Chapter 64

With everyone looking at me, I don’t know what to say. Maybe I don’t need to? Amber pretty much said everything for herself, and then Hugo properly responded.

Instead of saying anything, I decide to just sit down and get back to work.

Slowly, the usual noise and chatter begins again, as people type on their computers and talk on phones and to each other.

The drama, it seems, has passed, so I try to focus again on the fluff pieces that Lila assigned me.

I work for a while and breathe easy as things seem to return to normal. Before long though, I stop as Kimberly appears at the opening of my cubicle.

Looking at her, I’m not sure what to say. Her expression is carefully blank. I can’t tell if she’s angry at me for interrupting her workday, or if she’s feeling anything else.

Fortunately, I’m not left guessing for long.

“Keep your chin up,” Kimberly says. “Everyone could see this wasn’t your fault. In fact, you’ve impressed a lot of us by not putting up or giving in to Amber’s shit.”

I exhale a huff of relief. “Thank you. I’m glad.”

“You haven’t had it easy around here, we’ve all noticed,” Kimberly says. “Not just with Amber. Lila’s a hack, and everyone knows it. She’s never had any talent. It’s only by depending on others she’s been able to excel. As an editor, she’s struggled for sure.”

I’m surprised to hear that, though maybe I shouldn’t be. “She’s… borrowed other people’s work?”

“I’m not sure she’s ever written one sentence on her own,” Kimberly says. “I sometimes wonder if she even knows how.”

“Wow…” I should have known that was how things are. “I can’t believe she’s gotten away with it this long…”

“Hang in there,” Kimberly says. “She’s been making a lot of slipups lately. It’s only a matter of time before it’s one too many.”

“Okay,” I say, encouraged.

Kimberly gives me a solid nod, then turns and heads back into the cubicle pit.

Suddenly, I don’t feel so alone at this job anymore.

Much later, after I go home, spend the evening with my daughters, and see them to bed, I retreat to my room before Garnar or Thea can try to talk to me. I sit on my bed and pull out my laptop. Opening the opinion piece I’ve been working on, I read through it once more and make a few final changes.

Then I read it again to make sure those changes flow. When I’m finally satisfied, I search for the Harbinger website.

As an employee, I would typically submit my articles up the chain, giving it first to Lila, who then passes it on to another editor, maybe all the way up to Hugo, if he has time. This is how Lila has always been able to hijack my work.

With this opinion piece however, I have no intention of going through usual channels. For this to stay anonymous, I need to stay all the way out of it. That means submitting it through an anonymous form on the Harbinger website.

I don’t even think twice. I go to the website, fill out the form, and hit submit.

Unsure how many opinion pieces they receive on the daily, I’m not sure how long it will take for the person on the other end to read it. Then, I’m doubly unsure they will even post it.

But I still close my laptop and go to bed feeling like I’ve accomplished something.

I startle awake before my alarm. My phone’s ringing.

I check the time first: 5:30 am. Then I check the caller. Cynthia?

When I answer the phone, my greeting is more grumble than coherent words, “Guuuh?”

“Picture this,” Cynthia says, bright and sunshiny. Is the sun even up yet? “I make my coffee and sit down to read Harbinger News to catch up on things for the day.”

That wakes me up a little more. “Did something happen?”

“First thing I see is an opinion article on one Miles Hampton, essentially saying how great he is.”

Already?! I’m fully awake now, and abruptly sit upright in my bed. Do they check those forms at night? How in the world could it have such a fast turnaround?

“Imagine my surprise to see it written by… anonymous.”

“Anyone could have written that,” I say, despite knowing how defensive it sounds. Cynthia wouldn’t have called me if she’d been unsure of the real author.

“I’ve been your best friend how long? I’ve read your work, I know your style,” Cynthia says. “This is all you, Esther.”

I rub the sleep away from one of my eyes. I don’t bother denying it. “Wait… you said the front page?”

“Front page, top,” Cynthia says. “Congratulations, you might have had to gone incognito to do it, but you’ve made the big time.”

Scrambling, I click her on speakerphone so that I can open the mobile internet and search for Harbinger News Company.

Cynthia wasn’t exaggerating. My opinion article is right there on top. It’s already tracked thousands of views, even at 5:30 am. It has hundreds of comments.

“The comments agree with you, by the way,” Cynthia says. “Miles is all the rage right now. Anyone who’s anyone seems to be backing him.”

Pride swelled within me. Of course Miles is popular. How could he be anything less?

“The only thing that people are saying your opinion piece is missing is any mention of Miles’s mysterious unrequited love,” Cynthia says.

The brightness that had begun to light up inside of me immediately dimmed. “I saw no reason to include that.”

“Why not? I find it terribly interesting, don’t you?”

“No,” I say too quickly. Cynthia laughs lightly, which only makes me more frustrated. “Do you know who this woman is?”

“The woman he’s basically obsessed with, who doesn’t feel the same?”

“Yes…”

Cynthia laughs again, louder.

“Cynthia,” I scold.

She stifles herself, but only enough to say, “It’s you, Esther. You’re not that blind, are you?”

“It’s not me,” I say at once. “There’s no way.”

“Think about it,” Cynthia says, so I try.

Miles and I have shared some passionate encounters, that much is true, but they were drops in the ocean compared to the rest of Miles’s life. How many women does he have constantly chasing after him? Hugo said he’s a playboy.

“It’s not me,” I say again, more convincingly this time. “What he and I share… It’s only ever been physical…”

Even as I say it, I’m not totally sure it’s true. Sprinkled among our passion has been moments of quiet, where we talked and shared.

But that still doesn’t make me Miles’s one who got away.

Cynthia doesn’t give up, however. “I’ve seen you two looking at each other. To my knowledge, he doesn’t look at anyone else like that.”

“He said this woman was perfect for him, Cynthia,” I say. “I do not fit that bill.”

“Why not?”

“For one, I’m married.”

“Separated. About to get divorced.”

“I’m nearly ten years older than him.”

“So he likes more experienced women,” Cynthia says. “Lots of guys do.”

“I’d create nothing but scandal for his campaign…”

“Esther,” Cynthia says, her voice suddenly soft and compassionate. “What are you so afraid of?”

“It’s not me. It can’t be me,” I tell her. “Because if it is, he’ll change his mind, and I’ll never recover.”