Page 26 of My Cruel Salvation

We pass a classic Mustang convertible, and Roger shifts beside me. I expect him to use that to break the ice, maybe comment on how much he misses Shelby, my now-battered but beloved classic 1965 Shelby Cobra that I used to keep garaged at his house since parking in Manhattan is so freaking expensive.

But the moment passes, and he pulls out his phone as if he’d just gotten a text, though I’m quite certain he hasn’t.

It’s not until we’re in the elevator heading up to the publisher’s office that he finally says, “I’m so sorry, Ellie. It’s terribly unfair.”

It’s the first he’s spoken directly about Devlin and what happened last night. “I know,” I say.

He hesitates, as if expecting me to say more, but I really don’t want to talk about it. So silence lingers until we reach Franklin’s office.

“Well, there she is,” Franklin Coates, the publisher of The Spall Monthly says as Roger and I walk into his office, all dark wood and dim lighting. He’s a large man, a former football player who comes from old money. He’s bald and his usually ruddy cheeks are even more red today as he glowers across the room at me. “Our newest ex-employee.”

I stumble as his words hit me, and I glance back at Roger, who looks like he’s been bombarded with shrapnel.

“Franklin, what the hell? You said—”

“What?” Franklin fires back. “That I would keep her on as a fact checker? A reporter who doesn’t even have a sense of the value of a story? A reporter who, though she’d already been chastised for her close relationship with Devlin Saint didn’t scoop the story that he’s the long-lost son of one of this country’s most notorious criminals?”

He turns his attention to me as Roger stands in shock beside me. “Care to explain that, Ms. Holmes?”

“Not really,” I say. “And since I don’t work here anymore, I don’t think I have to.” Fired. The son-of-a-bitch had Roger drag me down here just so he could fire me?

“Aren’t you even going to say something,” I snap, ignoring Franklin. “He played you and you’re just standing here—”

“Roger is not involved in this conversation,” Franklin says, forcing my attention back to him as he comes around his desk and stalks toward me, his eyes narrowing into slits, like that’s going to intimidate me.

I meet him halfway, not intimidated at all. Just pissed.

“You knew,” he says. “But you didn’t say a word.”

Franklin’s voice is like ice, and I’m tempted to just walk out. Why not? What’s he going to do, fire me again?

“I would appreciate a response, Ms. Holmes.”

“You didn’t ask me a question. You stated a fact. I didn’t say a word about who Devlin’s father was. Not to you, not to my readers. It’s his personal life. My personal life.”

“It’s news.” Franklin practically growls the word.

“It’s gossip,” I retort, my body hot with fury.

His eyes narrow, and I hold up my hand. “I know,” I say. “I’m fired.” I turn to Roger, who looks miserable. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

“Never,” he says.

I swallow, my mouth dry as I look him in the eye. “Yeah, well, I wish I could say the same.”

He clears his throat. “Come on. I’ll walk you to out.”

“I can walk myself.”

“It’s the right decision,” Franklin says as I reach the door.

I pause and turn back. “Maybe so. But my decision was the right one, too.” I turn back and exit the office without waiting for a response.

Roger catches up to me at the elevator.

“You should have stood up for me,” I say. “You didn’t say a single word. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” It’s not as if I don’t understand why Franklin fired me, I do. But he lied to Roger, my friend. And yet Roger just stood there and took it. “Why?” I repeat.

His body seems to slump. “I’m sixty-two and overextended. I can’t afford to lose my job now. It doesn’t make me proud, but it’s the reality I live under.”