Chapter Two

It was as if a huge gaping hole was opening up inside Celeste. What Jane had said was true. Instead of her name beneath the headline it was Ezra's. The man who'd spoiled her good mood, acted as though he was the bees-bloody-knees, and insulted her monumentally. And now this…

"What the fuck!" she exclaimed, heat traveling up her chest to her cheeks and making her scalp itch. "Of all the…"

"I can tell it's not his style of writing." Jane was peering at it. "He doesn't use as many adjectives, less storylike, more telling, if you know what I mean."

"Of course it's not his writing. I spent all day doing this and a week chasing this exclusive." Anger rushed through her veins. His head would roll for this. It was underhanded and mean. She'd get Roland's number, call him, and dump Ezra right in it. "Why the heck would he do something like this?"

"I have no idea."

"And why would the celebrity editor in chief do this? She, or he, was the person I emailed this to for publication. It was ready to go, and my name was definitely on there. I'll have to bring it up with them, too. And see what Roland has to say about all of this."

Jane bit on her bottom lip and frowned.

"What?" Celeste gulped back several mouthfuls of wine. "What is it?" She followed Jane's line of sight.

Standing at the bar, next to a shorter guy with black curly hair, was Ezra Todd. He was sipping from a bottle of beer and appeared in deep conversation with his companion.

"Huh," she muttered, "as if this couldn't get any worse. There's the arsehole who has been giving me a hard time about getting the job. From the moment I sat down at the desk he's been a thorn in my side."

"You mean Ezra Todd?"

"Yes, Mr. I'm Bigger And Better Than Everyone And It's Okay To Be Rude As Fuck To New Staff."

"Ah…" Jane nodded slowly.

"What?" Celeste held out her hands. "Help me out. I'm the new girl, remember."

Jane downturned her mouth and sighed. "Ezra Todd is the celebrity editor in chief."

"What? Oh, shit." A fresh wave of fury went through her. Her belly clenched and her chest tightened. "Really?"

"Really. So perhaps you don't need to wait until tomorrow to bring it up with him. Go over there now. Ask him why he switched the author name."

Celeste tensed. That is exactly what she should do. So why did she feel nervous at the thought? Was it because she knew what a mean tongue and misogynistic attitude he had? Or was it because the wine bar was packed with all of her new colleagues?

"If you do it now, perhaps it will get changed." Jane shrugged and sipped her wine. "You never know. It could be a genuine mistake."

"It's not a mistake when you delete something and add something else in its place." She stood. A sudden determination came over her. "Right, let's sort this out."

"You go, girl." Jane grinned and there was a sparkle in her eye that made Celeste wonder if she was enjoying the drama.

Pulling in a deep breath, Celeste pushed past several crowded tables and a small standing crowd. When she reached Ezra, she halted and clenched her fists.

It took a moment for him to notice her but when he did he stopped talking and raised his eyebrows. The blue of his eyes appeared darker in the dimly lit bar, like the depths of the ocean instead of the shallows, which is how they'd looked earlier.

"We need to talk," she said stiffly when it appeared he wasn't going to start a conversation.

"If it's work-related it can wait until tomorrow." He turned back to his friend, his dismissive shrug igniting a new fire in her.

"No!" She grabbed his upper arm, her fingers wrapping around solid biceps. "We need to talk now."

He stared at her hand, his lips a tight line.

Quickly she released him. "It's about a change in the article I sent you. Only two words but incredibly significant."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you do. I wrote the breaking on Raif Pennington and the nanny, yet your name is on the article."

"Is it?" He huffed. "No idea how that happened." He took a slug of his drink.

"Of course you do. You changed it. I sent it over complete, it just needed the okay from Roland then transferring to the site, yet everything else stayed the same except for my credit."

"Your credit." He huffed again, an annoying habit it seemed. "The photographs were the star of the piece, the rest was just waffle."

"How dare you." She clenched her jaw so tight she wondered if her teeth would break.

"And I'm guessing…" he went on, "you didn't take the photographs, so what does it matter whose name is on the article?"

"It matters to me." She pointed at his companion and waggled her finger. "How would you like it if something you wrote was credited so someone else? Eh? If this man put his name to your work?"

"Who is this?" the companion asked looking at Ezra. "She's a really angry bird."

"She's a fleeting colleague," Ezra said. "Sooner she frees up the desk the better."

"What is it with the damn desk?" Celeste said, her mind spinning.

"Run away, little girl," Ezra said, waggling his fingers. "I've got more important things to attend to than putting a Band-Aid on your bruised ego."

"I do not have an ego, for your information."

"I think you've just proven that you have." He laughed but it wasn't a nice sound.

"Okay, well, perhaps I do when it comes to sabotage, because that's what this is. Sabotage."

"Angry and dramatic," the companion said. "Quite the combo."

"Oh, and you…" She scowled and glared at him. "Are clearly just as abhorrent and low-moraled as your friend here."

"Be careful there," Ezra said. "Calling your boss names could get you into hot water." He paused. "Because in case you hadn't figured it out by now, that's exactly what I am. Your boss."

"Roland is my boss. I've made a decision to bypass you based on your unprofessionalism and lack of manners."

His eyes flickered as though she'd surprised him. "I'd like to see you do that." He then turned his back on her and leaned over the bar. "Two more," he called to the barman as he dug for his wallet.

"You have dubious taste in drinking companions," she snapped at his friend. Then she turned and walked over to Jane, sashaying as she went and flicking her hair over her shoulders—her neck was hot.

"How did that go?" Jane asked.

"About as well as a fox getting into the chicken coop." She grabbed her wine and downed it. "And to be clear … I was a chicken."

"Oh, dear." Jane shook her head. "Ezra is known for saying what he thinks."

"Saying what he thinks? There's being transparent and honest, and then there's being plain old rude and mean."

Jane looked over at him. "I guess no one has it all. He got the looks, the talent—"

"But not the personality or moral compass." Celeste was miserable. So much for her new dream job. If her boss was a total dickhead and sabotaging her work was par for the course, then she wouldn't be hanging around long. Except she really did need the base salary.

"I just don't know what his problem is," Celeste said. "You'd think he'd be glad to have an extra journalist on his team. One with contacts and several photographers always ready to give me first refusal on exclusives."

"I agree." Jane shrugged.

Celeste's phone lit up with a message. "Sorry, I just need to check this, it's from Patrick."

"Patrick? Your fella?"

"No … well, he was. We split a while ago but we're still good friends. He's in Ukraine, covering a story there."

"Gosh, yes, check in on him."

Patrick: Hey girl. Just giving you the weekly I'm still alive message. Crazy out here. I've hooked up with a bunch of other indies and we're heading east. Keep smiling. Speak next week. Oh, and can you send my mom some flowers for her birthday? I'll transfer you fifty when I get decent signal.

"All okay?" Jane asked.

"Yes, he's fine. Heading east, though, which doesn't bode well. That's were the worst of the fighting is."

"It's nice that you're still friends."

"We were friends to begin with, then kind of fell into a relationship, and when it stopped feeling right, we just went back to being friends. I wouldn't want to lose that with him."

"He sounds like a good ‘un, perhaps you could hook me up with him." She laughed, then her face fell. "Sorry, that was inappropriate."

"No, no, not at all. We're friends. I have no problem with him seeing other people, in fact, I hope he finds ‘the one'. Might stop his crazy escapades to front lines, they seem to be a magnet for him."

"As is often the case. There're a few reporters from Fulham Front out there."

"There are?"

"Yes, and maybe that's why … oh, damn, look at the time. I need to go." She stood. "Arc needs picking up from doggy day care by six-thirty. I'll catch you around, yeah?"

"Yes, and thank you for the drink. My turn next time."

"You're on." She gathered up her bag and rushed off in a whirl of energy and shouts of hellos and goodbyes to various colleagues.

Celeste replied to Patrick then quickly ordered the flowers for Mable—roses were her favorites. Job done.

She then gathered up her bag and summer jacket. The bar was emptying out now and she was pleased to see Ezra and his companion had gone. She'd had more than enough of him for one day.

The night had been warm and Celeste restless. She anguished over whether to confront Ezra again about the article or go straight to Roland.

In the end she did neither, because when she arrived at work and checked online, her name had been added and she was now the author of the column. Unfortunately it had gotten the predicted tidal wave of clicks overnight and now a new story had broken about the Prime Minister's dodgy dealings with tax. Her story was old news, already, clicks dropping.

Sitting at her desk, she swung her chair around and looked out the window. After scrolling through her messages she called April. "Hey, any scoops on the PM?"

"Nah, I'm in Mayfair, word has it Swallow Johnson has just landed and has a baby bump."

"Really? Swallow Johnson. She's hot news at the moment. Her new tour sold out in seconds."

"Yeah, I know. I had a pap friend call me with the tip-off."

"That would be a great story to run. Call me if you get a shot."

"Will do."

Next Celeste called two other photographers to see what they had brewing, then she turned back to her desk. Ezra was standing there, frowning.

"What do you want?" she said, picking up a pen and tearing her attention away from the way his tight gray t-shirt hugged his defined pectoral muscles.

"I wanted you not to be here."

"Tough."

"You know what your problem is?" He leaned forward the way he had the day before, knuckles on her desk.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me." She glanced at Roland's door wishing it was open, and then over at Jane's desk. She wasn't there.

"You just don't know when you're not wanted. This desk belongs to a real journalist."

"Oh, fuck off," she said. "I'm a real journalist, and talk about the pot calling the kettle black, you're a celeb journo too."

His face darkened. "I've done the rounds. Spent five years in Iraq and Afghanistan reporting."

"So why aren't you out there now? Or Ukraine? Hunting the next warlord or explosion story?"

He hesitated for a moment then, "I've got responsibilities here."

She found herself looking at his ring finger. Empty. "Like what?"

"Nothing you need to know." He straightened. "Your position is temporary, this desk belongs to someone else."

"Oh, quit with the desk thing. And I'm here as long as Roland wants me here."

"Which will be until I say you're not good for the team."

"How am I not good for the team?"

"You're a distraction."

Her mouth fell open. "What did you say?"

"You heard." He nodded at her computer. "Now get me a story. That Swallow Johnson one."

"You were listening to my conversation?"

"Hard not to, you're loud. Like I said, a distraction." He waved his hand in her general direction.

"Loud?"

"And just … there!" The hand flicking increased.

"Wow, if only I had remembered my invisibility cloak, I might not have offended you so much."

He rolled his eyes, shoved his hands into his jean pockets, and turned.

She watched him walk back to his desk. Damn shame he was such a jerk, he had a really cute ass. On any other guy she'd have admired it.

Suddenly her phone beeped.

April: I only went and got it. Swallow, bump on show. Take a look!

"Oh ,wow!" Celeste opened her email. The picture was up close, and Swallow's vivid yellow top hugged her small frame clearly showing a baby bump. "Yes!" She chuckled and shook her head. "It's as if she wanted us to know."

"Who wanted us to know what?"

Celeste looked up. Ezra was in front of her again.

"Jesus, are you stalking me or something?"

"I'm your boss, you're new. I'm entitled to keep an eye on what you're up to no matter how tedious that is for me."

She sighed. "Yeah, well, okay. Look at this." She nodded at the screen.

He came around beside her, squatted down, and looked at it. "This real?"

"Of course it's real. Just came in."

"Okay … ping it to me I'll write the piece to go with it."

"No, you bloody well won't!" She glared at him. "My pap pic, my story." She minimized the screen, completely forgetting her screen saver was a picture of herself on the beach in Thailand. Taken by Patrick last summer, he'd commented that her green bird-patterned bikini matched the jungle behind.

"Oh, for crying out loud." Ezra squinted at it. "What is that?"

"What do you think it is?" She turned the laptop away from him, suddenly feeling like she was there in the office, wearing only her bikini.

"You really love yourself, huh. Why else would you have yourself as your screen saver?"

"Not at all." His words stung. She had it there to remind herself that long days slogging at the computer equated a few weeks in paradise each year.

"As vain as vain can be." He tutted and shook his head. "That's you and exactly as I suspected."

"I am not vain." But she'd spoken to his back, he was walking away, shoulders tense, arms stiff.

She pulled in a deep breath, refusing to be dragged down by his comment. It was a taunt her brother had used on her when she'd spent hours in front of the mirror—not admiring herself, but trying to tame long blonde hair that tended to frizz at the slightest bit of moisture in the air.

"You're the one who is vain, you're so full of yourself," she muttered. "Mr. Misery Guts Fun-Suck."