29. Emma
TWENTY-NINE
Emma
It’s gone viral?
Another buzz comes in. I’m still somewhat disoriented. The screen is flooding with notifications faster than it can keep up. There are thousands of comments, likes, and shares across all of my social media platforms. My blog entry has been read shy of a million times. It’s surreal.
The article is everywhere. People are quoting it in their own posts, debating over the ethics of celebrity press, even praising me—me—for writing such an honest piece.
It’s almost as if I accidentally started a small revolution.
A couple of the top newspapers, even the Los Angeles Times, have reached out asking for an interview.
The comments are full of experiences others have had that don’t line up with the industry narrative.
@calicoast8: I needed this. One of my closest friends is somewhat in the public eye. He’s been surrounded and attacked by fake rumors for years. It’s refreshing to finally see someone say something about it. You’ve inspired me to speak up.
This is good. I might be without a job as of today, but at least it’s making a difference. One person feels empowered, and that’s enough.
It is.
I should be happy.
Except… he’s not here.
There are no messages waiting in my inbox. No missed calls. Nothing.
Matt doesn’t owe me anything. I know that. Doesn’t stop the small, stubborn spark of hope living in my chest. The one that thought once the article was out, he’d finally see me. Without my own mask.
It’s not hard to put myself in his shoes.
I disappointed him. I lied. Maybe not in the way Martha was pushing me too, but I still lied.
Even if I never meant any harm, intentions don’t erase consequences.
And regardless of whether he forgives me, I was never going to let him take the fall for something that was a complete disregard of the truth.
There’s nothing like living through what might be one of the most defining moments of your life and realizing the only person you want to tell is the one person you can’t call.
Cruella De Vil’s soundtrack starts playing from my phone, and Martha’s name spreads across the screen. She never calls. Emails are typical. Texts are important. Calls might be executions…
Who am I kidding?
I’m definitely fired.
“I need you to come in,” Martha says as soon as I pick up.
“Good morning to you too,” I answer. Can she not fire me over the phone? Save me the commute at least.
“I expect you in my office in an hour.”
Her voice is flat, which means she’s angry but trying to hide it. She does a terrible job. If I close my eyes, I can practically see her pacing, fists clenched at her sides. The half of her hair turning white, and one of her expensive heels seconds away from becoming collateral damage.
“Am I getting fired?”
“Come in, Emma.”
The line goes dead.
My phone keeps buzzing, but none of them are him.
It’s disheartening, but I know I have to keep going. One foot in front of the other. See this through.
I don’t rush. In fact, I take my morning routine with an extra dose of care. My overalls and Vans are clean and ready to go. The cardboard box sticking out of my recycling pile gets a second life as the future home of everything currently sitting on my desk.
I never thought I’d be this calm when I’m about to lose my livelihood.
Kate’s an early riser. I already have a dozen messages waiting for me when I open our chat. I tell her to keep an eye out for incoming disaster and meet me outside.
I decide to let the internet do what it’s going to do and turn my phone off. It’s too overwhelming, and as much as I appreciate every single person who’s taking a second to engage, my mind needs a little quiet before facing Martha.
“Martha’s pissed,” Kate says as soon as she spots me in the building lobby. “Golden’s execs were waiting for her first thing this morning. Quite a spectacle, actually. Two suited men standing calmly in her office while she flapped around like a lost bird trying to defend herself.”
I chuckle, more pleased than I probably should be.
You’re not supposed to rejoice in someone else’s misery, but I can’t help loving a good dose of karma.
A little anger and stress hardly feel like enough of a consequence.
Not compared to getting fired. Except that would never happen to her.
Guess that’s the problem. The people making the rules rarely have to live by them.
“She’s going to chew me out for sure,” I say with a shrug. “I’m kind of surprised she didn’t catch on. You’d think after so many years she’d know me better.”
“The whole office had a feeling something was coming,” Kate agrees. “Can’t say they’re all supportive, though. I think some have taken it personally.”
As they should. Either you do the work, or you make shit up. There’s no secret third option. If they fall into the latter category, then they’re as much a part of the problem as Martha is.
“Honestly… I couldn’t care less.” I cross my fingers. “Let’s hope being called out forces them to take a good look in the mirror.”
Kate exhales. She gives me a smile, but it doesn’t shine like it usually does. I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.
“Have they been giving you a hard time?” I ask, the entire weight of this finally settling over me. It never occurred to me the fallout might land on people who are simply standing too close to me. And around here, everyone knows Kate’s basically the only one I get along with.
Kate shakes her head. “No, but everyone’s holed up at their desk, trying to stay clear from Martha’s wrath.”
“What’s with the frowny face, then?”
“You’re going out with a bang,” she says, “but I don’t want you to go at all.”
Our friendship hasn’t developed much outside of work, aside from the occasional dinner or night out. I always felt a bit weird about it since I spend half my time out on assignments. I never stopped to wonder whether Kate wanted more than a couple of beers a month.
She would be an excellent addition to our girl dates.
“Nothing will change around here. You’re still going to do great, and me…” I shrug. “I’ll become one of those annoyingly available friends who answer texts in under thirty seconds.”
“You already do.”
“I’ll get a cat then. Fill your inbox with pictures and unnecessary facts,” I joke. “And you’re in luck. Guess what today is.”
“Tuesday?” she asks with a frown.
“That’s right.” I swing an arm over her shoulders as we walk toward the elevator. “Taco Tuesday. Keep lunch light because congratulations, you just made dinner plans.”
Her face lights up, worry lines disappearing.
“You can tell me all about Matt,” she says with a wink. Hearing his name is enough to make me wince. “Classic enemies to lovers.”
“I don’t think I get to call him anything ‘lover’ related anymore.”
The elevator doors open on our floor and we step out. Hushed voices wrap around us the second we’re noticed. Martha stops pacing, and folds her arms over her chest, shooting Kate and me the deadliest look I’ve ever witnessed.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
“Hey,” Kate says softly, “no matter what happens here, this thing with Matt will sort itself out. That man is in love with you. And you are with him. That’s enough.”
I almost laugh. Not only do I think she’s wrong, but she’s also being so casual it sounds like she’s discussing weather. Sunny skies bring along a sure chance of reconciliation.
“Love is never enough.” I aim for lighthearted, but pain slips through. My mom loved her sister, and that wasn’t enough to keep the family from splitting. “You have to put in the work. Even when you don’t know what happens next.”
“For now,” she says, glancing toward Martha’s office, “go kick some ass.”
I nod. She’s right.
I square my shoulders. I can fall apart over Matt later, over tacos. Now I have to focus.
Martha’s voice slices through the office before I’m able to take more than three steps.
“Took you long enough.”
She’s stopped at her doorway. I walk past and take a seat.
“Was not expecting to come in today at all,” I say with a shrug.
Furious might be her middle name today, but it’s a lot less intimidating when I have nothing left to lose.
“Look, I’m going to be very clear with you, Emma.” She slams her door shut for extra audio effect. “What you did was out of line. It was risky, reckless—”
“You can criticize me all you want, Martha,” I cut her off. “It was the right thing to do, and I don’t feel one ounce of regret.”
Her face hardens, eyes narrowing.
She walks around her desk and turns her back to me.
I don’t see it happen, but I feel it. Something changes because when she faces me again, I can tell she’s trying really hard to conceal her anger.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she answers through teeth so tightly clenched I’m shocked they haven’t cracked. “Your vision was not clear when you presented it to me yesterday. But it’s an outstanding piece. Honest. Vulnerable. We love it.”
A smile starts to pull at the corners of my mouth and it’s not because I’m happy to hear not everything might be lost.
No.
Because whoever fed Martha this script deserves a raise.
This is priceless. Truly.
She looks personally offended by every word coming out of her mouth, yet she’s powering through like a true professional.
The article’s ratings must be higher than I thought. That’s the only explanation. It’s performing, and they want in on the profit. Martha would rather eat glass than compliment my integrity.
“Right. You want to republish it in the next issue.” I fold my arms and tilt my head. “Are you looking for a monetary exchange, or let me guess, I’m suddenly not fired?”
A tiny smile flickers across her face. She would love to see me gone with nothing.
“Actually, Golden wants to offer you a promotion. You’d pick your topics, we’d remain flexible on your in-office hours, and yes, we’d like to republish your article. There’s also been discussion about expanding it to include your experience writing The Scoop.”
Ah. There it is.
Now I have the full picture.
They don’t care about the article.
Or the truth.
Management is clinging to the last little bit of control they have, desperately looking for a way to survive.
Repackage the scandal. And the only thing they’ve come up with is owning their mistake.
Pretend like they didn’t realize how wrong it was until their gossip writer brought it to their attention.
“What about the column?”
“Wouldn’t be your assignment anymore.”
I scoff. “It should be cut.”
“It will go through an extensive rebranding. It will still report Hollywood news, leaving gossip as background noise.”
Nothing will change. The first couple of issues will be toned down, but eventually it’ll drift right back to where it started. This isn’t a promotion. It’s a tactic to silence me. Put me back inside the machine before I can become a bigger problem.
“Good luck with that,” I tell her. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’m not interested.”
Martha actually laughs. One sharp, disbelieving sound.
“You’re throwing away the biggest opportunity of your career over one actor?”
“No,” I say evenly. “I remembered why I became a journalist in the first place.”
Her expression hardens.
“You can’t be serious,” Martha bites back. “You made your point, Emma. Walking away from this will be a mistake.”
“I already walked away when I clicked publish.”
She starts pacing again. When I turn to leave, she follows me out the door.
“You will have my resignation letter in your inbox tonight.”
“No need!” she yells. “You’re fired!”
Heads pop up from cubicles, all staring wide-eyed at her. No one dares to even whisper a word. I don’t turn back.
For a moment, it feels like I’ve been carrying something heavy around for years, and someone finally took it off my shoulders. It doesn’t last long before another settles in its place.
Professionally? I’ll figure it out. I always do.
Personally… there’s nothing left to do. I told the truth, I protected him, and I put everything on the table. Whatever Matt decides isn’t up to me anymore.
I have no plan.