Page 42 of Lessons in Forgiving
Riley suppressed a chuckle, the sound rumbling through her throat. “Hey, I’m not judging, girl.” Grabbing the chair from one desk over, she sat and rolled back beside me. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”
My eyes sliced to hers with a glare. “I’m not sleeping with him!” I cried.
Too loudly.
One second to the next, the office fell quiet. Although everyone was trying to be inconspicuous, I could see a few heads turn our way, pop up from behind computers. Someone was pretending to look out the window behind us, but was very clearly looking at me.
“I did not sleep with a subject,” I amended, calmer. “Now, if we could all just go back to ten seconds ago, when conversations were very animated. Thank you.”
I turned to Riley again, and the look on my face made her wince.
Sorryshe mouthed. “I was joking!” She raised her voice, notifying the rest of the office of her nonexistent sense of humor as well. Just for me, she added, “Mostly”, before her attention went back to the open document on my screen.
“Don’t get me wrong, Paula,” she sighed after reading a few lines. “I love that Ed finally got over what happened last year. I just don’t understand why he had to give youthis.” Her handswept toward the interview, and I echoed her earlier sigh, defeat in the sound.
Yes, working on something again was nice, butno, it didn’t have to be this.
“I mean, just ethically speaking,” she said. “You’re not even supposed to get close to your subjects like that. It’s inTheNew York Times’ guidelines! Does Eddie think he’s better thanTheNew York Times?”
“Probably.”
Riley huffed, half humored, half frustrated. “He probably does.”
“And it’s not like I didn’t ask,” I remembered out loud. “I literally saidwhy do I have to do this?And he just… went on a different tangent.”
Before Riley could form a reply, Alfie’s cheery voice announced that he’d decided to join this conversation. Which completed our usualPostTrio.
“I know why!” he said from a neighboring desk. With his chair, he rolled to ours and huddled between Riley and me. One of his red hairs tickled my nose: that’s how close he was.
“You don’t.” Riley decided just one glance later. I wasn’t convinced either.
“I knowsomething,” Alfie amended. “Maybe. I was leaving when Pressley was in Ed’s office, door open like always. Just before he assigned the profile to you.”
Oh?
“Your talents are wasted with horoscopes,” I marveled in amusement. “Do go on, investigative journalist.”
With a content grin, Alfie’s gaze traced the room like he might find someone in it who shouldn’t be. His smile dropped just before his head snapped to the exit. “Follow me,” he said, very vaguely, and got out of his chair.
We both did.
Alfie let go of the breath he was holding once the door closed behind us. He led us to the stairs, taking two at a time toward the exit. “I was, like, ninety percent sure Eddie wasthisclose to kicking Paula out of the paper. You know, with the way he didn’t even give you that lame article last month, and then you tried talking him into it? I thought after a year of benching you, he finally had enough.”
I remembered vividly. The way I’d chased my editor out of the building, begged and pleaded for something to work on. I nodded as we stepped into the afternoon sun.
“So, I went to look for him. Because really, if he’s starting to clean out the crew, I’m next. Which was terrifying.” Hums of agreement from Riley and me, even though with his dad basically owning theHall Beck Post, I didn’t think Alfie was going anywhere.
But perhaps he knew his father better than that.
“Anyway, he must’ve just gotten back from an errand or something. He was kind of out of breath when he’d asked Pressley into his office.”My fault, I realized. “Which is when I decided to hide behind a wall and listen. I was like,What’s Paula’s ex doing here? And can I give Henry a piece of my mind while we’re at it?” Alfie glanced at me, a little sheepish. “I didn’t do that.”
“Obviously,” Riley added helpfully.
“Well.” He shrugged. “Long story short, all I heard was Eddie askingAre you sure?Like a million times. Let me tell you, whatever it was, Pressley was very sure of it.” Alfie stifled a laugh. “He said something about you, started with your name.” His eyes were on me again. “He was allPaula should—”
Alfie’s Henry-impression was just a swoony, deep voice. It kind of worked.
“And I wish I could tell you what he said next, but Miss Lacy thought hiding behind a wall and spying on our editor wasweird. Suspicious, or so she said. When she saw me, she told me to stop—threatened to tell on me, that little snitch.”
