Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
There’s this odd, invisible line that lingers. Sometimes it loops and threatens to wrap around your neck like a noose. You must remain professional, but also let your guard down just a bit—but not too much, or people will judge you. If you’re too forward, they’ll think you’re doing too much. If you’re too reserved, they’ll think you’re standoffish. I was certain the latter was what some of my coworkers thought of me now.
Reserved.
Quiet.
Weird.
I checked my phone, feeling annoyed that Herbert wasn’t here. He was the only person I could tolerate during these gatherings, but he was at home tending to his sick dog, Dozer, after leaving the vet. Dozer had gotten ahold of a dropped grape, the poor thing. Perhaps I should’ve used that as my excuse too—to be there for my worried friend and his sick pet.
As I sipped red wine, my eyes traveled across the room to my boss and Premier Daily’s senior editor, Twyla. She was flashing all her teeth as she spoke to a cluster of other correspondents, waving her hand dismissively at the appropriate times (likely from a compliment) and giggling when necessary. She’d gotten veneers. They made her teeth look like Jim Carrey’s when he starred in The Mask. No one had the balls to tell her how bad they looked, though—not even me.
Her eyes swung my way, and she threw up a hand, as if pausing the entire party, before scuttling across the room to me in her Italian leather heels. I didn’t miss the way some of my coworkers glanced my way, then rolled their eyes.
“Rose! Girl, what are you doing over here all by yourself?” Twyla pressed a hand to my shoulder, scanning me with big hazel eyes.
Twyla was light-skinned with brown freckles and big, bushy curls that took up a lot of space. She was mixed and often talked about not being able to properly identify with either race—Black or white. Some days she was too Black. Others she was too white. I always suggested she be herself. It seemed she still didn’t know how to do that. In a month, she’d be getting cheek fillers. I couldn’t imagine how that was going to look with her teeth.
“I’m just enjoying the view,” I said, bobbing my head to the right.
Twyla glanced out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the Charlotte skyline loomed above. “Isn’t it a great view?” she marveled.
“It is.”
She batted her long lashes as she pulled her hand away. She was giving me that look again. The same pitiful look she’d given me when I returned to work two days after I’d called and told her I wouldn’t be able to come in because I was mentally unwell.
Somehow (probably because of Herbert), Twyla found out Cole had cheated. But I bet it was when she found out who he’d cheated with that she developed pity for me. Since then, she’d been giving me sad, sympathetic looks. I couldn’t stand it. It made me feel weak and stupid, like I didn’t have a handle on my life.
“Are you doing okay?” she asked, like she’d done this morning and for the past three months.
“I’m good, Twyla. You really don’t have to keep asking me that.” I laughed it off, but I was dead serious.
“Yes, yes. Of course. So, how is the article on Cowan coming along? You’ve done great investigating on that so far.”
“It’s getting there. I’m still digging but I’m sure it’ll turn out great.”
“Good, good.”
My phone buzzed inside my clutch bag. I placed my wineglass on the nearest surface. I saw the name Zoey pop up on my screen, so I silenced the call.
“Sucks Herbert couldn’t make it,” said Twyla. “Oh—by the way, good job on that interview with the business owners of South End. Keep going at this rate and you’ll be moving up the ranks in no time.” She passed me a wink.
I couldn’t help smiling. As of that very moment, I was an investigative reporter. I worked mostly in politics, but also dabbled in city and business conflicts that happened in or around the Charlotte area. I was relieved to hear she’d liked my last one. Granted, it was a piece any junior reporter could’ve conducted, but I’d put my own spin on it. I made talking about city codes for breweries, shops, and boutiques sound like the next hot thing.
Lots of traffic made its way to Premier Daily and I caught a comment here and there about how people loved the reports by Rose. The next step was to move up to senior reporter, have a more serious status in the company and, eventually, branch out and travel to other states for grander stories.
“Twyla!” a deep voice called.
I looked as she did at Benson Parks, the only person in the room that made me feel slightly inferior. Not even Twyla could make me feel that way. Benson was just too damn good at everything, even looking like a snack, with his warm honey-brown skin, pale green eyes, and clean-cut hair. His shirts were always fitted just right. He looked good . . . and it was clear Twyla wanted more from him than just a few stories to edit. He waved for her to come back with a smooth smile that I’m sure made my boss’s panties twist.