Dirty Headlines

Should have known Steve had a few more fuckups in his disaster bag before he left my newsroom. He had a face begging to be punched, and I’d let him walk away with his nose intact. I had no one to blame but myself, really. I ran my red-tainted fingers over my jaw.

“I’m sure that’s how people are going to see it.” She clucked her tongue, stretching, and she was naked, too naked. I wanted to cover her up with something. A casket, maybe. Lily would look damn good in it.

“I don’t care how people will see it. I employ Judith Humphry because she is a gifted, hard-working reporter, and I fuck her because she is an excellent lay. Those two have nothing to do with each another.” I was downplaying my entire arrangement with Jude, but I didn’t want Lily to pin this breakup on my employee. It wasn’t fair to Judith, and it was far from being the truth.

“Is she worth everything you’ve ever worked for?” She pinched her lower lip between her fingers nervously.

Yes. Yes she is.

The thought struck me like lightning. Judith was worthy, and I hated that her value kept going up the more the people around me were letting me down. She was hardworking, funny, quirky, and sex on Chucks. She kept up with my sharp tongue, and gave it to me just as good. She brought donuts to work when she knew her colleagues were facing a long, challenging day, and sneaked mini Jack Daniels bottles to Brianna in times I was particularly shitty. When Jessica needed help with her workload, Jude always volunteered, but never made a fuss about it or made sure that I knew. She was so fucking graceful and unassuming, and I knew that even if I lost LBC tomorrow, got kicked out of my apartment, stripped out of my inheritance, and sued for every penny I’d ever earned, it still wouldn’t change my value in her eyes. And that was invaluable.

“Leave,” I snapped, picking up Lily’s dress from my floor, deliberately using my bloody hand to stain her precious Prada number. “And this time, just so we’re on the same page, if you come back here, I will make sure to slap a restraining order on your ass. It won’t be pretty, seeing as you’ll have to move away from Manhattan, and you can hardly find your way in fucking Bloomingdales. Am I clear?”

“I’ll take this story to all the press. Too many people already know.” She threw herself at me, her fists raining down on my chest. I pushed her away with my dripping palm, hoping to fuck her type of crazy wasn’t contagious.

“You go do that, Lily. But put some clothes on first. You know, to make an impression.”

“Why are you fighting us?”

“Why are you fighting to save us? Us ceased to exist a long time ago. You’re going in circles. We haven’t been together in over a year.”

Her eyes darted down. “I thought it was going to change. I thought you’d calm down and realize we were compatible after the wedding.”

Christ. That was her thought process? To think I’d almost married a genius.

“You thought wrong.”

Two minutes later, I slammed the door in her face (after she put some clothes on, thank fuck) and fished my phone out of my pocket to text Judith.

Célian: Lily knows.

Jude: So does Milton. He was here when I came home. I’m telling my dad the truth about breaking up with him tonight. We need a game plan.

Célian: George Michael.

Jude: ?

Célian: George Michael is our plan. We’re coming out.

Jude: Did you just make a Grayson joke?

Célian: Is that Gary’s real name?

Jude:

Célian: At any rate, Lily is threatening to blackmail me by claiming I’m harassing you. Am I fucking you against your will, Miss Humphry?

Jude: No. But I don’t want the stigma of being “that girl” at work.

Célian: What stigma is that? We’re not getting married. We’re fucking each other casually and consensually. No one is getting promoted anytime soon.

Jude: Right.

I wanted to diminish the weight she had in my world, knowing it could very well crush me if I wasn’t careful.

I hated how the thought of coming clean and telling everyone we were together secretly appealed to me, even though it was about to kill my reputation and make Judith’s life twenty times harder at work.

Most of all, I hated that I was going to hurt her.

Not because she deserved it, but because I didn’t know how not to.

Guilt nibbled at my gut as Dad exclaimed how happy he was for me. For us.

Of course, I’d sugarcoated the situation to the point that it looked like a churro.

Instead of telling him I was now blissfully single and screwing my heartless boss, I painted a picture in soft pinks and vivid baby blues, in which Célian and I had fallen desperately in love with and decided to be together. He swallowed the entire thing and asked for seconds—came clean about the experimental treatment and said he loved Célian like a son. Like. A. Son.