Page 192 of Right Man, Right Time
“That was . . . that was accidental,” I say. “That wasn’t public information.”
“You should know anything said out loud is public information, Miss Owens. Or have you not learned that in your years studying to be a journalist?”
“But who . . . how . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” Roberts says. “The information was brought to me, and I thought it was an integral element of our article that was missing. Frankly, it was boring up until that point.”
“But you can’t do that,” I say, growing angry. “You can’t just change my article like that.”
“Yes, I can. It’s in the contract you signed when you first joined the company. I can change anything you write. And I did.”
“But that messed up my relationship with Silas. You . . . you hurt us.”
“Are you looking for an apology?” he asks, a maniacal smile passing over his lips.
“I’m looking for some decency,” I say. “Good God, where’s your integrity? You’re talking about a man’s private life here, one that’s being dragged through the mud.”
“You’re talking about the same thing that happens to every professional athlete and celebrity out there. They’re in the limelight, and they know the consequences. They get paid a lot of money, so their private lives are fair game.”
“No, it’s not. They’re humans. You shouldn’t have the right to destroy someone based on the narrative you believe is correct in your head.”
“Are you telling me how to run my business? A college student, really, Miss Owens?” He tosses his pen on the table and then folds his hands together. “I suggest you stop and think about what you’re saying to me.”
“I know exactly what I’m going to say to you.” I stand from my chair and say, “You’re a pathetic man who has made millions bashing other people’s lives. You’re a sorry excuse for a human, and I truly hope that when it’s your time, karma comes back to bite you so hard in the ass your mustache falls right off.”
His jaw ticks, and he stands as well. “That was a mistake, Miss Owens.”
“What are you going to do? Fire me?” I ask. “I already quit. I will not subject myself to a man who deems it suitable to pry in other’s lives to fulfill some farsighted Napoleon complex you’re embodying.”
“You think this conversation will remain within these walls?” He shakes his head and then presses his finger into the desk in front of him. “I’ll make sure you never get a job within this industry. You can count on that.”
“If that’s what’s going to make you sleep better at night, then go ahead. I don’t give a fuck. You’re a tiny man with a fat ego. I feel sorry for you.”
“You won’t get credit for this internship. Insubordination.”
“Fine,” I say as I head toward his door. “Do whatever you want. You already took away the most important thing in my life. Feel free to take away the rest.” And then I fling his door open so hard that it clashes against the wall, startling his assistant right out of her chair. “Your boss is a lying motherfucker with a tiny dick. Have fun.”
And with that, I go straight down the elevator, through the bustling hallways, and straight to my desk, where I grab my purse and fill it up with my belongings, including the picture of Silas.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Candace asks as she pops up out of nowhere. “Can’t be the article that has you all in a tizzy.”
The tone in her voice feels slimy.
Too slimy.
Like . . . like she knows something.
Slowly, I turn around and say, “That article, you don’t happen to know who edited it, do you?”
“Who do you think edited it?” she asks with a smirk. “Every article went through me.”
My nostrils flare.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
And I clutch my bag as I take a step forward so we’re nearly nose to nose. “Did you put the cheating part in the article?” I ask through clenched teeth.
As if in slow motion, Candace’s expression morphs from smug to full-on demonic as the corners of her mouth lift like the Grinch. “Roberts practically begged me to liven it up, and since you were so indiscreet, spreading your boyfriend’s dirty laundry everywhere, I thought the information was up for grabs.”
