“I’m just enjoying the view,” I said, bobbing my head to the right.
Twyla glanced out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the Charlotte skyline loomed above. “Isn’t it a great view?” she marveled.
“It is.”
She batted her long lashes as she pulled her hand away. She was giving me that look again. The same pitiful look she’d given me when I returned to work two days after I’d called and told her I wouldn’t be able to come in because I was mentally unwell.
Somehow (probably because of Herbert), Twyla found out Cole had cheated. But I bet it was when she found out who he’d cheatedwiththat she developed pity for me. Since then, she’d been giving me sad, sympathetic looks. I couldn’t stand it. It made me feel weak and stupid, like I didn’t have a handle on my life.
“Are you doing okay?” she asked, like she’d done this morning and for the past three months.
“I’m good, Twyla. You really don’t have to keep asking me that.” I laughed it off, but I was dead serious.
“Yes, yes. Of course. So, how is the article on Cowan coming along? You’ve done great investigating on that so far.”
“It’s getting there. I’m still digging but I’m sure it’ll turn out great.”
“Good, good.”
My phone buzzed inside my clutch bag. I placed my wineglass on the nearest surface. I saw the nameZoeypop up on my screen, so I silenced the call.
“Sucks Herbert couldn’t make it,” said Twyla. “Oh—by the way, good job on that interview with the business owners of South End. Keep going at this rate and you’ll be moving up the ranks in no time.” She passed me a wink.
I couldn’t help smiling. As of that very moment, I was an investigative reporter. I worked mostly in politics, but also dabbled in city and business conflicts that happened in or around the Charlotte area. I was relieved to hear she’d liked my last one. Granted, it was a piece any junior reporter could’ve conducted, but I’d put my own spin on it. I made talking about city codes for breweries, shops, and boutiques sound like the next hot thing.
Lots of traffic made its way toPremier Dailyand I caught a comment here and there about how people loved the reports by Rose. The next step was to move up to senior reporter, have a more serious status in the company and, eventually, branch out and travel to other states for grander stories.
“Twyla!” a deep voice called.
I looked as she did at Benson Parks, the only person in the room that made me feel slightly inferior. Not even Twyla could make me feel that way. Benson was just too damn good at everything, even looking like a snack, with his warm honey-brown skin, pale green eyes, and clean-cut hair. His shirts were always fitted just right. He looked good . . . and it was clear Twyla wanted more from him than just a few stories to edit. He waved for her to come back with a smooth smile that I’m sure made my boss’s panties twist.
“I should get back over there.” Twyla placed a hand on my arm. “You know how the younger reporters get when they’ve had one too many.”
Benson was one of those younger reporters. I’d been reporting for three years more than he had, yet he was on the same level and vying for the same position I was. And they say misogyny is fading. Bullshit!
Twyla took off and I watched for a moment as she stood before him, looking into his eyes with stars in her own, nodding, grinning. My phone buzzed again. It was another call from Zoey. I’d have to call her back when I left . . . which was most likely going to be in the next ten minutes.
First, I had to pee. I polished off my wine and ventured out of the room to find the restrooms. A man and a woman brushed past me, nearly knocking me a step backward as they made their way toward the elevator. I peered over my shoulder, scowling at their backs.
Once I got to the stall, I heard giggling women enter the bathroom.
“I wish Twyla would just let her go already,” one of the women said. Through the thin slit of the stall, I saw them stop in front of the mirror.
One wore a blue dress, the other a gray one. Janna and Bree.Of course.Girls who wrote columns on fashion trends, donuts, and the best bikes to ride in the city. Newsflash, no one should ride a bike inthisfucking city unless they want to be flattened like a pancake.
“Right?” Bree said. “She’s not even that good.”
“Did you hear about her husband?” Janna said in a lower voice.
“No.” Bree gasped. “What are you talking about? Details, bitch.”
“So, I don’t know how much of this is true, but apparently, she walked in on her husbandcheatingon her. Like, right in her house, Bree. Can you fucking imagine?”
My throat thickened with a mixture of emotions.
Frustration.
Rage.