“Hey, I gave up soap operas this year. Real-life drama is like my patch.”
Riley sighed. “Honestly? I have no idea what Liam will do. I can see him puffing out his chest a little bit. Making some nobody-hurts-my-sister noise—but he’ll settle down. He hates drama.”
“You know, I have to say, when I told you to tell him how you felt, I didn’t think you’d holler it at his mom in a temper tantrum.”
Riley shrugged. “Yeah, well … you said you wanted honesty—the truth behind the story and all that.
My truth is messy.”
Camille studied her for a second. “Good girl.” She patted the article. “This is good stuff. Really good.”
“Thanks,” Riley said, caught a little off guard by her boss’s praise. To be honest, she’d thought it would be a hard sell. Stiletto was known for its advice columns, so an article about how not even the best nugget of advice could fix all problems was pushing the envelope.
To say nothing of the fact that her piece trivialized all of her own past articles.
As Julie had pointed out, Riley’s article was “downright depressing, but super badass.”
It was also honest. And heartfelt.
And she didn’t feel even the tiniest bit guilty. Sam had had his week to fix things.
But when day seven came and went without her receiving so much as a text message, the gloves had come off. Not out of revenge, but because she owed it to her readers—owed it to herself, to admit that no matter how hard you tried, no matter how many things you did right, sometimes the fairy-tale ending just wasn’t in the cards.
“We really do need to change his name though,” Camille said in her rarely used gentle voice. The one that meant no arguing.
Riley shrugged. She’d sort of figured that’d be the case. And she probably would have changed it herself before final copy edits, just out of common decency.
Sam couldn’t—shouldn’t—get mad at her for telling the truth, but he probably could get rightfully pissed about outright slander.
“Use whatever name you want,” Riley said with a little wave. “Might I suggest Chickenshit? Or Le Big Baby?”
Her boss smiled. “I’ll let the gals in marketing come up with something generic, but let us know if you think of a backup. Now we just need to come up with a title, and you can put this whole business behind you.”
Riley’s heart gave a little twist. Was Camille nuts? This was simply Riley’s anger stage. Next up would be mourning, and according to Emma, it took at least as long to get over someone as the time you’d known him.
Which was just great. She should be getting over Sam Compton just in time for her fortieth birthday.
And …
Wait. “What’s wrong with the title I suggested?” Riley said.
“It’s boring,” Camille said bluntly. “This is going to be one of our standout pieces on the cover.”
“Really?” Riley said, leaning forward a little in surprise. And maybe dismay. “I figured you’d kind of bury it. You know … a depressing filler piece.”
“Nope,” Camille said, sliding her glasses back on. “We need to show that we’re not afraid to print the hard stuff—the messy side of love. Of course we all want you to find love, and you will, someday, but for now I think it’s brave to talk about the relationships that don’t work.”
“So what are you thinking for a headline?”
“It was actually Grace’s idea,” Camille said. “We had a little brainstorming session yesterday after you left early to satiate your chicken-wings craving.”
Riley half shrugged. She had been sort of eating her feelings. “And?”
“Well … how do you feel about Lady Gaga?”
“Um, cautious?”
“We were thinking: ‘Caught in a Bad Romance.’ ”