image, even when it might cost him that part he was gunning for. I can’t let that get twisted into something ugly. Not by her, not by anyone.
“Could work,” I say.
“If you do this, you’re done here,” Julia repeats. “You’ll be cleaning up your desk tomorrow, sending out CVs by the end of the day.”
“I’m already done here, J.”
Something in my expression must do it, because she starts the car without another word and pulls into traffic.
“Straight to yours,” Julia says. “No time to waste. I’ll loop Harrison in when we get there, he might have some contacts we can use as well.”
For a second, I just look at them.
Blowing up my job over dinner is not your typical Monday night, and yet they’re here, without hesitation.
Matt never asked for anything in return. He never treated me like I was disposable, even when the rest of his industry and mine seem to make such a habit out of it. I have to prove that he was right to trust me.
“Okay,” I say more to myself than to them. “Let’s do it.”
We all shift into action, taking over the living room floor as our home base. Harrison stops by to drop Julia’s laptop off, and I have to be physically held back by Olivia to avoid dragging him into a full-blown interrogation.
“What about three questions?” I bargain. “Just three—”
“Concentrate,” Olivia cuts in, blocking him from view. “Matt’s not going anywhere.”
And so I do. We all do.
Julia takes control of all the photos I snapped during the past three weeks. Some staged, most candid shots that really show the man behind the mask. They look real, and her master editing skills don’t change them. It sharpens them. They’re addicting to look at.
“It’s not just me, right?” I say, peeking over her shoulder at a portrait of Matt on the boat, sunlight catching his hair. “He’s, like… objectively handsome.”
“Not just you, babe.” Julia snorts.
Olivia doesn’t look up from her screen, just gives us the slowest, most judgmental Gen Z eye roll I’ve ever seen.
She’s been neck deep cleaning up my blog, tearing it apart and rebuilding it to make it look less like Blogger from twenty years ago, and more like a professional website.
“It needs to be a serious platform,” Liv mutters. “You’re publishing something serious. People need to take one look and know it matters.”
She updates my profile picture for one Julia took last summer.
“Emma Miller isn’t anonymous anymore,” she adds. “She’s a brand now.”
The idea doesn’t necessarily have me bouncing of the walls. I never wanted to be a brand, just write about things that matter. But if this is what it takes to get heard, then put me right in the center of the public eye.
While they each take care of their respective portion, I open my draft and rewrite. I lean into honesty, but this time not just about Matt—about my job, about how press in Hollywood treats celebrities, the lack of integrity and truth.
The words come faster than I can type them. It’s not the cleanest version I could do, but it finally feels like mine.
“Can someone read this?” I ask, about half an hour later.
They both nod, shoulders brushing mine as they lean over the screen.
I watch their face as they read. Julia’s expression softens, a proud glint in her eyes. Olivia on the other hand gives me nothing. She’s scanning line by line, fact-checking my soul.
Finally, Olivia leans back.
“This is it,” she says.
“Your best investigative piece yet,” Julia agrees.
My lungs remember how to work, and I exhale loudly. The publish button stares at me. Waiting. The point of no return.
No job. No safety net. No hiding.
Only truth.