Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Tamara!” Dylan shouts, and she jumps, getting up to rush into his office.
As I head downstairs, hurrying to grab my bag from my locker, sadness and anger war for top billing.
I hold it all in, saving it for the moment I can collapse in a fit of tears in private.
CHAPTER 29
DYLAN
“You look like a man out for blood,” Austin says as he comes over with a tumbler of scotch. I take it, and he sits down in his chair, swirling his own tumbler around. “Tell me what all happened.”
“You read the story, I assume,” I start, and Austin nods. “What did you think?”
“That was the worst gossip line of shit I’ve read in years,” Austin says. “I thought Vanna was better than that. Have you reached out to her?”
“She’s not answering my calls.”
“Ah,” Austin says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “Give me thirty seconds.”
It actually takes him less than that, as he sets his phone down on his thigh in speaker mode and Vanna’s voice comes out. “Austin?”
“I’ve got you on speaker, Vanna. There is an interested party listening in, one whom you owe an explanation to,” Austin says. “Please don’t tell me that you think you’ve outgrown your limits? That’s going to seriously piss me off if you have.” There’s a threat laced through his words, a warning to Vanna in his dark tone that she should take seriously.
“No! No, God, no!” Vanna says, her voice tight with fear. “Austin, I’m not answering the phone from your… friend because I’ve got people paying very close attention to me. They’re tracking who I’m talking to now.”
“Hard position for a gossip columnist,” Austin says. “So, can you speak freely?”
“I can speak. They’re not tracking this program,” Vanna says. “You’re the only one who calls me on it.”
I glance from the phone to Austin, finding him looking at me with a small smirk on his lips. He lifts his finger to his lips, silently telling me ‘shh’, and I realize Vanna, in her distraction and upset, has accidentally revealed one of her sources… Austin.
I’m surprised, but also not. Austin using any and all tools available to him, including information and information-collectors like Vanna, is right up his alley.
“End-to-end encryption’s useful that way,” Austin replies, giving me a pointed look. “You should look into using it with all your contacts.”
Message received, Austin.
“I just might. So, you want to know about the article?”
“I would,” Austin says. “So does my friend. He’s highly pissed off.”
“Join the club,” Vanna spits out. “I’m about ready to tell my editor he can stuff his contract up his ass, since they can’t hold their non-compete clause over me any longer.” She exhales loudly, her voice the slightest bit more controlled as she bitterly adds, “Potentially. My lawyer’s telling me to wait on that last bit.”
“What did your lawyer do?” Austin questions, and I hold my breath as if that would allow me to listen more intently.
“I wrote the article, just as your… friend stated,” Vanna says. “It was fire and brimstone type of stuff. I had it all backed up, the data, the evidence of embezzlement and fraud from what they did to my family, all of it on a flash drive that I gave to my lawyer for safekeeping. Four thousand words, a bit long, but goddamn, it felt good to actually be writing something deeper than who’s been fucking whom. And to get it out. To finally put the truth out there, threats from those pricks be damned. I turned it in to my editor, who read it and said it was good. Then three hours later, I’m getting called to the floor by him, telling me to rewrite it. I refused.”
“Someone got to him,” Austin guesses. Given how jaded Austin can be, he doesn’t seem surprised by that in the slightest.
I actually am, though. Vanna’s editor is a bastion of traditional journalism, having published articles on everything from war, to business, to exposés on the business of war. His reaction as compared to the article on the Faulkners seems out of proportion.
“Put it this way,” Vanna says. “I’ll give you three guesses as to who owns the bank that holds my editor’s mortgage, and the first two don’t count.”
I take a deep breath, pinching my nose. The fucking Faulkners. They have their damn hands in everything.
“So if you refused, how did it get rewritten?” Austin asks, holding up a hand, telling me to let him handle this. He knows what I need to know and how to get it. “It was your byline.”
“You think I write that level of drivel? Lady of Crows? Sharpe-edged? Fuck me, I was cringing as I read that the first time for myself. If I had to guess, probably Evan’s assistant or Bronson’s wrote it. Though either of them could’ve written it themselves.” Vanna hums as she considers that. “I’d put my money on Evan. It’s too personal for anyone else.” She mutters a curse I can't make out under her breath, then says, “My rep’s going to need some serious rehab after this debacle.”