“Can’t you give me a clue?”
“No, because I’ve no idea what secrets he’s guarding. But he’s sure to have some, huh? So you just go ahead and send him a little message – you know, tell him you’ve discovered his dirty secret; tell him you want to meet up and discuss it. And if he meets up with you, you know he’s got something to hide. And you know he’ll be desperate to do anything to stop the world from finding out.”
Eleanor’s sense of reality imploded. “Frame him?”
He scoffed. “If that’s what you wanna call it.” Gerald grinned proudly. “Hey, I’ll bet you’ve never heard the term ‘blagging’, huh?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Well, that’s what we call what I’ve just described. We pretend we’ve got some info on the target and ‘blag’ our way into getting them to confess. It’s something we all swear by. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
“I do, yeah. Blagging. Right.”
“But it’s not the same as lying, okay, because you are actually reporting the truth.”
“The truth…” she nodded slowly.
“Although if you do get really desperate, you can always just write something scandalous and add his name in after. Sometimes I do that. Write the quotes before I’ve got my story, then match them up with the guilty target. And bribery has its place, of course. You know, drop in on our competitors and see if they’re in the mood to receive a nice envelope full of cash in exchange for their top story. You’ve got to do whatever you can to get that front page. That’s the most important thing I can say to you.”
Eleanor was speechless. There didn’t seem to be any investigating going on here at all. It was all bribery, corruption, and lies. But – of course – things would be different at the broadsheet. The sensible newspaper. Wouldn’t they?
Gerald drummed his fingers on the table. “Oh, just one more little tip – you’ll like this: if you need any medical information about a celebrity, just call up their hospital and pretend to be a specialist. They usually give it out over the phone. And then you can contact the celebrity in question and ask them if they’d like you to publish that info, or would they prefer it if you suppress it in exchange for some other gossip. Genius, huh? People are dumb. I love it. I’ve got some of my best stories that way.”
Eleanor cleared her throat. “Er, isn’t that blackmail?”
“Bless you, Eleanor. Welcome to the world of tabloid journalism. Now I suggest you get on with that story. As I said, if you don’t come up with the goods, you’re out.”
&
nbsp; Chapter Six
Joseph gripped the steering wheel of his four-by-four and cruised through the damp cold night. His freedom and privacy had been severely constricted since he’d been thrust into the public sphere, and there were only two places he could ever really be alone now: in his apartment or while driving. He listened as the wipers rocked mechanically to and fro, slicing up time like a heartbeat and sluicing the heavy downpour off the tinted windshield. It was peaceful in here; quiet and snug – a warm bubble of sanity against the crazy world outside. He sighed. He was heading over to see his brothers Adam and Dylan for a game of poker, and they planned to link up with their oldest brother Ivan on Skype, so he could join in virtually.
Ivan… that was the weirdest situation. He’d been living undercover in the UK since faking his death in the spring, to protect himself and his loved ones from the threats that came with the perpetual motion device he’d invented – then destroyed. He’d already upset some Saudis and some Russians, and he was keen to lie low for a while. It was definitely a family secret to keep out of the tabloids – at least until Ivan was ready to ‘come out’ as alive.
Joseph gazed at the black road ahead. The bright lights were reflecting off the puddles and dazzling his brain, making him feel disconnected and desolate. He realised what he really needed right now was some solitude. He hated to cancel on his brothers, but he wasn’t in the mood for socialising – a night in with a bottle of vodka seemed much more appealing.
He grabbed his phone and Adam’s voicemail kicked in, so he left a message. “Hey, Adam, it’s Joe. I’m not coming over tonight – I’m feeling really beat and I just need some time to chill. I’m okay, but that girl I like is driving me crazy. I’m not giving up, though – you know I love a challenge. Anyway, give my best to Ivan, and tell Dylan not to cheat at poker. Laters!”
Joseph hung up and chucked his phone onto the passenger seat. He glanced across the traffic to change lanes to take him back home, but he noticed a commotion at the side of the road. There was a recovery truck hoisting up a broken-down Mercedes, and the owner of the car was getting soaked in the freezing rain…
Joseph’s heart lurched as he realised it was Eleanor. Poor thing, she looked cold, wet, and very pissed off. He steered the car across three lanes of traffic, and pulled up alongside her, winding down the electric window.
He shouted against the sound of the rain and the whirring mechanism of the truck. “Hey, Ellie! Can I give you a ride?”
Eleanor peered at him. “Joseph? Oh god… some idiot ran into the back of me.” She fought back tears. “This is Matthew’s car; he’s gonna kill me. And now I’m late for an appointment. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Hop in,” Joseph said. “I’ll take you there.”
She winced. “Are you sure? I was about to call a cab.”
“Come on; get in.”
She cringed gratefully, then she spoke to the recovery guy and gave him her car keys, before climbing into Joseph’s car. She was soaking wet and her hair was stuck to her face. Her mascara was running down her cheeks, and the bad weather was clearly brewing in her heart. But even though she was dripping a puddle on his passenger seat, she looked beautiful to Joseph. He suppressed a desire to take her straight back to his place and warm her up under the shower. Or why not just strip her naked here and fuck a smile back onto her angelic face?
She wriggled out of her wet jacket, revealing her designer suit beneath. “Thanks for this, Joseph.”
“No problem.” He pulled the car back into the traffic. “So where to?”