Page 229 of My Italian Love Affair

He turns and picks something up from the desk beside him. It's rectangular, black, with gleaming silver lettering that catches the light as he places it on the surface in front of me.

It takes me a second to realise what I'm looking at.

A nameplate.

Daphne Sinclair, Senior Sports Correspondent.

My mouth hovers open, though it’s a struggle to form words.

"What… what is this?"

"Exactly what it says on the tin." Richard straightens and clasps his hands together. "The position's yours if you want it. Permanent. Full-time. Here in Rome."

My heart thuds against my ribcage.

"Permanent?"

"Yep." He rocks back on his heels. "The board signed off on it last night. Figured it was the easiest way to keep things stable after all the drama with Chapman. You're a woman, which is a huge bonus. You’re already familiar with the team, the league and the setup here; plus your name has gotten us so much traction online with the Rossi interviews. Made sense to lock you in."

I blink at the nameplate again.

Senior Sports Correspondent.

It’s more than just a job title.

It’s a step up - a massive one at that.

No more being a junior. No more chasing after celebrity gossip or writing filler pieces about footballers' familyholidays.

This is the kind of role I’ve worked my ass off to get towards - the kind of role that traditionally takes a lot more time and experience to reach.

I should be thrilled.

Overjoyed, even.

But all I feel is a jarring mix of disbelief and uncertainty.

"I don't… I don't know what to say," I manage.

"Take your time." Richard checks his watch with a sigh. "I mean - nottoomuch time, obviously. I need an answer before the end of the week so I can update the board. They want reassurance that you’re committed to the publication. That you won’t… you know, run your mouth like some of the others are threatening to."

My eyes snap up to his.

"You mean the women who reported Mark for sexual harassment?"

"We've got to protect the publication, Sinclair,” Richard shrugs. “I’m sure you understand."

The words leave a sour taste in my mouth.

"Anyway," he continues, brushing invisible lint from his suit sleeve. "Like I said, it's yours if you want it. Salary bump, a proper contract, the works. Just, ah - not the apartment you’re in now."

"What?"

"That place was part of the temporary assignment package," Richard says with a dismissive wave. "If you stay on permanently, you'll need to sort your own accommodation. The Tribune can’t house you indefinitely. But hey - at leastyou'll be getting paid enough to live somewhere decent."

I press my lips together to stop myself from snapping something sarcastic.

"Take a day or two to think it over," Richard says. He moves toward the door and opens it before glancing back at me with a smirk. "But like I say, don’t taketoolong. Wouldn’t want you overthinking it."

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