Page 112 of No More Secrets
“What the hell is this?” She turned the page so quickly it tore. Gone was her insightful article on health, wellness, and community in Blue Moon. And in its place was a splashy, tawdry pictorial.
Her desk phone rang and she ignored it, skimming the scant copy.
––––––––
And the best part, ladies? They’re all single.
––––––––
Her cellphone rang. “What?” she demanded.
“Who got their tabloid talons on this piece?” Nikolai growled in her ear. “What the hell is this trash?”
“This is the first time I’m seeing it. When I looked at the final proofs last week there was no mention of Carter’s ‘farm boy broad shoulders.’” She felt sick to her stomach. Her name was on the article. People were going to think she wrote this.
Carter was going to think she wrote this.
“Oh my God. This is obscene, Niko! It’s like soft porn.”
“Katherine called me a few days ago and asked if I had any shirtless pictures of him or his brothers. I thought she was fucking joking!”
“Obviously she wasn’t fucking joking!”
“Did you read the whole thing?”
“There’s only like three paragraphs.”
“Read it.”
“‘Struggling with PTSD, we think this sexy vet could use some comfort —’ I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick and murder someone. Oh God, Niko. They sent him copies. I know they sent him copies. I have to go. I have to call him.”
She cut off Niko’s reply and dialed Carter’s cellphone. There was no answer. She tried the house phone and again there was no answer.
She tossed her phone on her desk and made her decision.
She snatched up the magazine and stalked out of her cubicle. Katherine’s office was one floor up and Summer fumed the entire way there.
She breezed past Katherine’s unsmiling assistant, a six-foot tall waif with hair the color of midnight.
Katherine was on the phone. She laughed, a silvery little tinkle. “I’m sure I can put you in touch with them. As far as I know they have no representation yet ... Yes, it’s like finding oil in the last place you would expect it.”
Summer tossed her copy of the magazine onto Katherine’s glass desk and crossed her arms.
“Felipe, I must go. I’ll have my assistant give you the information ... You too, darling.” She hung up the receiver and steepled her manicured hands. Last winter’s nip and tuck was tastefully done, leaving her face looking refreshed and youthful. The rich red of her lipstick never smudged. Summer often wondered if it was tattooed on.
“What can I do for you, Summer?”
“You can explain why you took a piece that was about something deep and meaningful and turned it into this trash,” she said, drilling her finger into the open page.
“Excuse me?” Katherine’s frosty tone was meant to stop perceived insolence in its tracks. But it had the opposite effect on Summer.
“You heard me. Where is the story I wrote and why did you slap my name on this bullshit?”
“Darling, I don’t think you understand how things work here. Need I remind you that you are anassociate.” She enunciated the word as if speaking to a toddler. “You work for me. I have the final say in what goes into this ‘bullshit,’ as you so eloquently call it. You turned in a weighty piece that would have readers tossing it in the recycling bin. You’ve been in production meetings. Advertisers want sex. What you wrote was a boring ode to an obsolete way of life.”
“What about the readers?”
“The readers want what the advertisers tell them to want. They don’t want some sappy love story about a simpler way of life. No one wants that. They want bigger, shinier, more.” Her voice was as sharp as the corners of her desk. “They want this,” her finger tapped Carter’s bare chest.
