Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Alas…
“That script should be done parsing the personnel data in about half an hour,” I say instead, smooth talker that I am. “Then we can print the files, go through everything with a fine-toothed comb, and see where we’re at.”
“Really?” Ellie lights up, but then shakes her head, a frown pulling at her perfect, pink lips. “You don’t have to do that, Jack. I can take the files home. There’s a reason they call it investigative journalism. We investigate. All part of the gig.”
“I have a stake in this, too, remember? Besides—I know my employees. This will go a lot faster if you ask me questions as they arise.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate the help. And access to the files. And the dinner and coffee.” She downs the last of it then heads into the kitchen with her mug. “And basically everything you’re doing for me, when all I’m doing is making your job harder.”
You’re making something harder, all right…
“Every business has growing pains.” I follow her into the kitchen and drop our mugs into the dishwasher. “I’m grateful you’re here to help us through ours. You were right during your fake interview—S and H needs you.”
This gets another smile. “You sure I’m not bringing down the property value around there? I know I talk a good game, but I’m not exactly the Wolf of Wall Street.”
“Come on. A little more training, some on-the-job experience, your real identity… You’d be unstoppable. I meant what I said—there’s a place for you at Seyfried and Holt if you ever want to change tracks.”
She lifts a wry brow. “Something tells me that partner of yours would disagree.”
“Not if he saw you in action.”
“He can’t, though. That’s the thing.” She blows out a breath and leans back against the kitchen counter, glancing toward the big windows in the living room. The jazz playlist that entertained us through dinner finally wraps up, and in the silence that follows, the mood feels suddenly heavy.
“I talked to Ryan last night,” she continues. “I gave him an update on my story, but I left out so many details. Major ones.” Her eyes flick to mine for a second, heat gathering between us. “I hate lying to him.”
Guilt simmers in my gut, and I fight the urge to take her face into my hands. To kiss her. To give her an entire red-hot night of details we’ll never be able to tell her brother about.
On the verge of making a move I can’t take back, I busy myself with the dishwasher. “It won’t be much longer. Soon you’ll be able to show him your findings and tell him the whole sordid, fake-mustached tale. He’ll have no choice but to bow down to your superior sleuthing skills.”
After he kicks my ass for letting this happen.
“You’re probably right,” she says, but from the corner of my eye I catch her shaking her head, absently playing with the ties on her borrowed basketball shorts. “But sometimes I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. I know I made the choice to switch gears in grad school, but even with all the catching up I had to do in the journalism program, I still thought it might work out.”
“Hasn’t it?”
“Not exactly.” Ellie shrugs. “I had this whole life plan—go to school, get a great job in business, make a ton of money, make my dad proud.” Her voice is so quiet, it feels like she’s making a confession.
“Instead, I’m in a studio apartment in Astoria,” she continues. “My dishes rattle every time the train goes by. I have a master’s degree from a prestigious university, but most days I’m writing puff pieces like ‘Ten Signs He’s Just Not Into You’ and ‘Is Your Smoky Eye Setting Off the Right Alarms?’”
Dishwasher forgotten, I step in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders, offering an encouraging smile. “I have no idea what a smoky eye is, but I do know that whatever you’re working on, you put your all into it. That’s what counts.”
“It’s not serious work, though. The S and H story is the first time in my professional life I’m working on something that matters. Something that can help people.”
“It will help people. It’s already helping.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” she says. “The story, the work… I’m not even close to finished, and I already believe it’s the most important thing I’ve ever done.”
“That’s a good thing, no?”
“Maybe it would be, if I were doing it as myself.” She blinks and turns away, but not before I catch the tears glistening on her cheeks. “All those smart, fearless things you think I can do? I can’t seem to do them without a costume and a mask. Without pretending I’m someone else. You think I’m this badass writer who goes after what she wants, but most of the time…I’m just scared.”