Page 7 of The Golden Scoop

I take a deep breath before pushing open the door.

She whirls around dramatically, as if she hasn’t been watching me walk across the room for the past twenty seconds, and drops the stack onto her desk with a loud thud.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she says, scandalized. “It’s such a disservice to Golden that you’d keep something like this to yourself.”

I glance down at the magazines, and it hits me. It’s right there on the front page.

Julia and Harrison.

More specifically, Harrison.

“Look, Martha,” I begin, “Julia’s my best friend, and I’m always going to respect her privacy, and by default, Harrison’s. That’s one thing I’ll never budge on. I’m sorry you didn’t get the exclusive, but⁠—”

“Dear, as much as I do appreciate a good-looking man, Harrison’s in the bleachers now that he’s behind the scenes,” she cuts in, taking the top magazine and flipping it open to the article.

Oh, no.

Right there, splashed across half the page, is a photo of Julia and Harrison leaving the chapel—followed by Matt and me. The second I see it, I know what she’s thinking. And it’s much worse than I realized.

“I don’t know him,” I lie quickly, before she can say anything else.

She shushes me. “Nonsense. In Hollywood, you never truly know anyone,” she dismisses with a wave of her manicured hand. “You, of all people, should know.”

I tilt my head. “True. But he’s too close to me. I can’t write a column about him. It’d be putting my life in a blender and hitting purée.”

“We’re not writing a column about him,” she says smoothly. “We have to look further, bigger. This can be our one chance to break through the rating plateau.”

Fancier, I add internally.

Once Martha gets an idea in her head, it’s over. She’s like a designer-clad robot, and she’s impossible to reprogram. If she could stylishly tattoo ‘If it bleeds, it leads’ on her forehead, she absolutely would.

Whatever she wants from me, chances are she will get.

Still, I’m not ready to give up yet. Not when it comes to him. I straighten and close the magazine. “Okay. What exactly do you need me for? I’m listening.”

“I want to do a feature on Matt Hunt. I’m talking cover page, full investigative piece,” she explains, tapping her fingers together like she’s auditioning for the role of evil mastermind number one. “And that’s where you come in.”

“You need a contact to orchestrate it.”

“No, dear. I know enough people to arrange it myself.” I blush because, of course, I opened my big mouth. She smirks, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. “I need you to write it. Matt Hunt is the celebrity right now. Everything in Hollywood is revolving around him and his latest movie. If I send anyone else, I’ll get the same dull, cookie-cutter interview every other outlet is running. I want something never been seen before.”

“I can’t write the front cover,” I blurt, rubbing my hands on my pants to hide the clamminess creeping in. “There’s no way. If I have to work closely with Matt and then the story runs, he’ll know it’s me behind The Golden Scoop.”

“You’re right,” she says, far too pleased. “This was never intended to be anonymous in the first place.”

The words hit like a bombshell, delivered with the satisfaction of someone who’s just explained their master plan to destroy the world.

“You mean… me writing an actual article? Openly? Under my name?”

She nods, and a mischievous grin spreads across her face.

“I can’t do that! Everybody around me thinks I’m an editor for Golden, not a writer,” I protest, panic rising in my chest. “Even Matt!”

“Not a problem. We’ll tell everybody you’re trying something new. It’s not uncommon for editors to dabble in writing from time to time.”

I scoff. “You don’t think it’s weird someone who’s never been on a page is suddenly writing the front cover?”

“Maybe a little. But it’s not like you’re an actual editor. Your writing is good enough to be on the front cover anyway.”