Page 113 of No More Secrets
“You made what they do into a joke.”
“No, I made their lives.” Katherine brought her purple tips to the glass top as she rose. Her wrap dress hugged a trim figure made possible by the finest plastic surgeons in Manhattan. “I’ve been fielding calls all morning from agents wanting to represent them and designers wanting to use them. There’s no more playing in the dirt for these men. We just made them famous.”
“There was no ‘we’ in this. And there is so much more to life than chasing fame.”
“That’s right. There’s documenting it. That is what we do. We hand these people the American dream and watch what they do with it. Do you know what we love more than America’s sweetheart? America’s sweetheart on a very public downward spiral.” She held up the magazine. “It’s vicious. I’ll be the first to say it. But in order to thrive in this business, you have to have the stomach for it.”
“You put my name on this.” Summer glared at her over the desk.
“And you should be thanking me. The digital piece has been getting more hits than the cover story. This could be the fast track to getting what you want, my dear, so be very careful how you proceed. You can either give my assistant Carter’s contact information while I talk to a few select people about a new senior editor position, or you can think about how it would feel to go back to copy editing.”
Summer leaned over the desk, her fingers leaving smudges on the glass. “Actually, there’s a third option that I feel really good about. You can take your sexy advertising and your emergency moisturizers and your constant need for ass kissing and shove it. I quit!”
She turned on her Manolos and stormed out, past the assistant, past the creative department, past Quincy calling her name in the hallway.
She took the stairs back to her floor. In her cubicle she shoved her laptop and phone in her bag. There was nothing else there. No personal mementos, no trinkets. Just an empty desk. It had been on purpose. No personal items until she was in an office. And then it would be carefully chosen pieces that reflected the importance of the position and the responsibilities she would carry. She snorted.
Summer put the bag on her shoulder and marched to the elevator. Phones started ringing and heads were popping out of cubicles.
“She’s at the elevator,” someone whispered loudly into their phone.
It was theIndulgenceversion of Blue Moon’s online gossip group. And it made her smile.
She was still smiling when the doors closed on the floor of gawkers.
She pulled her phone out of the bag and dialed Murray, part ofIndulgence’selite legal team.
“Hey there, Summer. I just heard.”
“Good, then I’ll keep this quick. My blog, is that mine or does it belong toIndulgence?”
“You started it before you had the job. It’s yours.”
“How about an article that I wrote forIndulgencethat they chose not to use.”
“I’d double check your contract on that, but if they chose not to exercise their rights to it then it’s possible you could resell it.”
“What if I don’t want to sell it?”
“You want to keep it for personal use? That’s probably a little less murky. Read the fine print and text me if you need clarification.”
“Thanks, Murray. It was nice working with you.”
“You, too, Summer. Good luck.”
She was halfway home when her phone rang in her bag. Nikolai. She silenced it and let her momentum carry her the rest of the way home.
––––––––
She burst through the door of the apartment she could no longer afford and dumped her laptop on her coffee table. She would fix this. All of it.
Summer wrote from the heart, letting the words flow.
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I’ve spent my years since college mapping out a career path that would bring me the trappings of success that I so desperately wanted.
An apartment with a view ...
