Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(126)

“I’m looking for some decency,” I say. “Good God, where’s your integrity? You’re talking about a man’s private life here, one that’s being dragged through the mud.”

“You’re talking about the same thing that happens to every professional athlete and celebrity out there. They’re in the limelight, and they know the consequences. They get paid a lot of money, so their private lives are fair game.”

“No, it’s not. They’re humans. You shouldn’t have the right to destroy someone based on the narrative you believe is correct in your head.”

“Are you telling me how to run my business? A college student, really, Miss Owens?” He tosses his pen on the table and then folds his hands together. “I suggest you stop and think about what you’re saying to me.”

“I know exactly what I’m going to say to you.” I stand from my chair and say, “You’re a pathetic man who has made millions bashing other people’s lives. You’re a sorry excuse for a human, and I truly hope that when it’s your time, karma comes back to bite you so hard in the ass your mustache falls right off.”

His jaw ticks, and he stands as well. “That was a mistake, Miss Owens.”

“What are you going to do? Fire me?” I ask. “I already quit. I will not subject myself to a man who deems it suitable to pry in other’s lives to fulfill some farsighted Napoleon complex you’re embodying.”

“You think this conversation will remain within these walls?” He shakes his head and then presses his finger into the desk in front of him. “I’ll make sure you never get a job within this industry. You can count on that.”

“If that’s what’s going to make you sleep better at night, then go ahead. I don’t give a fuck. You’re a tiny man with a fat ego. I feel sorry for you.”

“You won’t get credit for this internship. Insubordination.”

“Fine,” I say as I head toward his door. “Do whatever you want. You already took away the most important thing in my life. Feel free to take away the rest.” And then I fling his door open so hard that it clashes against the wall, startling his assistant right out of her chair. “Your boss is a lying motherfucker with a tiny dick. Have fun.”

And with that, I go straight down the elevator, through the bustling hallways, and straight to my desk, where I grab my purse and fill it up with my belongings, including the picture of Silas.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Candace asks as she pops up out of nowhere. “Can’t be the article that has you all in a tizzy.”

The tone in her voice feels slimy.

Too slimy.

Like . . . like she knows something.

Slowly, I turn around and say, “That article, you don’t happen to know who edited it, do you?”

“Who do you think edited it?” she asks with a smirk. “Every article went through me.”

My nostrils flare.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

And I clutch my bag as I take a step forward so we’re nearly nose to nose. “Did you put the cheating part in the article?” I ask through clenched teeth.

As if in slow motion, Candace’s expression morphs from smug to full-on demonic as the corners of her mouth lift like the Grinch. “Roberts practically begged me to liven it up, and since you were so indiscreet, spreading your boyfriend’s dirty laundry everywhere, I thought the information was up for grabs.”

“You overheard us. You were there in the cafeteria?”

“You should really learn to keep your voice down.”

The rage of a thousand men takes over my body, causing my blood to boil. How fucking dare she?

I should have known.

She was out to get me from the day I used her Post-it Note.

“You . . . bitch,” I mutter, causing her to smile even broader if possible.

White-hot anger blisters through me.

My fists clench at my side.

And before I can stop myself, I grab her head, and I slam my forehead against hers, headbutting her straight into the wall behind her.

I don’t even register the pain.

I don’t bother to say anything else to her.

Instead, I bump into her on my way down the hall, and while I pass her desk, I sweep my arm across her neatly organized pens and Post-it Notes and trash it all to the floor before reaching the elevator and pressing the down button.

I don’t realize the full extent of what I’ve done until I’m in my dorm, with ice on my forehead, and an email from my adviser that I’m going to have to repeat my internship, which will delay me from graduating.

Fucking . . . great.

The worst thing? The pain in my head and the pain from failing is no comparison to the pain in my heart from losing Silas.





To: Ollie Owens

From: Professor Wheeler

Subject: Scheduled Meeting

Miss Owens,

Since you failed to show up to our meeting regarding your future here in the journalism department and you didn’t obtain credit for your summer internship, it’s with deepest regards that I’m recommending to the dean that you’re excused from the School of Journalism, effective after the semester is done.

You will maintain credit for the classes you’ve taken this semester, given you pass them, but unfortunately, we will no longer be able to offer you any more classes in the journalism department moving forward. I believe you are aware of the circumstances that brought you to this point. And since you were on a partial housing scholarship, I have the difficult job to tell you that you no longer will have access to those funds at the semester’s end.