Page 6 of Grizz

I slide my notebook into my bag and make my way toward the back exit before someone ropes me into a conversation about who’s wearing what and why it matters.

It doesn’t.Not tonight.

The cool New York night air outside is a relief.I’m halfway to the curb, already imagining how I’ll write the piece.The angle, the subhead, the slow build toward that final question about Vietnam.This one matters and the facts are there.

All I need is time and a word count.

My phone buzzes, and I smile when I see the name of my boss and mentor illuminate the screen.Miranda Pitts.“Hey.I was just about to call you—I think I might’ve gotten a great scoop tonight.”

“How did it go?”she asks, all business with a sharp tone.

“Better than I could’ve hoped, and—”

“Well,” she snaps, cutting me off, “that’s exactly the opposite of what I’ve heard!”

I stop walking.“What?”The line is silent.“What do you mean?”I ask, slower this time, like maybe I misheard her.

Miranda exhales and the sound crackles in my ear.“I’ve gotten eight messages in the last ten minutes.Three from Giancarlo’s PR team, four from industry insiders, and one from a woman on the New York Fashion Council who happens to be friends withContour’s CEO.They’re furious, claiming you ambushed Giancarlo and that you turned a fashion Q&A into a press tribunal.”

“Because I asked about labor violations?”I say, still standing frozen on the curb.“Because I asked a follow-up?”

“Because you turned it into a scene, Daisy.”

“I didn’t turn it into anything.I asked a question with receipts behind it—dates, closures, sourcing issues.You told me to dig, to find the story, and I found it.”

“And I told you to be strategic, not set yourself on fire in public.”

I blink hard, my heartbeat spiking.“So what, I’m just supposed to nod along while Giancarlo spins fairy tales about ethical production, when we both know he’s laundering his labor through ghost facilities?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It’s exactly what you’re saying.”

There’s silence on the other end.Not long, but long enough to confirm it.“You’ve got talent,” she says finally.“You’re smart.Brave.But you’re not at a place in your career where you can afford to burn bridges.”

“I’m not trying to burn bridges,” I say, desperately trying to remain composed.“I’m trying to hold those in charge accountable.”

There’s a long pause on the other end.Not the kind filled with thought—the kind filled with inevitability.“I just can’t take any more risk right now,” Miranda says, her voice quieter.Almost tired.

My heart skips.“What are you saying?”

Another pause.“I have to let you go.”

I hear the faint trickle of a fountain down the block.I feel as though I’ve misheard her.Misunderstood what she said.“You’re firing me?”

“I’m doing what I have to,” she replies.“This Giancarlo fallout is already louder than it should be, and I’ve been fielding calls since the second your question hit social media.Daisy, this isn’t about your talent.It never was.But I can’t protect you anymore.And I can’t afford the blowback.We’ve talked about this several times over the last few months.We discussed this when I sent you to the Paris show last month and you brought up the environmental issues that threw everyone into a tizzy.”

The ground drops a few inches under me.“Miranda, please.It was my mistake—”

“Timing, Daisy.Timing matters.Timing is survival in this industry.You walked into a combustible space with a lit match and now you’re surprised it caught fire.”

“I thought that was the job,” I whisper.“To start fires where no one wants to look.”

“You can’t sustain this approach, though, Daisy, especially while you’re still climbing.”

I close my eyes, fighting off tears.“I don’t even get a warning?”

“Paris was your warning.There is no room for error in this job.It’s about relationships and trust,” she says.“The world you’re trying to challenge doesn’t want to be exposed.Not by someone who still needs its approval.”