Page 36 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“And maybe turn in a story of your own that’s worthy of the next issue. You have been promoted to junior reporter, after all.”

I swallowed, not sure how to respond. I doubted Alex Kingston would invite me to Sunford after this to write a piece on his art collection.

Mr. Gold flicked his hand at me, dismissively. “I have work to do. Close the door on your way out.” And then, with his eyes on his computer screen, as he waited for me to leave, he said, “Oh, and I have a board meeting at two, make sure you’re not late to take the notes.”

I huffed and shook my head.

Promoted to junior reporter, was I?

Yeah, right.

How many reporters in this office took the minutes at meetings?

None.

I hadn’t been promoted. He was just saying that to placate me. And knowing that, made me more determined to write something that’d blow his shitty trolling story out of the water.

I turned and walked out of his office, even though I had so much more that I wanted to say.

“Tough morning?” Dan asked as I sat down and started to work.

“Tough fucking life,” I couldn’t help but respond.

After a few hours of burying myself in my work and trying to ignore the jealous stares from around the office, I heard my phone buzz in my handbag. I reached down to take it out and see who’d messaged me. The screen told me it was from an unknown number. I had to admit, my nerves spiked a little as I tapped to unlock the screen. And then I opened my messages, and when I saw the first line, my nerves exploded.

Emma, it’s Alex Kingston. I wondered if we could talk?

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

EMMA

Emma, it’s Alex Kingston. I wondered if we could talk?

It wasn’t the most descriptive message I’d ever received. It wasn’t the worst, either. I’m sure he’d seen the new article, and reading it had spurred him on to find my private number and reach out.

I guess men like him, rich men, had their means, but it wasn’t a great sign. Another fuck-up with my name on it had found its way into the public domain and part of me wanted to hide away.

But at the same time, I was intrigued about what he’d say, and I still wanted to do the interview and write my own article about him and S.K.A.M. So, I started to tap out my response.

I didn’t expect to hear from you again. What can I help you with?

I pressed send before I could second-guess myself. Maybe it’d come across as rude, but I was telling the truth. I hadn’t expected to hear from him, not after this morning’s debacle in the papers.

Why wouldn’t you hear from me?

He responded instantly.

You must’ve seen the article in today’s paper. That’s why.

I watched as the three dots danced to show Alex was writing a response.

I did. And I thought you might need a friend. That maybe I could help. Are you free to visit Sunford tomorrow, at two?

I stared at my phone, the heavy stress that’d taken residence in my stomach easing just a little. Yes, I did want to visit Sunford tomorrow. But a small voice in the back of my mind asked, ‘Can you really trust him?’

As I toyed with my conscience and curiosity, curiosity won out, and I decided to throw caution to the wind.