chapter thirty-two

meghan

By Tuesday afternoon, the list of people willing to add their names to the byline of this exposé had grown. Byron was the easiest to persuade—he was happy to be a part of something. I thought I saw just a hint of something sinister in his eyes when he scowled and said, “I don’t like that man.”

Devonte was a little more hesitant, being the person in the newsroom least affected by Silas’s assholery. He just wanted to show up, write his sports reports, and go home. He even said that. But when Xander reminded him Silas was a Cowboys fan, Devonte glanced at his Philadelphia Eagles mousepad and tensed up. “Okay, but I hope I don’t regret this.”

Chase and Jillian also discussed the plan with their producer, Marco, who was immediately on board. Marco even came upstairs to talk to me, sharing some insight he had on Silas pushing some stories while killing others. “And I’m sure you’re aware, but Noah Sherman will be officially announcing his bid for mayor tomorrow morning,” Marco said, “and guess who already made a sizable donation to his campaign?”

I didn’t have to guess. “That sounds like election interference.” If Silas wasn’t stopped, next year could get messy.

Marco nodded. “It’s unethical at best, dangerous at most. The donation is public record, so that should give you a little ammunition. Don’t call it interference—just imply it,” he warned before he left.

Xander wheeled his broken chair into my cubicle to read what I’d written so far. It was a messy draft, but he nodded as he skimmed the document on my screen. “Is it okay so far?” I asked.

Xander licked his lips, rereading some parts in silence. His hesitation made me feel sick to my stomach. “It’s getting there,” he said, his pointer finger hovering over the screen. “Add the word ‘alleged’ here. Might save your ass. All our asses.”

I typed the word quickly, giving him a grateful nod for pointing out my oversight.

He stood up to leave, pushing his chair toward the opening of my cubicle. Just before he turned the corner, he paused to look at me and say, “It’s good, Meghan. You’re definitely the right person to write this.”

Compliments from Xander were rare, so it was all I could do not to spring to my feet and hug him. I resisted, however, knowing he’d only push me away. “Thank you.” I swallowed. “And hey, come back here for a second.”

Xander reluctantly walked his chair back over to me and sat down. “What?”

I stared at his face. “What are you doing with Jill?”

His lips twitched as if trying to suppress a grin. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” I folded my arms across my chest. “What are you doing?”

He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Just having fun.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” I kept my voice low. “I’m worried you’re going to end up breaking her heart.”

Xander gave me a look that was almost too casual. “What if she breaks mine?”

The way he said it made me pause. I scanned his face, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away. “What about Abigail?”

His posture stiffened. “Abigail’s… seeing someone. A woman.”

“Oh. Is she…?”

“She’s bi.” He gave a small, lopsided grin. “So yeah, that pretty much doubles the competition. I can’t compete with all these angelic women walking around with their soft lips and long hair and the way they… smell.”

“Are you trying to compete with them, Xan?”

“No,” he answered quickly, his folded fist covering his mouth as he leaned on my desk. But I wasn’t convinced. There was a flicker of something in his expression—resentment, maybe. Did Abigail turn him down? It felt like she had, and now he was rebounding with Jill. “I like Jill. I really do.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you like about her? And don’t say her boobs.”

Xander rolled his eyes. “She’s cute. She’s intelligent. I like her laugh. Her tenacity. She’s like… a little Energizer bunny.”

A slow grin spread across his face, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “If you’re about to make this sexual, stop right there.”

“You asked,” he said with a smirk. “I’d interrogate you about what you’re doing with the ghostbuster, but I don’t think I want the answers.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t have any,” I said, turning my chair back to my computer screen. I needed to get back to work. Xander returned to his own cubicle, letting me write in silence.

But thoughts of Chase kept me from concentrating on anything else. He’d been pretty busy helping Sean pull everything together for the Comic Con, which was only a few days away. It seemed like everything was going wrong, from a delayed shipment of VIP badges to one of their art vendors getting rightfully canceled for saying some pretty problematic stuff online. People were calling for Sean and Chase to uninvite the artist from the convention, which they eventually did, but it was a whole mess.

When I picked up my phone to text him, there was already a notification from him there, waiting for me.

Chase: Come over for dinner tonight. I want to cook for you, like I used to.

I bit my thumbnail, grinning at my phone. Out of the two of us, Chase was always the better cook. Not that I was bad, it was just that he loved experimenting in the kitchen, trying to impress me with new techniques he picked up from the Food Network. It usually worked.

Meghan: I’ll have to think about it.

Chase: Reread that last message, babes. I wasn’t asking you, I was telling you. See you at 6.

Babes? That was new, and I liked it—almost as much as I liked this subtle display of possessiveness. He knew exactly how to handle me when I tried playing games. I had to cover my mouth to muffle the way I giggled as I tapped a reply. Damn that man.

I gave in, setting a reminder to grab a bottle of wine on my way to his apartment. And then I pushed my phone away to give this Silas story my full attention again.

Paragraph by paragraph, I went through the draft, rearranging sentences and tightening the flow, but no matter how much I fiddled with it, the story still felt incomplete. I sighed, slumping back in my chair. Xander said it was good, but he’d also said, “It’s getting there.” That was the feedback I couldn’t quite shake.

As I stared at the blinking cursor, I worried all the information I’d gathered wasn’t enough. Most of my evidence was just hearsay or speculation, when what I needed was a strong piece of evidence that would leave Silas no room to manipulate or discredit it.

I needed a smoking gun.