Vacant Heart

Chapter Twenty-One

Matthew's glowering stare seers a hole through my face. No doubt my boss had his suspicions when I called and asked to meet him before the early risers filed their way into the building. Those suspicions probably grew a great deal when he saw I came bearing coffee and gingerbread muffins.

None of the pleasantries matter.

The moment I told him I wouldn't be writing an article on Aidan Hughes, his features hardened, and have frozen this way since. He's a naturally hard-looking man, hell bent on the importance of intimidation in every aspect of his life. Most people cower from this scowl—I've seen it enough to expect it.

However, it's never been directed toward me, and that does change things.

"Josephine, you said you were trapped in his home for well over a week. Do you know how many hours that is? How many minutes? Are you telling you wasted all of that time? You were in his home base, amongst his things. I'm positive he wasn't watching you every second of every day."

"There's no worthwhile story there, sir."

"Bullshit. The man's entire family is dead. He's locked himself away. That alone is a story, one our readers would jump to read."

He judges my silence, and my clear conscious with suspicion.

"What aren't you telling me, Josephine? You've never rejected a story. You've always flown wherever I've told you, without a second thought, without questions. You always get the story. What the hell is going on?"

I look into my coffee, trying to swallow back the bad taste in my mouth while I single-handedly destroy my career.

"Sir, I have no interest in exploiting this man's troubles. What I did realize when I arrived is that he doesn't want to give us a story. He wants to be left alone."

"That is a luxury that his money, and his fame have taken from him. There are consequences to being interesting, Josephine. Our job isn't to give a shit. It's to get the truth, to get the best damn story and sell it. That's how we stay afloat."

"I know."

"I have no problem telling you that you are an asset to me, to this company. You are the best, and I know you know it, so I don't have to toot your horn. The second you start caring about their feelings is the moment this business dies. Sentimentality isn't for us."

"I understand that in many cases, Matthew, that would apply. I've done everything you've asked of me until now, you said that. Aidan Hughes is clearly bent by his tragedies, and his lips were sealed. I knew there was no getting anything out of him."

"I find that very, very hard to believe," he growls, his sparse eyebrows bending in anger. "And even if it was, we have enough to write the damn article. So, go to your desk, write it and have it to me by the end of the week, Miss Taylor. Understood?"

I inhale, attempting to steady my frantic heart. He dares me with a glare to push him further.

"Sir, I told you I'm not writing the expose on Aidan Hughes," I announce, definitively.

"Then I'll fire you!"

"You need me."

His features scrunch with disbelief, with fury, mostly because he knows it's true. "You—you—" His hand slams down on the desk, causing me to jump an inch out of my seat. I feel the scalding heat of coffee on my skin. "Damn it, Josephine! You know how much we need this!"

"Matthew, I'll do any other story. I'll go wherever you need me to go."

He presses his knuckles into his desk of papers, breathing evenly, in and out to calm himself. I wait patiently, waiting for the wrath, the blow he's preparing in his silence. He steels himself, straightening and meets my gaze with finality.