Page 4 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“Then you’ll have to unmake those plans,” he demanded, standing firm, not giving two shits about what I wanted. Not that he ever did. Stephen Gold had a habit of bulldozing over anyone who got in his way. I’d bet even his own mother wasn’t exempt from his wrath. If he ever took the time to visit the poor woman, that is. He rarely took a day off, unfortunately.

His chubby face was growing redder, and his jowls had started to wobble. He was seconds away from throwing one of his hissy fits that he was so famous for in our office.

“Can’t someone else go?” I ventured, knowing exactly what his answer would be, but I had to try.

“Well, it’s you or her,” he said, nodding over at Phyllis, who was standing frozen to the spot, gawping at us. “But I don’t think she’s dressed for the occasion in her blue and white gingham, polyester apron, do you?” I took a breath as he scanned my body, then he turned his nose up and added, “You could’ve worn something less... tacky.”

I gasped. He was so fucking rude.

“I’m dressed to meet my friend. Which I still plan to do. I understand you need someone to accompany you to an event, but there are other people you could ask.”

“No, there isn’t. And I don’t have time for this,” he snapped, irritated that I wasn’t bending to his will. “Everyone has left for the day, and I can’t call Maisie. She won’t answer if I do.”

Maisie was his on-off girlfriend. Long-suffering, some might say, me included.

I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again, lost for words.

Mr. Gold tilted his head.

“Do you like your job, Miss Bellamy?”

No.

“Yes, and it’s Miss Belmont, actually.” I swallowed, waiting expectantly for what he was about to say next. He never got my name right, even after all these years.

“I should probably rephrase that, Miss Belmont. Do you need this job?”

Yes.

Do you know how much rent costs these days?

I’m one payday away from being up shit creek.

But I didn’t say that, I just nodded.

He folded his arms, regarded me curiously, and added, “You’ve always wanted to better yourself, haven’t you, Emily?” I didn’t have the energy to correct him yet again and tell him my name was Emma. “You’ve told me on more than one occasion how eager you are to write a story for the paper. You said you’d always wanted to be a reporter.”

I’d always wanted to be a writer, but journalism seemed more attainable, seeing as I was already working for them. What a joke that was turning out to be.

He took my stunned silence for intrigue, so he continued.

“If you come with me this evening, I might be able to secure you a byline on the piece that’s going into the newspaper next week. It might even make the front page.”

I had to admit, that was something I couldn’t turn down, and yet, I didn’t entirely believe him. I’d been let down too many times by his false promises. But I always had hope.

“A byline?” I asked, sitting forward slightly to show my interest. “With my full name? Emma Belmont. I’d get to write a piece for the paper, and you’d give me credit for it?”

“Yes,” he replied, sounding bored. Then he peered outside. “But we’d need to leave now. My limo is waiting, and I need to get this over with.”

Get it over with? That didn’t sound like a front-page, show-stopping event.

But then again, this was the closest I’d come to taking the next step in my career in the whole four years I’d been here. I felt so torn. I hated letting Grace down, but if I didn’t go to this event with Mr. Gold, what would my life be like on Monday morning when I had to face him again?

Would I face him again?

Or would he give me my marching orders and fire me?

I knew I was probably making the shittiest decision for my night, but this time, I was ignoring my gut and letting hope lead the way.