ReturnThe Observerto the beacon of excellence that led me here.
Despite the dozen desks separating us across the bullpen, I have a clear view of Sterling.It’s impossible not to take advantage of that, watching as he works, head down in a shroud of concentration, his sleek black suit as imposing as the man wearing it.
Sterling Ross.Tall, dark-haired, and dangerous—at least to my self-control.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve willed myself to walk over and ask what he’s working on.Hoping he’ll want my insight or that there’s a lead I can chase for him.
Anything to get my foot in the door.
I’ve never wanted to work in Lifestyle, unless it was to investigate shady practices of skin care companies who promised fountain-of-youth-level rejuvenation while rebranding harsh chemicals as “newfound minerals” your body was deficient in.
Meanwhile, the only consistent thing people are deficient in is the money these unscrupulous organizations will lie to take from you.
Two years on, and I’m not sure I’ve achieved anything.
It would be easy to let it stop me, but I refuse to back down.There are too many tales of corruption, too much greed smothering the world in shades of gray.I won’t stop until I’ve restored color.
“Mia!”Monica’s voice stills the entire floor.My heart jumps into my throat.“My office—now.”
Monica doesn’t do courtesy or hand-holding.She expects you to know what she wants, when she wants it, which means I need to have my butt in that chair ASAP.
It makes her a great editor, but a brutal boss.
Andy smirks from his desk in the corner as I cross the floor to her office, smiling with the glint of a man who is seconds away from offering unsolicited advice.God, he loves it when he’s not the one in the firing line.
I make a point of staring him down as I close the glass door behind me.He looks away first.
It’s the little things really.
Monica taps her foot, and I turn around.
“Sit.”
I do.
“How are you?”
I freeze.Monica never asks how anyone is.Monica doesn’t care about our personal lives.
Anxiety eats away at my empty stomach, pinching the nerves behind my eyes.I’m going to get a stress headache—I’m sure of it.
Why did I have to stop for coffee?If it hadn’t been for Lucky and his damn smile, I would have been here, and Monica wouldn’t be asking mehow I am.
I don’t bother with excuses.She never has any time for them.
“I can’t apologize enough for being late today.There’s no excuse; it was unprofessional, and I’ll do better.”
Her blonde hair is gelled back in a tight bun.My head throbs with sympathy pains while she pins me with her small, cold eyes.“How would you say you’re performing here?”
I straighten and tuck my feet further under my chair, out of her view.“Well?”Shit, that shouldn’t be a question.“I’ve always submitted work thoroughly proofed and on time, and I’ve never turned down any assignment you gave me.”Including many I wish I had.“I’ve also never taken leave or asked to be reimbursed over the limit of what I’m allowed to spend, even if an article required it.”
Monica’s lips purse.That doesn’t have to be a bad sign.It’s no secret she isn’t my biggest fan; she’s always the first to remind me of how young and inexperienced I am.
It’s a wonder she hired me, to be honest.
I start to squirm under her assessing gaze.If she ever needed a career change, she could take up interrogation.Those icy-blue eyes could pry war crimes out of a dictator.
Clearing my throat, I add, “I also had a suggestion.Um, I thought now would be a good time to promote local charities, and I could even speak with the new mayor to get an endorsement.”
