Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Skye

"T hanks for seeing me, Jim," I tell my boss, seated stiffly in an armchair that faces his pristine desk. My spine is straight, my legs crossed, and my hands clasped on my lap.

"What's up, Skye?" His Texas drawl is curt, his eyes focused on the dozens of television monitors that line one of the walls of his thirty-first floor corner office, which overlooks all of LA, from downtown to the ocean. Each one is set to a different news channel from around the world.

"I've been working on a story . . . " My voice trails off.

"So . . . "

"I need your support. I believe it's going to be groundbreaking."

His brows lifting, he focuses his attention on me. My eyes take him in. A highly respected network veteran with a prestigious Peabody Award to his name and who single-handedly made Conquest News the most watched cable news channel, Jim Hartley is what I'd call debonair. Extremely handsome, in his mid-fifties, tall and fit. I've heard secretaries refer to him as "our Silver Fox," a jab at our rival, Fox News. A master of Southern charm, his often-flirtatious behavior precedes him. Almost every woman in the division harbors a secret crush on him though they all well know he's married and a family man. It's rumored that over the years a few have left the department, unable to handle their attraction to him.

My gaze stays on him as he picks up a pair of Chinese stress balls from his desk and squeezes them in the palms of his hands. "Do you want to share it with me?"

The word "duh" is on the tip of my tongue... why else would I be here? Biting it back, I start off slowly, vaguely.

"Jim, there's some serious shit happening in this town."

He chortles. "There always is."

"I mean really serious."

He cocks his head at me. "What do you mean?"

"Sheldon Greenberg . . . "

His brows draw together as he works his jaw.

"I have reason to believe he's a sexual predator."

He sets the balls down, and his slate-gray eyes darken. His gaze sharpens on me.

"What makes you think that?"

"Several major actresses have reached out to me. Come forward with their stories—"

He cuts me off, his voice challenging. "What kind of stories?"

Undeterred by his tone, I look him straight in the eye. "He groped them... exposed himself... forced them to have sex with him." I refrain from using the r-word. Or telling him anything more—including Nicole Farrell's horrific encounter.

Jim digests my words, then rises from his chair. Folding his hands behind his back, he strides over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the distant Pacific. I observe him. He cuts a beautiful picture with his tall, lean physique and meticulously tailored sterling gray suit that complements his shimmering silver hair. From my perspective, he's almost painterly, and for a second, I think about Finn, my husband. Silently, he stares out the window. After a few moments, he pivots and faces me. His arms are now folded across his chest, the intense expression on his face borderline menacing.

"Skye . . . "

"Yes?"

"I want you to drop this story."

Shockwaves course through my body. Doesn't our motto, "the truth is everything," mean anything to him?

Anger quickly replaces my shock. "Why, Jim?"

His face tenses. "Skye, are you out of your mind?"

My eyes narrow at him. "I don't understand."

He swipes his usually smooth forehead. A deep crease lines it. "Seriously? Sheldon is the number one supplier to Conquest Broadcasting. You bring him down... you bring us all down."

"But, Jim. This man is a monster. He needs to be brought down." My mind flits to the post-grad school event that ironically changed my life.

While my chest squeezes at the memory, Jim stiffens, his lips pulled tight in a flat, pensive line. After a stretch of silence, he strides up behind me, and rests his hands on my shoulders, his fingers lightly massaging them. I squirm.

"Skye, darlin'... you have a great future ahead of you."

His voice softens, his smug tone cajoling, almost phony. In my mind's eye, I picture a smarmy smile on his face.

"We're thinking about giving you your own show."

"Yeah, right." I've heard that God knows how many times before. Skye's the Limit. I hold my own, not backing down. I'm tired of his bullshit.

"Jim, I want to break this story."

A tense pause and then he squeezes my shoulder blades. His tone grows as firm as his touch. "Don't go there."

Without another word, I jump up from my chair and face him. Rage rises inside me like mercury and so does my voice.

"What about the first amendment? Freedom of the press?"

"Don't. Go. There," he repeats, each word now as sharp as a tack.

"I'm not backing down."

Jim's expression turns glacial, his voice icy. "Skye, you're going to regret this."

His cold, ominous words go in one ear and out the other. Stalking out of his office, I curse under my breath. I'm going to pursue my story. Pursue the truth.

I owe it to all these poor innocent women.

I owe it to myself.

Nothing's going to stop me.

Nothing.