Page 23 of Pride
“I didn’t write any of that article. It wasn’t just edits. It was a complete rewrite.”
He huffed a smile, then gave me a stomach-churning grin.
“It got you noticed, though. Didn’t it?”
“Yes!” I snapped. “By what I can only assume is a psychotic artist who wants to use my blood for his next performance.”
Mr Gold jerked his head back slightly like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said.
“Really?” he tilted his head in question. “Why? What’s happened?”
I let out a breath and clasped my hands together in my lap to keep my nerves steady as I told him, “I had an email. A threatening email from the artist.”
Mr Gold’s eyebrows hit his non-existent hairline in surprise.
“Wow. You should print that off. It could be worth some money. Or better yet, let’s use it in an article for the next issue.”
“I’m not using it for anything other than to clear my name,” I barked back.
“What does it say?” He lifted his chin, waiting for me to respond.
I cleared my throat.
“That I’ve made the top of his shit list and that after he’s finished with me, no one will know who I am.”
Mr Gold threw his head back and laughed.
“But he knows who you are now. Damn, Emma. You’ve had an email from a famous artist. An artist who never shows his face and doesn’t speak to anyone. If I were you, I’d write back.Engage him. Can you imagine the scoop if we find out who he is? Exposing S.K.A.M. could get us that golden ticket to the big time.”
I noticed he said us not me. But that was by the by.
“I’m not engaging him. I won’t reply.”
“Why not?”
“Because he threatened me!”
“Rubbish,” Mr Gold rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of ridicule. “You should be thankful you got a response. That article really hit the spot.”
“And the next spot to hit could be on my forehead, right between my eyes, if something isn’t done about this.”
Mr Gold shook his head, and then started tapping away at his keyboard, focusing solely on his computer screen. I thought maybe he was trying to locate some document online to assist me, or perhaps he was typing his own email out to H.R. to ask for their recommendations in the matter. But when he said, “Just delete it, if it bothers you so much. Those creative types are always sensitive. He saw a shitty review and wanted to take it out on someone. It won’t amount to anything, though. Forget about it. I have.” And he carried on typing, his obvious disinterest telling me he clearly had no intention of helping me.
I sat for a moment, dazed. Expecting something to change.
I don’t know why.
I should’ve expected this.
But when Mr Gold announced, “I have work to do. Please leave my office.” I stood up, feeling horrified by his complete lack of empathy, but at a loss for what else I could do. Then I turned and walked right out of there.
I wanted to slam his door, but I managed to restrain myself. I slammed it in my head, though. I did a lot of things to quell my frustration in my head.
Sitting back at my desk, I started to scowl at my screen.
Should I delete it?
Was it just a fragile ego lashing out, like Mr Gold had said?
