Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I do some digging around and find out she’s an archivist in the public library. How does she sound so sexy on the phone and have the job of a book nerd? She must have been something special if The Leader had personally seen fit to try to match her up with Chalmers. The thought of someone else hearing her soft words and getting to enjoy her company makes me irritated. I look back at the two grainy photos I have, but I can’t make anything out.
I grab my phone and leave my office, but my editor pulls me into his office before I can make it more than two steps.
“Get in here and close the door,” he says, and I do as he asks. “I need you to stop digging around the Chalmers case.” His face is serious.
“Why?” I ask, but then I wave my hand. “I’ve got a feeling about this. I don’t think Brad is dead. I think something else happened,” I push. This story could be big and I want to know why a cover-up is happening.
“What exactly do you think they’re going to let us put in print? That The Leader’s Chief of Staff has gone missing? Or that they still don’t have his killer? Because either way, it makes law enforcement look bad. We’re printing the press release.”
“You saw that pile of shit?” I’m irritated that he’s even entertaining the idea of publishing that crap.
“Of course, I did. Nobody sends faxes anymore, so when one shows up we all go and read it. And another thing, even if this were a story, which it is not, you’re too close to it. I know Chalmers was a friend of yours.”
“Well, what else should I be doing? You want me to get back to writing fluff pieces about The Leader’s favorite hair gel?” I scoff. This is bullshit and he knows it. What’s the point of being a reporter if you can’t report the fucking truth?
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I have a proposal for you. Actually, the publisher has a proposal. You’re going to be promoted to editor. Then you can decide what’s news and what isn’t.”
So they want me to take his job? I know better than to jump on the offer because this sounds like I’m being paid off to back the fuck away from this story. They want me to get back in line and keep quiet. “What about you?”
“I’m costing them too much in health insurance, so they’re retiring me.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Still, I’m not buying. There’s something else.
“And you’re just fine with that?”
He looks incredulous. “This is how it works, Ryan. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you. I’m sixty and I take a lot of pills to even get around. You’re young and healthy. So, the job is yours.”
“What’s the catch? I know there’s one.”
“Get married and start a family.” He says it like you can do that with a flip of a switch.
“You guys are obsessed with our reproduction.” I run my hand through my hair, trying to understand this bullshit.
“It’s not me, it’s the Regime. You know we can’t keep up with the birth rates outside the district. Those people out there, beyond the wall, they reproduce like rabbits and we can’t keep up. The elites are going to be outnumbered in five years. Some say we’re already outnumbered. They’re going to try to take us down.”
“I’m not dating anyone.” I don't have plans for children anytime soon either. Not with how things have been going around here. Now I’m starting to think they want me to settle down so maybe I won’t kick up so much dirt. If I have a family to think about, then I won’t be as likely to cause trouble.
“You know that’s not an issue. The matchmakers already have their eye on someone for you.”
For a brief second, the sound of Naomi’s voice plays through my mind, but I shake my head. “I’m not interested,” I say as I walk out of my editor’s office.
I can hear him behind me as I make my way down the hall. “Weigh your options, son! We’ll talk about this later.”
The only woman I have any interest in right now is one whose voice I can’t get out of my head.
Chapter Three
Naomi
I sit at the front circulation desk waiting for the detective to drop off my handbag. The desk manager is there going through a box of paperwork while I scan documents to pass the time until I can get back to the archives. When the bell for the delivery door rings, I perk up.
“Those will probably be the children’s books back from the other side. You want to get it? I’m swamped up here,” she says, and I look at what she’s doing.