Page 14 of Emperor of Corruption
“I have a lot on my plate,” I say, my tone rising in pitch. “I really can’t take on a profile right now. Maybe Annalise could—”
“I’ll reassign your other projects.” Sarah’s tone has turned stony—she’s not pleased with my resistance. “You’re still young, Lyra, and this could be a big deal for your career. I’m not passing up the opportunity to have a sanctioned profile ontheKillian King in The Empire Journal. Do you have any idea how many editions we’d sell?”
“Sarah,please,” I try again. “Please, assign it to someone else—”
“No.” She’s officially done with my shit. “Killian specifically requestedyou, and I’m not going to deny him. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ll remind you that I’m your boss, and I’m giving you an assignment.”
My hope that she’ll listen deflates. My ass starts to prickle and burn again, in memory of the disgusting, entitled way Killian handled my body. Like it washisto handle.
Sarah is unknowingly sending me into the lion’s den, and I can’t tell her the truth to make her reconsider. Even if Idid, she might not reconsider.
“You’ll be interviewing with him twice a week for the next eight weeks,” Sarah says, pinning me with a warning glare. “His secretary mentioned some events Killian would like you to attend so you get a sense for his philanthropic spirit, hobbies, and lifestyle.”
Kill me now. I scarcely survived one evening with him, and I certainly didn’t leave intact. What he did to me is going to haunt me forthe rest of my days. How the fuck will I make it through the nexttwo months?
I force myself to nod. Smile. Thank Sarah for the opportunity before leaving her office.
I don’t go straight back to mine; first, I make a pit stop in the bathroom, where I throw up all the coffee I drank. The mereideaof being confined with Killian again is enough to make me sick. How thehellam I going to grapple with the real thing?
For the second night in a row, I don’t sleep, and the exhaustion begins weighing heavily on my limbs.
Instead, I go over the bullshititinerarysent to me by Killian’s secretary. My vision starts to blur after a bit, but I persevere.
As much as despair is dragging me down, body and soul, I can see that there might be an opportunity here. I’ll have consistent access to Killian. Opportunities to lightly question the people around him. To start putting together the puzzle of who hereallyis, other than a man who ascribes no value to consent.
But that comes at the cost of spending time in the same room as the man who assaulted me and spanked me like an errant child.
Tonight, I’m not strong enough to withhold my tears. I let myself curl up in my bed, clutch a pillow, andsob. Sob for the dignity I’ve lost and for the dignity I know I’ll lose. Sob for what I went through, and the fact that I strongly suspect there will be a repeat experience.
Then, I shore myself up. Remind myself I’m more powerful than those around me assume. And promise myself that, for every horriblething Killian might do to me, for the horrible things he does toother people, I’ll do him one worse.
I’m going to expose him, plain and simple. And he won’t see it coming until it’s too late.
I just hope that, by the end of this, there are still some pieces of me left.
If I’m going to be spending the next 8 weeks—through the end of November—with Killian, then I’m going to need to start being far more careful about what I’m doing and what I’mseendoing. It might be safe to assume that, from this morning onward, any sense of privacy I previously had will be compromised.
The next day, I go to the floor below Empire Journal’s primary office space and navigate to the IT wing. There’s a young, up and coming techgeniuswho owes me a favor, and if I want to conduct my affairs safely, I’ll need to call in that favor to get Tommy’s help.
I rap my knuckles on Tommy’s office door before letting myself in. The kid’s fresh out of college—which he graduated two years early—and is already making a name for himself in the tech world. His office is a study of chaos; half assembled pieces of tech littering every available surface, stacks of paper on the floor, a computer setup withfive monitors,all of which are powered up. He’s wearing headphones, as he always is, head vigorously bobbing in time with pulses of music.
He didn’t hear me come in—he never does—but as soon as his muted hazel eyes catch on me, he removes his headphones and shoots me a boyish grin.
“Lyra,” he greets. “How is the most beautiful journalist in the world?”
He’s been hitting on me since he got hired here a few months ago—after I recommended him—and I’ve been shooting him down. At this stage, we both know nothing will ever happen between us, but he’ll try just for the sake of teasing, and I’ll roll my eyes and tell him to take a hike.
“Tommy,” I reply. “How’s our favorite IT genius doing?”
His grin widens. “Splendidly.What can I do for ya today?”
I pick up a cracked open phone lingering on a desk by the door, examining the interior. “I need a favor.”
In the span of a heartbeat, Tommy goes from a flirt to a businessman who’s ready to cut to the heart of the issue. He sits up straighter and removes his hands from his keyboard. “What’s going on, babe?”
“Don’t call me babe,kid.” I wink to let him know I’mmostlyteasing, then get to the heart of the problem. “I’ve just been hired to do a profile on one Killian King. When I interviewed with him yesterday, I got a vague sense that any more time with him might compromise my privacy.”Understatement.“I need ways to limit how he might direct his team to monitor me.”
Tommy nods seriously. “Yeah. These C-suite guys don’t fuck around when they’re keeping outsiders in their vicinity—especiallyoutsiders who work for newspapers.” He clears his throat. “How worried are you?”
