Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Janette has the audacity to look offended, and as her jaw hangs open, I take my opportunity to step around her, reminding myself that I’m supposed to be a good girl with good morals. Okay, good is pushing it. My morals tend to lean more toward questionable, but it’s not like I go around flipping the bird to toddlers. I just have a habit of speaking my mind before I get a chance to reel it in. It’s somewhat of a word-vomit disease. I think it’s genetic.
As I step around Janette, her hand whips out, snatching the printed email right out of my unsuspecting fingers. “What are you even doing? You haven’t been assigned any tasks yet, and you know better than to use company resources for your own printing requirements.”
Her gaze immediately drops to the email, quickly scanning over it, but before she can get far, I snatch it right back. There’s no way in hell she’s about to get her grimy hands on this interview. If she knew what I was working on, she’d find a way to steal it out from under me, but Stone Blackthorne? He’s all mine.
“Pulse Media is one of the top news outlets in the country. They’re not going to miss one piece of printed paper. But if you want to save the planet and police the abuse of company resources, you should start with the abundance of wasted yellow slips coming out of your cubicle. That seems like something I should discuss with HR,” I tell her, turning away as she gasps behind me.
Grinning to myself, I stride directly toward Jedd’s office. Only, I can’t help but glance back at her one more time. “Oh, and for the record, this isn’t a personal email. It’s confirmation of the biggest interview this agency has ever landed. The kind of interview that puts people on the map, and unlike yours, my name is all over it.”
And with that, I reach Jedd’s door and push it wide open, not bothering to knock or wait for permission to enter.
His gaze snaps up, and I’m immediately met with his furrowed brow. “Where’s my coffee?” he questions, looking at me as though I don’t have a single purpose in life if I don’t have his caffeine ready and waiting for him.
“I, uhh—”
“And the edits from the Filmore case? I asked for them last Thursday.”
I step forward and pinch a manila folder from the edge of his desk. I put it there almost a week ago. “They’re right here,” I say, fighting the bite in my tone as I place it on top of the pile in front of him. Getting under Janette’s skin is one thing, but I know where the line is, and disrespecting my boss, despite how much he might deserve it, is a one-way ticket to unemployment.
“And the minutes from the end of the week wrap-up meeting? They were supposed to be on my desk by lunch on Friday.”
Shoving the interview confirmation under my arm, I dig through the mess of folders on Jedd’s desk until I find exactly what I’m looking for and hand it to him, just as I did the first time. “Here it is,” I tell him, slapping on a fake smile. “It must have gotten mixed up with these other files. I also sent a digital copy to your email to make things easier.”
His bushy brows furrow again, and he glances up at his computer screen, finding the email I’d sent to him at eleven am on Friday morning. “Yes. I see,” he murmurs before holding up his hand and waving me away. “You’re dismissed.”
“I, uhhh . . . actually. I needed to discuss the—”
“I’m still waiting on that coffee.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll grab it in just a moment,” I say, quickly pulling the interview confirmation from under my arm before he dismisses me again. “We need to discuss the arrangements for the Blackthorne interview next week. Can I schedule some time with you this afternoon?”
Jedd’s gaze lifts to mine again, confusion flickering across his face. “Blackthorne?” he questions. “What Blackthorne interview? We don’t have anything like that on the roster.”
“Stone Blackthorne,” I say. “The prisoner serving four life sentences for murder. I’ve been going back and forth with his lawyer, Charles Wentworth.”
His brows shoot up in understanding. “Ahhh, yes. Stone Blackthorne,” he says slowly, taking his time as if trying to recall the finer details of the case. Then his stare narrows on me once again. “I thought I told you to stop harassing that firm.”
“I did. Kind of. They reached out to me,” I say, thrusting the email toward him and watching as he plucks it from my hand and glances over it. “They’ve confirmed an interview with me for next week.”
“Right. Okay. Wow. This is huge,” he says, his brows pinching together in concern. “With you?”