Page 69 of The Love of Priest

"You know, you shouldn't really say shit like that," Sylvia scolded her son as she walked behind him in her stilettos, desperately trying to keep up with the fast pace of Priest’s and J'Ru's walking.

Priest paid her no mind. He had his own tactics that were being played out so things could happen in his favor. Sylvia would never understand that simply due to their different mentalities.

Britain finally peeled her eyes from the screen once she saw Priest enter the doors of the courthouse, out of the jurisdiction of the reporters and photographers since they had no access without permission. Her phone rang, and for a moment, she thought it was Priest. She let out a light sigh once she noticed the caller ID name.Editor-Frankie Norwood.

Britain was praying that she hadn't let the latest deadline for the “Humans of New York” story slip her mind before answering the call. Nerves plunged down on her as she was greeted by her editor. "Demings?—"

Before the demanding and bossy woman could get anything out, Britain cut her off. "Listen, I know I've been late on a few stories, but it's been so hard to choose from the hundreds I have, along with transcribing them and?—"

"What the hell are you talking about, Demings?!" Frankie smacked her lips in her loud and authoritative voice that Britain had grown accustomed to over the years. "I need you to leave wherever the hell you are and meet Jason, the photographer, at the courthouse. I have a story for you!"

Britain screwed her face up as she tilted her head to the side. The context of the conversation had taken a turn somewhere Britain never expected it to go. She wasn't sure whether to be excited or apprehensive. "What? I don't even work forThe Timesfully."

"Demings! You said it yourself; you're interested in writing full-time for us. I stuck my neck out for you. Plus, you’re the only one I know who can deliver this story the way it's supposed to be written." Frankie was a firm believer in Britain.

She was a little rough around the edges, but the amount of admiration she had for Britain's work gave Britain so much confidence. Britain never had the opportunity to become a full-time writer forThe New York Timesbecause she really had no idea where she would fit in. Her freelance work was enough for her since she technically was never offered a contract. Britain always talked Frankie's ear off about becoming a full-time writer and reporter. However, Frankie had never believed her fit to be one until now.

It took Britain going out on a limb a few months ago to uncover a huge Ponzi scheme that was being operated out of a small financial advisor's office out in Tribeca for her to be noticed. The company was generating millions of dollars off falsified investment plans and unreturned loans. The story was far too huge for Frankie not to publish, so she did, which was what made Britain known as a great freelancer. She didn't like the name much, but it gave her some type of value in the industry. Not many of her colleagues liked Britain because they thought she was swindling herself into the pages of the newspaper and features on the website and app just by kissing Frankie's ass, but that wasn't the case. Britain's idea was genius, a real marketable one at that. “Humans of New York” was destined to bring in more traffic and readers, which was why Frankie was so sold on it. It just so happened that Britain could do far more than just transcribe a few words and snap a portrait photo of someone. Her writing was impeccable; however, no one had really given her a chance.

Britain was in deep contemplation. It didn't take many of Britain's brain cells to put two and two together to realize what story she would be fishing for at the courthouse. She had just landed herself a front-page story, and she so happened to be sleeping with the headliner on a nightly basis. Priest was the only buzzing topic right now, so she knewThe Timeswanted to be all over him. She was shocked that she, out of all people, was getting the call.

Britain cleared her throat. "Uh, what happened to Nathan? Wasn't he following the Priest Justice trial?" Britain asked out of curiosity.

"How did you know it was the Justice trial?" Frankie raised her brow with a smirk gracing her face as she leaned on the corner of her tempered glass desk.

Britain mentally face-palmed herself before regaining her composure quickly. "Just a wild guess." She shrugged. "I've been following it, though."

Frankie let out her signature laugh. "Well, now! Look how things are falling into place. I need that story sent to me as soon as the trial is over, not a minute later," she gritted. "I'll let Jason know you're on your way. He has your press pass. Don't screw this shit up, Demings!" her nasally voice that intertwined perfectly with her New York accent screeched out to Britain before the call was ended abruptly.

Staring down at her phone, Britain blinked rapidly. She had just landed herself in a sticky situation that she didn’t know how to get herself out of.

Respecting Priest's request not to go to the courthouse came with a cost. She knew Frankie would be upset enough to pull her entire “Humans of New York” column from her indefinitely if she didn't pull through on this, while going against his request came with a status boost in her career and the opportunity she had been dreaming of— a front pager!

Snapping herself out of her tugging thoughts that had officially torn her, Britain glanced down at her vibrating phone, seeing that it was a text from Frankie.

Frankie:Get there now Demings or I fucking swear to you!

Britain gulped before hastily getting herself off the couch. She sprinted to her bedroom, almost feeling as if she had caught a splinter in her foot from how quickly she jetted across her wooden floors. Raiding her closet, Britain groaned in frustration at the fact that she couldn't find anything to wear. Britain sulked in defeat.

"See, that's a sign," she settled while rolling her eyes.

To the right of her, her orbs landed on her navy-blue pant suit. Britain smacked her lips as she clutched the outfit in her hands. "How fucking ironic?" she muttered to herself. Britain dragged herself through the process of getting ready, while still managing to act fast. She was done getting ready sooner than she thought.

Now a few inches taller in her heels, Britain sauntered out of her bedroom and navigated to the front room. On the television, the news anchors were still trying to analyze Priest's coded words before he entered the courthouse. Turning the television off, Britain let out a deep sigh before swiftly grabbing her things and exiting the apartment. Once she locked up the apartment, she smoothed her hands over her attire, letting out a nervous breath. "Britain Dulce Demings," she recited to herself before striding toward her car.

Webbed in her thoughts, Britain dazed out until she arrived at the courthouse safely. While a part of her was excited and thrilled to have this type of opportunity, she couldn't help but to feel frightened, and the thought of what Priest would do once he found out she was present but wasn't standing alongside him plagued her mind.

"Maybe I didn't think this through." She shook her head, placing her key back into her ignition.

There was a knock at her window. Panicked, Britain darted her eyes up to see who it was. She let out a breath of relief once she realized it was Jason, who was scheduled to meet her with her press pass. "C'mon, Demings. Frankie will have both of our asses if you don't get the hell out of the car," he reminded her from the other side of her dark tinted window.

Britain cleared her throat before nodding. "Okay, just give me a minute," she requested.

Jason eyed her through the window before letting out a defeated sigh. He took a step back, leaning against the vehicle parked to the left of her. Britain leaned back in her seat, letting out a sigh of distress. She needed to wrap her mind around everything, but by the impatient look on Jason's face, she knew she wouldn't have enough time to do so now. Finally dragging herself out of the car, Britain made sure to grab both her phone and laptop.Jason threw his hands up in praise.

"Finally!" he let out, relieved that she had gotten out of the car. "Here's your press pass. You need to get in there? like now!" He rushed as he handed her a lanyard that was branded with big bold letters which readThe New York Times. Putting it around her neck, Britain eyed the laminated press pass that had her name labeled on it, along with her picture.

This was it.

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