Page 66 of Rush
“They want to push you out because they’re afraid of what other people think. Nobody wants to take a risk these days in case they get a three star or less review on Amazon. Stick with the status quo? It’s all bollocks. If I’ve learned anything these past few years after all the shite I’ve gone through, it’s that you should never go down without a fight. Even if you know you’re going to crash and burn…burn brightly.”
I stared at him, my mind beginning to tick over. I felt the fires of inspiration burning underneath the surface, the thought of reclaiming the parts of myself that had withered was suddenly an exciting prospect.
All this time, I’d been fighting pointless battles. Margaret’s blackmailing, a career that had only chewed me up and spat me out, a fake fiancé with a wandering dick… It was all pointless.
The only thing I should’ve been fighting for was the forgiveness and love of Ryan Harper. It was time to let go of everything—who I thought I was, and who I’d wanted to be—and let all those other moronic fuckers win their pointless battles because at the end of it all…I would win the war.
She’s gotta be real…His words that night at the club came back to me with startling clarity.
“She’s gotta be real,” I murmured.
“Real is a good place to start,” Brian said.
Blinking, I smiled, my body humming as an idea began to form in the back of my mind. I had one number I could call, and it had nothing to do with clawing my way back into my old profession. Nothing at all. That number was all about the truth.
“Thanks, Brian,” I said, rising to my feet. “You said exactly what I needed to hear.”
He nodded and watched in amusement as I practically ran from the kitchen and into the elevator.
It was time to tell my side of the story. It was time to stop letting people walk all over me. It was time toburn brightly.
If I lost everything, at least I would be free. Free of Hunter and his poor attempts at love, free of Margaret and her toxicity, and free of all expectations on the rich and powerful social ladder. Finally, truly and utterlyfree.
When the elevator opened up on the ground floor, I powered through reception and outside. Crossing Flinders Street and weaving through the masses of slow walkers going to and from the train station, I darted over Swanston Street and found a spot to sit on the stairs at Federation Square. Opening the contacts on my phone again, I found the number I was looking for and put in the call.
“Hello?”
“Kevin,” I said. “It’s Jade Forsyth.”
Kevin Merritt was a journalist at one of Melbourne’s most prominent newspapers, theHerald Sun. I’d known him for years on and off. We used to kick around at University a bit before we all grew up and went our separate ways on the career ladder. We’d remained friends since, and he’d helped me out from time to time with an in at the paper. He was gold at getting their arts section to report on my authors around release time. Even my steamy romances had some air time over the latest literary snob sensation with his help. Hopefully, he would be all over my current proposal…despite Margaret’s blackmail photograph going viral.
“Jade,” Kevin replied. “I’ve been hearing and seeing interesting things about you.”
“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.”
He grunted. “For someone who’s had their misfortune circulated around the country, you sound pretty excited.”
“Misfortune?” I asked. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“I was being polite.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Jade. Someone’s really got it in for you.”
“Margaret Anastas,” I declared.
“You’re kidding? I thought you were friends?”
“So did I. Anyway, that’s why I’m calling. How would you like the story of the year? Hell, the story of the decade.”
“I’m not getting involved in your back and forth,” he said quickly. “I’m not a gossip columnist, Jade. I’m a journalist. Shit, I’ve had front pages. I even had a piece picked up by theNew York Times. I’m not going to do a report on gossiping rich bitches and their made-up hearsay.”
“Bloody hell, Kev,” I exclaimed. “It’s not like that at all. I want to tell a story, an honest story, from start to finish, and I want you to be a part of it. Just hear me out, okay?”
Silence, then, “I’m listening.”
“Have you ever seen that movieNever Been Kissed?” I asked. “The one with Drew Barrymore?”
“Jade, I’m too refined to watch romcoms.”
“Ha! You do know it! Then you’ll know the bit at the end where she bares her heart and soul to the entire city in a feature piece in theChicago Sun-Timesin hopes the hot school teacher will see.”
