Catching sight of her co-workers heading toward the conference room, Nicole jumped on the excuse to change the subject before Michelle could grill her further. “Looks like the meeting is getting ready to start. We’d better head that way ourselves.”
Michelle smirked, seeing right through Nicole’s attempt to put an end to the discussion. “You’ve always been good at avoiding conversations about your love life.”
“It’s a honed skill,” Nicole said, only half kidding. “Besides, love has nothing to do with Nathan and me.”
“Too bad.” Michelle sounded genuinely disappointed as she stood up and grabbed a file folder from her desk. “He seems like a really good match for you.”
Yeah, he was an amazing guy, but Nicole wasn’t such a great catch. She was smart enough to face the fact that she carried around a lot of emotional baggage, and she was better off committing to her work than a man.
Together, they walked to the conference room, then took a seat next to each other as the chairs around the large table quickly filled up with co-workers. Finally, Sharon entered and took her place at the head of the table, and the editorial meeting began.
The group gave their input on artwork for a future issue of the magazine, and suggestions for different and unique columns to add to the periodical were tossed out for consideration. Contributing writers were assigned topics to cover for upcoming features, and Nicole was less than thrilled when Sharon enthusiastically informed her that her next two articles would entail a “Date My Friend” party, and a “Dating in the Dark” meet-and-mingle.
Everyone seemed excited to start their next project, except Nicole. As the meeting came to an end and her co-workers filtered out of the conference room, anxious to get a jump-start on all their exciting new features and stories, Nicole found it difficult to drum up even an ounce of enthusiasm for her next two assignments. Instead, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread at the thought of spending the next few weeks researching, and writing about, yet more dating trends.
Everything about the meeting reinforced her decision to start looking for a new job. It was a choice she had to make in order to save her sanity. The fluff pieces were stifling her as a journalist, and didn’t give her any kind of mental challenge or creative outlet. She wanted, needed, to write stimulating stories and features that inspired people or provided controversy to make them think.
That had always been her goal, and with the Commentary focusing more on entertainment, style, and escapism, she was feeling more and more boxed in as a writer. Starting over as low man on the totem pole somewhere new didn’t hold a lot of appeal, but life was too short to stay with a job she was coming to hate.
Maybe it was time to really shake up the direction of her career and move to a bigger city with bigger opportunities. Unfortunately, all she had to her credit was a portfolio of light, frivolous articles and features that most editors at major-league publications would be less than impressed with.
The room was empty except for her and Sharon, and with a tired sigh Nicole gathered her day planner of notes and stood, resigned to writing the next couple of dating articles until she had the chance to put together a strong résumé and a better offer came along.
Sharon stood, too, smiling at Nicole. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, good job on the feature you wrote on Preston Sloane and the women’s shelter. I know it was a last-minute assignment, but I appreciate you stepping in and covering the piece.”
“It’s my job.” Despite loathing the man and everything he stood for, one of the first rules she’d learned when it came to writing for The Las Vegas Commentary was to keep her personal feelings out of the stories she wrote. It was all about facts, entertainment, and feel-good features. No one who picked up the Commentary wanted to read about a pedophile.
Still, she hated the pretty lies and false perceptions she’d been forced to write about Sloane and his do-good deed with the women’s shelter.
Suppressing her resentment and anger, she turned away from Sharon and headed for the door. “Though how we can print such glorified crap about a man who is the epitome of scum is beyond me,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Excuse me?” Sharon asked sharply.
Nicole came to an abrupt stop and squeezed her eyes closed in frustration, knowing she’d overstepped boundaries she never should have crossed at work. The hostile words had just slipped out of her mouth uncensored, and even though she knew she shouldn’t have said anything derogatory, she wasn’t about to apologize for the truth.
She faced Sharon, who’d crossed her arms over her breasts and looked none too happy about Nicole’s disparaging comment.
Well, tough shit, Nicole thought. She wasn’t about to sugarcoat her feelings about the situation, or Sloane, even if it meant getting her walking papers for speaking her mind. There were some things she refused to compromise, and one was her integrity.
“I wrote that feature on Sloane and his contribution to the women’s shelter because I didn’t have a choice,” she stated without apology. “As a journalist, I know I have to be unbiased on whatever subject I’m writing about, despite my own personal opinions and feelings, and that’s exactly what I did with Sloane. But it literally made me sick to glorify what he wants everyone to believe was an altruistic, compassionate gesture toward abused women when that’s exactly what he does. The man is a hypocrite when it comes to promoting his public perception, and I hate that I had to support his duplicity.”
Sharon’s gaze widened in shock at Nicole’s outspoken condemnation of Preston Sloane. “You don’t know any of that for a fact,” she replied carefully.
Oh, but she did. Nicole had up-close, personal, heartbreaking knowledge of Sloane’s operations. As much as she wanted to enlighten Sharon, she didn’t dare. Not only did she not want her editor to know what she was doing on the side, but Nicole wasn’t about to jeopardize Nathan’s case in any way.
Still, she wasn’t willing to let the subject die just yet. “Can you honestly say you haven’t heard rumblings about his preference for underage girls?”
“I won’t confirm or deny anything, and it’s not your job to go digging in that direction, either,” Sharon warned, and ended the discussion by walking out of the conference room.
No, it wasn’t Nicole’s place to dig into such a controversial story as an entertainment writer for The Las Vegas Commentary. But what she did on her own private time was her own business. Someone had to help those girls who’d succumbed to Sloane’s promises of affection and material possessions, and Nicole was committed to doing whatever it took to rescue Angela this weekend, and to save any other girl who wanted out.
He’d promised to protect her. He’d promised to make sure she was safe and guarded. And she died. Murdered. Her senseless death was all because he’d failed to shield her from the evil stalking her, waiting for the chance to end her life before she could testify.
With a strangled gasp, Nathan shot upright in bed, his body damp with sweat and his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest. He forced the haunting images from his mind, but the awful sense of grief and failure remained, and he feared it always would.
“Nathan?” Nicole stirred on the bed beside him, her sleepy voice tinged with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he lied, his throat raspy and raw. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”