Page 26 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

Why did shit always land on me?

Which made me remember Lloyd, and the five thousand pounds he’d be hunting me down for today.

“Are you okay, Em?” Dan asked with concern.

My face must’ve betrayed my feelings too strongly, because that guy rarely spoke to me, even though he’d sat across from me for two years.

“I’ve had a shitty email and an even shittier day, and it’s only nine o’clock,” I replied, standing up from my desk with renewed determination. “Gold needs to hear about this.”

“He said he didn’t want to be disturbed,” Dan stated as I spun around.

“Tell someone who gives a shit,” I whisper-yelled and marched over to his door, knocking loudly twice before pushing the door open and stepping into his office.

Mr. Gold was sitting at his desk, laughing at something on his computer screen. He didn’t look that busy. But as I walked forward, he whipped his head up, and snapped, “I told you, I’m busy, Elena. This can wait.”

“No, it can’t.” I sat down in the leather chair opposite him, leaning forward so he’d know how I felt. “And my name is Emma. Not Elena, Emily, or any other name beginning with E.”

He sighed loudly, clicked his mouse a few times, then sat back in his chair.

“There’s one thing you should’ve learnt in this job by now, Emma, you need to grow a thicker skin if you want to make it in journalism.” He shrugged. “So you didn’t like the edits I made? Big deal. Get over it. You got your byline, didn’t you? You have the promotion you’ve been asking for since you got here.”

I frowned at him.

“What promotion? I’ve had no paperwork. No new contract to sign. Nothing.”

He flicked his wrist, flapping his hand in my direction again like I was a nobody. “It’s all in hand. H.R. will have it to you by the end of the week. But don’t expect any extra money.”

I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling as he said that. God forbid they’d pay me for the extra responsibilities they expected me to take on. But that was an argument for another day. I had bigger issues at hand right now.

“I didn’t write any of that article. It wasn’t just edits. It was a complete rewrite.”

He huffed a smile, then gave me a stomach-churning grin.

“It got you noticed, though. Didn’t it?”

“Yes!” I snapped. “By what I can only assume is a psychotic artist who wants to use my blood for his next performance.”

Mr. Gold jerked his head back slightly like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said.

“Really?” He tilted his head in question. “Why? What’s happened?”

I let out a breath and clasped my hands together in my lap to keep my nerves steady as I told him, “I had an email. A threatening email, from the artist.”

Mr. Gold’s eyebrows hit his non-existent hairline in surprise.

“Wow. You should print that off. It could be worth some money. Or better yet, let’s use it in an article for the next issue.”

“I’m not using it for anything other than to clear my name,” I barked back.

“What does it say?” He lifted his chin, waiting for me to respond.

I cleared my throat.

“That I’ve made the top of his shit list, and after he’s finished with me, no one will know who I am.”

Mr. Gold threw his head back and laughed.

“But he knows who you are now. Damn, Emma. You’ve had an email from a famous artist. An artist who never shows his face and doesn’t speak to anyone. If I were you, I’d write back. Engage him. Can you imagine the scoop if we find out who he is? Exposing S.K.A.M. could get us that golden ticket to the big time.”