Page 1 of Three Irish Kings
Chapter One
ISLA
The cursor blinksat me from the blank page, mocking every second I've wasted the last three days. My exposé on the city's elite—the one that's supposed to launch my career—sits exactly nowhere. Just a title and a whole lot of nothing.
I look toward my laptop, which sits open on a fucking blank page with a blinking cursor that drives me mad. I need this exposé, but I’ve been stuck with nothing for days.
Who does a girl got to sleep with to get some info? If only I just had a damned break!
I huff and focus on the stack of mail on my kitchen counter. Might as well riffle through it.
As I pick it up, an ornate, shiny envelope catches my eye.
I set everything else down and turn it in my hand before opening it.
Inside is an invitation to an upcoming gala, raising money for mental health awareness. I squeal and jump up and down.
Fucking finally!
I shoot Colleen a text.
We’re in.
I set the invite down and pour myself a glass of wine. I deserve it!
My phone beeps, and I pick it up.
Colleen.
Her text is filled with a series of excited emojis and punctuation followed by:
I’ll be at your door in less than half an hour.
This gala is my break, my way in. Everyone with money will be there. And it is happening tonight. In a few hours.
I run to my computer to research who is going to be there. I know most of the players already, but I want to make sure I know everyone by heart. I can’t afford to make mistakes. Not on this.
As a journalist, I need to have an uncanny attention to detail and ease with making people talk. I mean, that’s how I met Colleen.
Colleen Connor is an Irish immigrant who’s actually pretty flaky and a little snaky, but I like her.
She’s almost always straight withme, and that’s what matters. It’s a little weird being friends with a source, but hey, where else am I going to meet people?
And unlike the other guests at this gala, I’m no billionaire. Far from it.
I mean, I do okay with all the commissions from my stories to the websites, but I certainly don’t have that many zeroes in my accounts. Not that I need them, or a love life, which I also lack. But if only I could have some big-name newspaper behind me.
If only I didn’t have to rely on so many sensationalist stories and was allowed to do what I’m really passionate about, which is a thorough and good investigative piece.
That’s why I need to be at this gala. This exposé might just be the break I need to get the big names in the industry to notice me.
What I do have is determination and ambition. Because I can do this. I can blow this scandal wide open.
Colleen walks in with her usual swagger, placing her designer purse down on the table, perfectly manicured nails clacking together.
“So, you’re to be my plus one?” The Irish lilt in her voice makes her tone almost teasing.
“That’s right.” I smile. “I'm your date.”
