Chapter1
Grace
“Grace, Mr.Ackerman’s ready for you.”Maria’s smile belongs on a gravedigger, and I’m the grave.
“Coming.”I stand and smooth my skirt, anything to hide the shake in my hands.
The newsroom hums around me—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, someone arguing over headline real estate—but the noise dips as I pass.
Nosy colleagues track my walk to the elevator, peering over cubicle walls, and I meet every stare.Most squirm and look away; a few blush.Good.
Three days ago, I was the lead investigator on the Vitale story, days away from breaking it.Then came the late-night email from Toby Ackerman, editor-in-chief of theLos Angeles Daily Journal, and my boss.
Stand down.
Confused and restless, I came in early the next morning looking for answers, only for Maria to block his office door.Toby didn’t have time for me, but he had a message.
Go home.Do nothing for now.
Talk about impossible.
Though Vitale wasn’t mentioned, the sick twist in my gut said the two were linked.My sources were close to going on the record, and I’d kept Toby informed every step of the way.So, why hog-tie me?
When the elevator opens on the fifteenth floor, his assistant leads me down the hall, then settles into her chair in front of his office as if I’m invisible.She presses a button on the underside of her desk.
Toby’s voice booms through the closed door.“Come.”
My spine stiffens as anticipation and dread settle over me in equal measure.I open the door and step inside, only to stop short.
Toby is not alone.
Fergus Wickes, owner of Headline Media and the man who signs my paychecks, stands near the window with hands clasped loosely behind his back.He surveys downtown Los Angeles like he personally negotiated every skyscraper into place.
This is serious.Otherwise, Wickes wouldn’t be here.
In my nearly five years at the paper, I’ve exchanged only a handful of words with him, mostly at holiday parties.
When the door clicks shut behind me, he turns, his sharp gaze cutting to me from behind black, square-rimmed glasses.
At his oversized, cluttered desk, Toby clears his throat, and I drag my attention to my boss.
“Sit, Buchanan.”Toby is built like a bulldog, thick around the shoulders, with the temperament to match.
His round baby face contradicts the deep grooves under his eyes.He’s pushing sixty, but the exhaustion carved into him makes him look older.Worn.Like this job is grinding him to bone.
I lower into the chair across from him.“Mr.Wickes.Toby.”My gaze moves between them.“What’s this about?”
The silence stretches long enough to press against my ribs, and with each passing second, sweat gathers at the nape of my neck.
Wickes clears his throat.“We received correspondence from Vitale’s legal team a few days ago.They allege harassment, corporate interference, and defamation.”
Blood roars in my ears.“Nothing has been published.”
“That’s not their concern.”Toby taps his pen on the edge of his desk; each click needles the space between us.
“They’re concerned with what you’re building.”Wickes steps closer to Toby, and while the two are close in age, Wickes wears his years better—silver hair cropped tight, a dark suit impeccably tailored, elegant without screaming for attention.“And with how aggressively you’re building it.”
“I’ve been careful.”I square my shoulders.“Aside from my initial interview with the head of R&D, I’ve been discreet.And what I’m doing”—I hold each of their gazes in turn, refusing to blink—“is my job.”