Dirty Headlines
It was back on. And this time, I wasn’t going to let go.
“Célian?” Blu, AKA my so-called replacement as news director, scratched his curly, dandruff-ridden hair.
He was standing in my office, shuffling full boxes from side to side. I breezed right in, carrying my Starbucks and throwing two pieces of mint gum into my mouth. With all due respect—and let’s admit it, I didn’t have a whole lot of it for him, the guy was a former associate producer at a cable news channel in Nebraska—I didn’t owe him more than a brief explanation.
“Sharp on a Monday morning. I like that, Blu. Now get the fuck out of my office.” I dumped my leather briefcase under my desk and powered up my laptop.
Brianna came running from the hallway, panting out my name. “Sir! Célian! Sir! What are you doing here?”
Poor thing thought she’d gotten rid of me. I tsked. I decided to go easy on her, since I was going to have to be a little more tolerable for Jude’s sake—especially after my so-called dumping of her so publicly.
“Brianna. Good morning. Feel free to drop my items at the usual dry cleaners’. You can use the wait time to chill.” I hated that word, but it needed to be said. I also still hated doing my own dry cleaning, and I really did think Brianna could use a little down time. “But you can no longer drink on shift, unless you want your ass thrown into rehab.”
“Rehab?” she wheezed. I motioned with my hand, drinking from an invisible small bottle of liquor. She nodded and bowed her head. “Yes, sir.”
Blu and I were left alone in the room again. I crossed my ankles atop the desk, leaning back. “Well, Blu, there’s good news and bad news. Which would you like me to break first?”
The middle-aged, beer-bellied man in front of me looked down at his shoes, his chest quivering with an uneven breath. “Bad news.”
“The bad news is you will not be taking my position—not in the next few months, anyway—and the good news is that you still get a job, if you want it. And you know what the great news is?”
He looked up, and hell, the smile on his face told me he was on board. That finally, things were falling into place for me.
“What?” he asked.
“The news I am going to make in this newsroom today.”
I’d expected Mathias to blaze onto the floor and make a spectacle out of the situation. The fact that he remained silent suggested he was strategizing about how to tackle the bane of his existence, AKA yours truly. I gave him his time because I actually had work to do.
The LA people were crushed to hear I wasn’t joining them, but I invited them to send their staff to New York and promised to train their new employees. Judith ran from place to place around the newsroom, her cheeks flushed. Kate, Jessica, and Elijah seemed glad I hadn’t left, and Brianna smiled guiltily and waved her hand every time I shifted my eyes to make sure she wasn’t reaching for her top drawer to take a mini bottle out.
Five hours into our workday, while I was knee-deep in something in the newsroom, I got a phone call from the sixtieth floor.
“It’s your father.” Brianna came as close as she could, holding the corded phone in her hand.
No, it is not, and thank fuck for that.
He hadn’t even called my cell. Instead he was making a whole fucking show about it, like I knew he would.
“He wants to speak to you,” she said.
“He knows where to find me.”
“He’s asking if you can come up to his office.”
“I can’t. But he can come down. Or not. Giving a shit is not on my agenda today.”
“He said he’ll call security.” Brianna’s face was so red, for a moment I worried she might explode.
“Tell him that’s a very good idea. I’ve been thinking about getting rid of his ass for a long time now.” The room fell quiet, everybody staring at me. I nodded my chin to the phone.
“Tell him that, Brianna. You’re just following my orders. Word for word, please.”
She repeated my message to my father, wincing the entire time.
Jude appeared at my side, squeezing my biceps and looking up at me with a smile. I pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. I had a lot of damage control to do when it came to the way people perceived us as a couple in this place.
When Brianna ended the call, there was a pause, after which the entire newsroom erupted with a lengthy standing ovation. She laughed. I smirked.
When I turned around to walk back to my office, Mathias was standing at the door, waiting for me. Next to him stood my mother, fresh off of her private plane, judging by her casual clothes.
Her eyes were horrified.
I knew mine were dead.
Showtime.
“Can I offer you anything? Bourbon? Whiskey? Water? Perhaps a lie-detector?” I motioned to the mini bar in my office, my smile casual and charming—the way they’d taught me at the Swiss summer school my parents had dumped me in every year.
My mother seated herself on the couch in front of my desk, staring at her hands in her lap, and Mathias paced, pulling at his ear in a nervous tick. I was the only person in the room whose heart didn’t seem to be beating a mile a minute, and that’s because I knew something they didn’t.
“I’m so mad at James for telling you,” my mother muttered. “I was only trying to protect you, Célian. Think about the way it would have been perceived in our circle. In any circle, really. You’d have been a bastard. Your blood is blue. You are a Laurent.”