“Hello, Emily,” he mouths.
“Hi.” I smile as I clutch my folder.
“Please take a seat.” He gestures to a chair and holds up his finger. “One minute,” he mouths.
I smile and nod as I sit down.
“I understand that, Richard. Yes, I know.” He listens. “I don’t care if she’s hardworking. She broke protocol, and there are consequences.”
I frown. What the hell? Who’s he talking to?
“Richard,” he snaps. “You will fire her this afternoon, or I will. And we both know who’s going to make it less painful.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Tristan is aware, yes,” he snaps. “But as the CEO I have the control. You have two hours to escort Lara Aspin from the building, or I’ll come down myself.” He hangs up angrily.
I stare at him, wide eyed. What did she do?
He bites his bottom lip angrily as his eyes hold mine.
“I’ve got the story you requested,” I murmur.
“Good.” He takes the folder from me and rolls his chair back as he opens it and begins reading.
He’s different today, angry. But maybe it’s just that call he came off from.
He inhales deeply and flicks the pages, clearly frustrated.
“Is it okay?”
He raises his eyebrows as if unimpressed.
I frown.
“A seismic weather event is hardly breaking news, is it?”
“Well, what do you want me to write about?” I stammer. “I can’t name a person or place or anything be
cause it’s fake news. I don’t want to get us sued.”
“I am well aware of what it is, Ms. Foster,” he snaps.
“What’s wrong with you today?” I whisper.
He flicks the pages as he reads. “Nothing.” He reads on. “This won’t do. I’ll write it myself.”
I frown. “I spent four hours on that last night.”
He looks up from the papers, and I wither under his glare.
“Well, what do you want me to write about, then?” I ask.
“Anything but fucking weather.” He closes the folder as if disgusted and places it on the table.
He pushes the intercom. “Tristan, come in here, please.”
“Yep.”