Page 4 of Pride
Yes.
Do you know how much rent costs these days?
I’m one payday away from being up shit creek.
But I didn’t say that, I just nodded.
He folded his arms, regarded me curiously, and added, “You’ve always wanted to better yourself. You’ve told me on more than one occasion how eager you are to write a story for the paper. You said you’d always wanted to be a reporter.”
I’d always wanted to be a writer, but journalism seemed more attainable, seeing as I was already working for them. What a joke that was turning out to be.
He took my stunned silence for intrigue, so he continued.
“If you come with me this evening, I might be able to secure you a byline on the piece that’s going into the newspaper next week. It might even make the front page.”
I had to admit, that was something I couldn’t turn down, and yet, I didn’t entirely believe him. I’d been let down too many times by his false promises. And yet, I always had hope.
“A byline?” I asked, sitting forward slightly to show my interest. “With my full name? I’d get to write a piece for the paper, and you’d give me the credit?”
“Yes,” he replied and then, peering outside, he said, “But we need to leave now. My limo is waiting, and I need to get this over with.”
Get it over with? That didn’t sound like a front-page, show-stopping event. But this was the closest I’d come to taking the next step on my career ladder in the whole four years that I’d been here.
I knew I was probably making the shittiest decision for my night, but this time, I was ignoring my gut and letting hope lead the way.
“Fine. I’ll go,” I said, standing up, nerves fluttering in my stomach, warning me that I’d just given in way too easily and Ihad no idea whether it’d pay off. God, I really hoped it paid off. I couldn’t stand being stagnant in my job for much longer.
He didn’t wait for me to walk over to him or offer to hold the door open for me. When he heard me agree, he just turned his back and strode out of the building towards his driver, who was waiting beside his limo. He left me to trail behind him as he called over his shoulder, “Don’t make me late, Miss Belmont. I’d hate for your career to be over before it’s even started.” And then he smiled to himself as he added, “What you’re about to see tonight is going to make your hair curl even tighter.”
CHAPTER TWO
EMMA
What was I about to see?
What the hell was he talking about?
Where was he taking me?
I sat in the back of the limo with Mr Gold, trying to ignore the awkward tension in the air as I gazed out of the window at the neon streetlights racing past. Every time we hit a pothole or a speed bump, the jolt from the car made the skirt of my dress ride up my thighs, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed that Mr Gold kept staring at my legs, making me feel even more on edge. I pulled at the hem in an effort to lengthen it, but it was satin; it wasn’t going to stretch.
So, to distract myself, I fired a text off to Gracie, explaining that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the bar tonight. A work opportunity had come up, and I couldn’t say no. I added that I thought this could be my big break, hoping it might soften the blow. I hated letting her down, especially at the last minute. But at least she had her other colleagues around to keep the night going. It wouldn’t be a total washout for her.
‘Please tell me that asshole hasn’t got you working overtime again,’ she messaged back. She knew I wouldn’t admit it.
Instead, I replied, ‘I’ll text you in the morning. Wish me luck.’ And ended the message with a smiley face.
She sent me a ‘good luck,’ but I knew I’d have to face the music tomorrow. It was hard to gauge someone’s mood over a message, and I didn’t want Gracie to be pissed off with me.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked as I slipped my phone back into my purse.
“Berkeley Art Gallery. They have an exclusive exhibition of eclectic street art showing tonight. One night only.” He turned to stare at me and waggled his eyebrows, then dipped his gaze, focusing on my legs again, making my stomach turn. “We need to take some photos, get a few quotes from the organisers, maybe from a few artists too. And when the boring stuff is out of the way we can enjoy the free champagne.”
I wasn’t going to enjoy any free champagne with Mr Gold. No alcohol would pass my lips tonight. I was here to work. I’d make that damn clear from the get-go.
“Why did you say an art exhibition would make my hair curl?” I asked, placing my hands on my knees and glaring back at him.
“Let’s just say some of the artists have a unique way of expressing themselves.”
