Dirty Headlines

“Steve, I know you like a good gossip. Can you follow that up?” Kate was already texting her source.

“Sure. North or South?” He scratched his head with the tip of his pen.

The silence that followed his question almost made my ears bleed. He thought there were strip clubs in North Korea?

That was it.

I was done.

“Out of my newsroom. Now.”

“But—”

“Another word, and you won’t be working anywhere on this street for the rest of your life.”

“I just—”

“Manhattan.”

“Mr. Laurent! I—”

“You’ve just been blacklisted in the entire city of New York.”

“Please!”

“Correction: state.”

“I didn’t…” Steve darted up from his chair with his arms stretched wide, looking left and right for support. Unfortunately for him, he’d managed to piss off my entire staff in the two months he’d been here.

“Steve, you are on the verge of metaphorical deportation. What’s not to understand? Get the hell out. Humphry, you’re replacing him as a slightly less junior reporter starting two minutes ago. And since Jessica is hard on the Wall Street item, you’re taking over the pop star coverage.”

The only thing I had in mind was to get someone with a functioning brain to write me the report, and fast, because all my reporters were drowning in work, and Steve obviously couldn’t scratch his own head without cutting it off. I didn’t favor her in any way because I wanted into her pants. I also knew she would die before getting ahead in the game by giving head.

Steve growled, throwing his hands in the air and stalking out of the conference room. He collected his crap from his station and dumped his employee card in the trash can by the door, which was technically against the company rules, but didn’t put a damper on the fact I’d finally gotten rid of him.

“Me?” Jude looked up, her green-brown-golden irises dilating. It was excitement, I think, and it made me so fucking hard I was surprised I didn’t tilt up my side of the table.

“Jessica will help you with whatever you need.”

Jessica nodded, squeezing Judith’s hand. “Of course. I’m here for you, JoJo.”

JoJo shot up from her seat. “I will not let you down, sir.”

I know, and hell if that doesn’t make me harder than an oak tree.

I was so used to people fucking up that having someone constantly step up their game was a disappointment in itself. She was the kind of good I’d only seen one person exhibit proudly. And that was Camille.

Fuck. Where did that come from?

“Back to work, everyone.” I collected my things and opened the glass door, motioning for people to leave. I expected Judith to do what they all did when I promoted them. Stop. Thank me. Melt into a puddle at my feet. Alas, Miss Humphry merely passed me on her way back to her station, not sparing me so much as a glance.

In a moment of madness, I decided to go the stupid route and touched her back ever-so-briefly. She turned around, cocking an eyebrow.

“Tomorrow. Lunch.” The room was empty, so why did it feel like I was suggesting I ravage her on James Townley’s desk during primetime, tinting her ass red with my open palm?

“I’ll be busy,” she said flatly.

“This will be a professional meeting regarding your new position.” Probably should have started with that. Idiot.

“And I will still be busy. Whatever you need from me, I am happy to talk about it right here, in the office. Now, I have an assignment to do. Will that be all, sir?”

I let her walk away, briefly wondering when the tables had turned. She’d started as a nameless dirty fuck, and had somehow dug her way out of that compromising position. The girl who’d stolen from me was now getting a promotion, getting me to do my own dry cleaning, and sassing back.

Yeah, I don’t think so.

Jude grabbed her phone and started dialing, already flipping her recorder on and connecting it to her cell.

“Hello, my name is Jude Humphry, and I’m a reporter at LBC’s Daily Newsnight. I’m calling about the unfortunate and untimely death of Sung Min Chae…”

I looked down, and I was still hard.

I think I’d changed my mind about Chucks after all.

She deserved a few more fucks before I stopped giving any about her.



“Go shorty, it’s your item.

We gonna party like it’s your item,

And you know we don’t give a fuck it’s actually Kate’s item…”

Grayson was twerking on his stool by the bar, sipping his Bacardi and generally acting like a cheerleader in a horror flick mere seconds before she gets chopped into lamb kabobs. Ava knocked back her third martini, fluffing her thick black curls and staring at me from behind the rim of her empty glass. They were both celebrating my first real journalistic accomplishment. Even when I’d pointed out that someone had died and maybe we should hold off the celebrations, they weren’t convinced.

“That pop star tried to rape a chick,” Gray pointed out. “We are allowed to celebrate.”

“Sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Ava quirked a brow. “You look a little pale.”

We were at Le Coq Tail across the street from the office. I was dying for that roast beef sandwich. In reality, I was drinking a glass of tap water and faking a headache, because I couldn’t afford anything more, and maybe it was my poor girl’s pride, but I couldn’t stomach anything Ava and Gray were going to pay for, even though I knew they’d be delighted to treat me after I’d successfully fulfilled my first assignment.