Page 226 of The Doctors Will See You Now

With shaky hands and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I grabbed my purse, hopped out of my chair, and sprinted down the hallway like a maniac—completely unconcerned with who I was railroading past.

I had to fix this. Jesus Christ, I had to fix this.

Panicked, I picked up my pace to a full-out sprint, and by the time I’d reached Stella’s office, I was gasping for air.

“I didn’t write that!” I shouted through panting breaths.

She looked up from her desk, and her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“I didn’t write that article about Scott Shepard!”

“What?” she questioned. “What do you mean you didn’t write it?”

“I didn’t write it, Stella,” I tried to explain through the thickness in my throat. “I don’t know where that article came from, but I know those are not my words. Yes, my column was about Scott, but it wasn’t this fucking mess of horrible accusations.” I put my hands on my knees and took big, deep breaths.

With relaxed shoulders and a neutral mouth, Stella continued to sit in her chair—not reacting, not responding—and watched me have a mental breakdown. I wanted to strangle her.

“It was a goddamn personal interest story that showed what an amazing physician he is,” I yelled. “Hell, I even had cute interviews in there from his pediatric patients!”

A pregnant pause filled the space in her office, and it felt like an eternity before she finally said, “But that article came directly from your email to my email, Harlow.”

“What?” I shouted. “How is that even fucking possible?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re the one who emailed me that article.”

“This is completely fucked, Stella! I didn’t write this. Take it off the site now!”

She frowned. “That article is the talk of the day at every news source in the city, Harlow. You should be proud of it, not feeling guilty.”

“Proud of it?” I exclaimed in frustration. “That article is bullshit, Stella. All of those accusations are untrue. If anything, that article is a lawsuit for Gossip waiting to happen.”

Her brow popped up in surprise at the word lawsuit.

I guess I’m finally speaking her fucking language.

“Wait…you really didn’t write it?”

“I. Didn’t. Write. It,” I responded. “Those are not my words, Stella. I sent a completely different article to your email that you should’ve received yesterday around eight in the morning.”

“But I received this column two days ago.”

“I was still writing my fucking column two days ago!”

She scrutinized my steadfast gaze before muttering, “Fuck,” and picking up her phone. Her finger tapped a speed dial button, and she held the receiver to her ear.

“Dave,” she greeted. “I need you to look into Harlow Paige’s email account. Check all outgoing messages for me over the past seventy-two hours and see if you note anything suspicious.”

After a few nerve-racking moments, she glanced up at me with concern creasing the corners of her normally evil eyes.

“Really?” she asked into the receiver. “Two days ago…? Uh-huh… She says the last article about Scott Shepard wasn’t from her… It came from a different IP address? Can you do some kind of search to find out…” Her words bled into a hum as my mind reeled.

Hacked. That’s what a different IP address had to mean, right?

It was literally the only thing that made sense.

Jesus Christ. Who would do this to me? Why couldn’t they just send me fictitious emails about being a Nigerian Prince and needing money?

Why ruin my reputation, and more importantly, Scott’s life?