Grayson: It would be a spacious trunk, too, I bet.
Célian: If you two were to read anything more substantial than the National Enquirer, such as our company’s newsletter from three months ago, you would know that messenger chats on our web software are now publicly available to view by any user in the company.
<Grayson left the chatroom>
<Ava left the chatroom>
<Judith sent a gif of Ross from Friends bumping his fists together>
If there was one thing I’d learned from producing news for over a decade, it was that wars are not measured in words, or declarations, or assumptions. They are defined by results, the number of casualties, and land conquered. The colder they are, the longer they last.
I made my way back from picking up my own dry-cleaning once again on a spring afternoon because Miss Humphry, my assistant’s assistant—who’d blackmailed me into the task with a blow job more than a week ago—was adamant I didn’t deserve her help. She had won the first battle.
Currently, Judith was avoiding me. I was avoiding Lily, and my father was loitering around my newsroom, sending Jude looks that made my skin crawl so violently, I was tempted to shed it completely and dump it on my office floor. I thought things could not get any worse, but I’d obviously underestimated the clusterfuck called my life, because sure enough, Dan—the reporter I’d tasked with getting info about Jude—stood at my office threshold when I returned.
“Are you ready for this?”
I was somewhat surprised to learn he’d spent the last week actually working on this and not drinking his body-weight with the advance I transferred into his account.
I waved for him to close the door and take a seat. “Drop the game show mannerism. I’m not a ’60s housewife.”
“So, Judith Humphry is neck deep in shit and currently trying to swim her way out against the stream. Mother died when she was thirteen; Dad diagnosed with cancer about a year ago.” He rubbed his fingers across his lips, delivering the news dryly while settling into the chair opposite to mine. “When your girl found out about her pops, she quit her prestigious-yet-underpaid internship and took two temp jobs to help with the bills. But obviously, her income still couldn’t cover a mortgage in New fucking York, not to mention the everyday life of a property owner in Brooklyn. Her dad recently stopped going to chemotherapy because they can’t afford it. Their bills are unpaid, their fridge is mostly empty, and they live in Bed Stuy.”
If I’d had a heart, it would’ve slowed, almost to a halt. But as it happened, I didn’t, so all I could manage was despising her a little less for the wallet stunt. My face remained placid, so Dan took it as a cue to continue.
“She had a boyfriend, but he seems to be out of the picture. The day you two disappeared into the Laurent Towers Hotel together—and don’t give me any details, because I sure as hell don’t wanna know—was the last time she was seen at his apartment building, according to the CCTV footage. Your girl is unaware of the fact that said boyfriend, Milton, purchased an engagement ring that he is still keeping in his nightstand drawer. But based on the active ghosting she’s doing every time he calls, it’s safe to say a comeback is not in their cards. By the way, did I use the term ghosting correctly?”
I felt my nostrils flaring, and I wasn’t entirely sure what pissed me off more—the fact that Dan was trying to younger than eighty-five, or that Jude could’ve fucked her boyfriend on the same evening I’d had my dick inside her.
“Continue.”
“As far as her hobbies go, Judith likes reading thrillers while sitting on her porch on Saturday mornings, and she prefers Costa over Starbucks and bagels over tacos. On Sundays, she goes to the New York Public Library and reads everything from Newsweek to The New York Times. She skips the Post every single time, never touches the gossip columns, and munches on Sour Patch Kids when no one is watching.
“She shudders when people dog-ear books, and always stops to listen to buskers. Sometimes she throws money into their instrument cases. She prepares an extra sandwich every morning and gives it to the homeless guy living outside the train station near her house.” He paused, letting out a belch. “Put simply, Jude Humphry is barely existing at this point, moneywise. Even so, she seems to be in good spirits, so if you’re worried about her stealing from her workplace or becoming a double-agent for another broadcasting company, I would say it’s pretty unlikely.”
I was hardly concerned about Jude’s loyalty, but I couldn’t tell Dan I’d had him check on her because my dick and I shared an unhealthy obsession with the girl.
“How much is my father paying you here, Dan?” I stroked my chin, changing the subject.
His gaze shot up from his phone. “A hundred and twenty K. Why?”
“I’ll pay you one-fifty to work for me exclusively.”
“Okay.” The leathery-skinned, fifty-something man smiled at that.
Dan hit the bottle three times a week, and we couldn’t rely on him to chase news around New York without making a pit stop at every bar. But he sure was good enough for digging up dirt.
“I want you to keep an eye on this Milton kid—the boyfriend.”
“Got it.” He wrote something in his notepad. Dan was severely old school, with his tattered courier bag, tape recorder, thinning amber hair, and hate for everything with a flat screen.
“Also, find out who Kipling is. But most importantly, I need you to follow my father.”
I didn’t miss a beat, watching said creeper through the glass wall as he approached Judith. She looked up and pushed off her desk, standing. Her puzzled eyes studied him intently, but otherwise her mouth was curved in a polite smile. My father motioned upstairs, probably to his office. My fist clenched and my jaw tensed so hard I thought my teeth were going to turn to dust.
Dan’s head shot up. “What are we looking to find?”
“Everything and anything that could take him down.”
Before Dan could nod, I smoothed my tie and pressed the switchboard button connecting me to Brianna. “Get me a discreet meeting with Mr. Humphry.”
“Sir, as in Judith Humphry’s father?”
“No, as in Humphrey Bogart. He died sometime in the fifties. I’m sure he’s not a hard man to track.”
Silence from the other end.
“Yes, Brianna, Judith Humphry’s father. And make sure this doesn’t get back to her in any way.”
“Yes, sir.”
More silence. Then, “Sir?”
“What?”
“Thank you for doing your own dry cleaning. I really appreciate it.”
She needed to thank Judith, but of course, I would never admit that. It felt like waving a white flag, and all I could see was red, all I could feel was history repeating itself—with my father trying to seduce Judith and her dress ending up in a puddle, like water on the floor of the electrical closet—Catastrophic.
I put the receiver down, waving Dan away like he was a waiter who’d messed up my order. His chin jiggled, along with his stomach on a chuckle.
“When you least expect it, eh?”
I would’ve asked what he meant, had I cared. “Out,” I said instead.
“Sixteen, by the way.” He pushed himself up, groaning.
“Huh?”
“You asked me how many pairs of Chucks she has. I counted. At least sixteen.”
That’s a lot of fucking moods for one tiny thing.
Shortly after sending Dan on his way, I waltzed out of my office and into the newsroom. Grilling Jude about my Dad was tempting, but I wasn’t a hypocrite, and she didn’t owe me shit.
Besides, it was likely she already felt extra salty after what had happened with Lily, and she had enough on her plate without having my dirty laundry to sort through. I was going to talk to Kate about an item I wanted to scrap from the show tonight when Steve blocked my way to her desk, throwing his body between us like a hysterical mother in front of a speeding car.
Big. Fucking. Mistake, Dudebro.
“Can I help you?” I raised an eyebrow.