Page 144 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

“But even you only hired me because Dave sent you my articles,” I counter.

He leans forward and steeples his hands under his chin. “He might have sent them to me, but I still read them and they’re still some of the most insightful music journalism to come out of San Francisco in years. I was honored to read them and offer you your spot here.”

There’s a buzzing noise from the speaker on his desk, and he rolls his eyes before pushing the talk button. “Yes?”

“Mister Lewis, I have those reports for you, shall I bring them in?”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise at the familiar snarky tone from the speaker.

He looks at me and nods. “Yes, bring them in please.”

The door opens a moment later, and in walks the secretary from months ago with a stack of papers clutched to her chest. For a moment she doesn’t seem bothered by us. “So sorry, sir, I didn’t realize you were in a meeting—”

But then her eyes lock on mine, and her face drains of itscolor. Her mouth hangs open and a wave of quiet rage settles into my skin.

“Eliza, there appears to have been a very unfortunate misunderstanding,” Harold says.

She blinks a few times, then turns toward her boss with wide eyes. “Sir?”

Lewis leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his chest absently. “Did you, or did you not tell me that Miss Rodriguez called you to say that due to an unfortunate turn of events, she would not be able to continue her placement with us?”

“I—I—” she stutters, beads of sweat breaking out over her forehead. I wonder briefly if she’ll try to deny it. Blame it on me. That I really did call and drop the project. That I’m only here now because I changed my mind and am trying to pass the blame. But nothing prepares me for the cold determination that takes over her face. “Sir, I did what I thought was best for the magazine.”

His brows lift, obviously also expecting her to deny her involvement. “Best for the magazine?” he asks.

She steps forward. “Earwormhas been a pillar of the music entertainment industry for over three decades,” she says in a shrill tone. “When I saw that—that . . . filthy photo of her in theChronicle, I knew that if we kept her on it would ruin us! The reputation of the magazine would be tarnished forever!”

“The magazine would fail because a gossip column with outdated morals published an article about a young woman? While illegally using a photosheowns?”

“They’ll think we’re a joke, sir,” she whispers harshly. “When I was made aware of this woman’s complete lack of respect for the noble art of journalism, I had no choice.”

“How exactly did I disrespect journalism?” I ask, cutting off Harold before he can reply.

She stands up straight, lifting her nose in the air to speakdown to me. “I hardly think you can call yourself a professional while sleeping with a devil-worshiping rock band.”

My knuckles crack as I grip the chair.

“Then to take a photograph like that—it’s abhorrent.”

“Look, lady,” Dave cuts in. “Not that I care about your opinion, but what year are you living in? Journalists aren’t celebrities. Who would even make the connection between that garbage article in theChronicleand the masterpiece that Isabella would provideEarwormwith?”

“I would know!” she shrieks.

“Eliza,” Harold pleads. “I’m sorry, but—you didn’t even discuss this with me and—”

“None of my other decisions have ever caused a problem,” she says with a smug smile.

The three of us look at each other.

“You—you’ve made decisions for the magazine before?” he probes.

She blinks, then tries to backtrack. “I mean . . . nothing like this—I . . . uh . . .”

Harold sighs deeply. “Eliza, I’m sorry, but this discriminatory behavior is not acceptable. The fact that you would do this without discussing it with myself or another superior . . . I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go. Please have your things removed by the end of the day.”

“You—you can’t do this!” she screams. “I am trying to save this magazine!”

“Actually,” Harold interrupts, “I now have an inkling as to why we can’t seem to get any new blood to stay on. I expect you to turn in the draft that Miss Rodriguez faxed over before your telephone conversation—”

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