One
If you’re like me,there are plenty of things you don’t like about yourself.
Take me, for example. I’m not crazy about how I chew on my fingernails when I get nervous—no matter how hard I try to break the habit.
Also, I’ve been known to splurge from time to time. You know … eat a pan of brownies when I’m stressed. Don’t judge.
The main thing I’m not crazy about right now is my profession.
That’s not entirely true. I love being able to write—and I especially love the anonymity that lets me say what I want, when I want. What I don’t love is the part where I make my living taking potshots at people.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s not like they don’t deserve it. Especially Axel Cox. The man thinks he’s a gift to the universe, and it doesn’t hurt my feelings to take him down a notch or two. Still, I never thought of myself as mean-spirited, but getting the scoop on him has turned me into exactly that.
If my parents knew what I write, they’d freak. Granted, they know I work for a secretive publication under a pen name. Butthey have no idea it’s more of a gossip column than what they would consider to be respectable journalism.
I look up from my desk as Harmony waltzes in, glossy blonde hair bouncing against her shoulders like she’s walking a runway instead of into an office.
“Good morning!” she chirps, all sunshine and sparkles.
I groan. “What’s so good about it?”
She only laughs. After depositing her designer purse and Starbucks cup—because of course it’s Starbucks—on her desk, she struts over and plops down in the chair across from mine.
Harmony’s the picture of fashion. Every outfit looks like it’s been curated by a stylist, and she’s got an effortless glow that rivals the people we writeabout atThe See. She’s our fearless leader—cheering us on and pulling things together behind the scenes. I’m one of four reporters. Our team is small and lean, but we’re effective at what we do.
“So.” Crossing one leg over the other, Harmony trails her fingers through her perfect hair. “I’ve got something you’re going to be ecstatic about.”
“Really?” I lean back. “Let’s hear it.”
“You know how everyone’s dying to know why Axel Cox split from his band?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been shaking down trees for a month, but no one’s talking.”
“Guess who just landed the opportunity of a lifetime?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Do you know Bianca Jackson?”
I search my brain. “Don’t think so.” Harmony knows everyone—or at least she thinks she does—and she assumes the rest of us do too.
“She’s Zoe Reynolds’ interior decorator.” Grinning from ear to ear, Harmony clasps her hands over one knee, showing off a candy-apple-red manicure.
I may not know who Bianca Jackson is, but you’d better believe I know all about Zoe Reynolds—Axel’s glamorous and famous blogger girlfriend. They’re often seen together at events. Zoe’s the perfect accessory—exactly the kind of eye candy a man like Axel would go for. “How does this involve me?”
She trills out a laugh. “You’re gonna love this.”
“Really? Something tells me this ‘opportunity of a lifetime’ is about to get messy.”
“You know it,” she utters in a low, bragging tone. “Bianca Jackson is helping Zoe put on a Christmas party at Axel’s house in Nashville.”
“O—kay.” I have no idea where this is headed.
She leans forward. “Guess who Bianca’s newest assistant is?”
I stare at her. “Can’t imagine.”
“You,” she trills out.
