I pick up where I left off without skipping a beat. “That’s why she was yelling at you in the driveway. You told her that day, didn’t you? I didn’t want this.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want.”
“No, it does. Because I would never have agreed to do this”—I wave a fi**ger back and forth bet**en us in lieu of a definition of what this is—“if I’d known it was going to be at Jessa’s expense.”
Hadrian narrows his eyes. “What did you think was going to happen? That I’d magically have a spot that was unfilled? Something had to go to make room for your little idea. Why not Jessa?”
His belittlement adds fuel to the fire. “The only other woman with her own show? That doesn’t make sense at all. She’s a legend. She’s one of your highest rated anchors.”
“Her contract was at an end.”
“That is the worst reason you could possibly give.” I feel like screaming. My voice is definitely raised. “Did she know it was because of me?”
“Everyone will realize you’re her replacement when you air.”
No. No, this can’t be happening. This can’t be the price I paid.
One of the most exhilarating parts of my job is the camaraderie I’ve been able to form with other women in the field. There are so few of us.
And now, one of the greatest female anchors of all time will consider me her nemesis. Probably assumes that I’ve manipulated my way into her job like a modern-day Eve Harrington, using my wiles and scheming to get her canned.
f**k, I did manipulate my way into her job.
I just had no idea this was the cost.
“Undo it. Bring her back.”
He scoffs. “She’s not coming back, even if I beg. Trust me.”
The parting must have been uglier than I first thought. Why wouldn’t it have been? She thought she had a secure job. She was a star.
“I don’t want it.” I toss the unsigned contract on the table. “Not like this.”
“But spreading your legs was acceptable.”
My fists clench at my side. “No. That was…wrong too. But at least no one was hurt.”
“Hurt? This is the news, baby. Network news. Not some competition for lead journalist on a high-school paper. You get here by being the best, by outthinking the best, outplaying the best, out-f**king the best. It’s a compliment that I took notice, and it’s a bigger compliment that I believed that you could fill her shoes.”
“What, because I have perkier tits? What a compliment.” My voice sounds tight, like I’m fighting tears. I’m not, but I’m pretty f**king worked up.
“Honestly, she probably got her first big break the same way.”
I stare at him, unable to process that this was the same man who, only a couple of weeks ago, stood in front of me and asked for something without an exchange. As though this is the only language he understands.
It should make me feel sorry for him, but all I can feel right now is disgust. “You better get on your knees and beg Jessa then, because I’m not signing that contract.”
He shakes his head. “You’re acting like a child. All your time with a man old enough to be your father, you must have learned how to get your way with tantrums. That’s not going to work here, Brystin.”
“I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’m doing what’s right.”
“It’s too late to walk away.”
“As long as I haven’t signed, it’s not too late.”
He quickly strides toward me, stopping inches in front of my face. With a strong fi**ger—I’ve personally experienced its strength—he taps onto the wood conference table. “Sign. The f**king. Contract.”
I cross my arms over my ch*st so that he won’t see what his nearness does to me. Traitorous body. “I won’t do it.”
Somewhere in my brain there is a rational resistance. A voice reminding me that the damage is already done and that this isn’t the kind of opportunity you turn down and expect to ever be offered again. Saying no would be the end of my career. Legitimately the end.
But how can I ever look myself in the mirror if I don’t turn it down? I can’t take a job that I know full well was stolen from another woman.
“You’d do that to Elvis?” Hadrian’s question causes the cannonball in my stomach to drop.
Elvis will lose the show if I don’t sign.
Okay, now I feel like I could cry. “He can produce Jessa’s show.”
“You’re okay getting another producer fired, but not an anchor? Jessa’s producer is award-winning. Probably worth more to the network than Jessa. Oh, and she’s a woman.”
No, I’m not okay with any of it. Why hadn’t I thought this through? Why hadn’t I bothered to ask how the station would make room?
“Then you can find another show for Elvis.” I’m begging now. And because I know how dealing with Hadrian works, I start to unb**ton my shirt. “Is this what will convince you? Should I get down on my knees?”
I start to kneel, but he yanks me to my feet. “There are f**king cameras,” he whispers.
It’s the first chip I have to bargain with. “Maybe someone needs to know how you negotiate.”
“No one who watches those feeds can do anything to hurt me. I’m looking out for you.”
“Thank you. So appreciated.” The words drown in sarcasm. I definitely don’t feel grateful or appreciative. I most certainly don’t feel like I’m being looked out for. “Then take me somewhere private, Hadrian. Let me earn Elvis his show.”
He drops my arm so he can slam his palm on the table. “You’re not f**king earning anything for Elvis. He’s baggage, as far as I’m concerned. The draw of this deal is you.”
My muscles quiver in rage. After all he said to me before—acting as though I was the take-it-or-leave-it part of the package, telling me that Elvis had the job no matter what, that I had to put out to be considered…
It’s a brutal betrayal.
He must read my thoughts on my face. “Don’t give me that look. You’ve had fun.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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