AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What exactly is going viral?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. Do I even want to know?
They turn their screens toward me, and my world stops.
Get Up Close and Personal with the Iron Man of Manhattan.
My stomach drops. No. No, no, no.
My article—the one I thought was just a fictional exercise for Mr. Richards—is plastered across every monitor. The headline is bold, glaring, and 100 percent published.
Online.
For the freaking world to see.
My heart slams into overdrive. “This cannot be happening.”
I scramble to read it, my heart racing, praying—begging—this is some kind of sick joke. But no, it’s all there. My words. My thoughts. My name, or rather Sydney Sun’s name, plastered right at the top.
“I can’t believe you know Brian Bishop,” Anabelle says, practically bouncing with excitement.
“Huh?” I snap my head up, confusion swirling. “You know Brian Bishop?”
“Duh,” Anabelle replies with an eye roll that screams ‘get with the program.’ You know what? I don’t want to know.
Suddenly, several pings cut through the air. “What’s that?” I ask, feeling like I’ve just stepped into a minefield.
“Likes,” Felix says with a smirk, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh, my God.” Panic surges through me, propelling me out of my chair and straight to Mr. Richards’s office.
Having lost every last shred of my mind, I burst through the door without knocking, adrenaline in high gear. “What the hell, Mr. Richards?”
He looks up, completely unfazed, even with a sandwich in his hands. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Great job, Sydney.”
“No,” I snap, my weak attempt at firmness dying on the vine. “It’s not a great job. It’s fiction. You have to pull it back. Now.”
He leans back in his chair, completely at ease. “Too late, kid. It’s already out there.”
“But you said it wasn’t real!” My hands ball into fists at my sides, trembling as I try to keep it together.
He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “Yeah, I lied. But hey, speaking of lies, is anything in there completely made up? Like, totally fabricated? Because the last thing you need is a lawsuit.”
He takes another bite of his sandwich, as if he just tossed a grenade at me. The room tilts, spinning wildly out of control. Lawsuit? Seriously? Why the hell would I get sued?
Oh, right, I know why. Because I wrote the damn thing, and my name is all over it.
I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, mentally replayingevery word, every detail. Did I lie? No. But exaggerate? Well, yeah, that’s another story.
Maybe I did embellish a bit on his herculean muscle tone—broad shoulders, chiseled chest, washboard abs. But news flash: It’s not like I’ve seen the man in ten years. How the hell would I know what he looks like now?
“I don’t think so,” is all I manage to choke out.
Mr. Richards waves it off like it’s no big deal. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Oh, and your next assignment is in your inbox.”
“My next...assignment? Like an actual journalist piece, or should I keep churning out Harlequin novels?” I throw in a half-hearted fist bump for effect.
He shrugs, utterly unfazed. “You said you do human interest.”
I stare at him, too stunned to even argue. “Can’t you just tell me what it is?”
