Page 3 of The Dis-Graced
Irene looks me dead in the eyes, never wavering. “Name your price.”
Get yourself under control, or she’s going to mop the floor with you.
I clear my throat, struggling to keep my composure. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me—name your price!” she says, her perfectly manicured brow arcing upward.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She reaches into her clutch, producing a checkbook. “Will fifty-thousand-dollars do it?”
“Fifty-thousand-dollars?”
“Why don’t we just make it an even hundred, but you’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I allow it to be deposited.”
“Mrs. Dallanger, if you’re trying to buy me off, then you obviously know nothing about me. I need this job if I ever want my career to kick off again.”
“Honey, do you really think your career is ever going to go anywhere after you were caught screwing the man you were supposed to be doing an impartial documentary on?”
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. My journalistic integrity went out the window when I was caught in the hotel room of the person I was doing a piece on, even if it was a setup.
“With all due respect, ma’am, but I’m going to have to kindly request that you back off and allow me to do my job.”
Irene’s nostrils flare. She’s not a woman who’s denied many wants, and it appears that her biggest want of the moment is to see me gone.
“If there isn’t anything else I can do for you, Irene, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I start my new project early tomorrow, and I would like to get some shut-eye.”
Without another word, Irene storms past me and out of my apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.
I clench and unclench my hands, trying to make sense of how my life could have come crashing down so hard in a matter of weeks. There’s no use mulling over it, though, so I decide to do exactly what I told Irene I would do and hit the sack.
I strip down to my tank top and a pair of panties, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed. As I pull back the sheets, I see the latest issue of the gossip tabloid Chatter set on the bed, my face plastered on the front alongside Brigger Steele, who I was interviewing regarding his nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize.
Of course, Irene couldn’t help herself.
I throw the magazine against the wall, crawl into bed, and turn off the light.
Tomorrow, I come face to face with Drake Dallanger, my brother’s best friend, my first crush, and the owner of a multi-billion-dollar corporation, and if I’m ever going to get out of the situation I’ve landed myself in, it’s going to be through him.
Chapter 2
Grace
Breathe. Knock. Walk through the door, smile, reintroduce yourself, but most importantly, remember to breathe.
My pep talk is no use, though. No amount of coaching is going to get me to knock on the large double doors leading into Drake Dallanger’s office.
I smooth my plain white blouse for the fifth time in two minutes, then adjusted my knee-length black skirt. I try to relax my grip on my leather portfolio, but that’s a lost cause. I didn’t take any chances with my wardrobe, opting to wear professional attire that wouldn’t warrant a second glance. Nothing flamboyant. Nothing that could be considered showy or sexy.
But the truth is, I could be wearing a floor-length dress with a neckline at my jaw, and there’d still be whispers of me being salacious.
“Are ya gonna knock, Grace, or just stand there?”
I jump at the sound of my brother’s voice, who wasn’t due in for another hour. Luke and his wife Amanda have just had their first child, my niece Annabelle, and Drake has been generous with his work hours.
“Oh, hey. I didn’t realize you were gonna be in so early.”
“There’s no way I was going to let you go in on your own, and besides, it’s eight-thirty, and I’m a creature of habit. It feels like I should have been in an hour ago.”
