Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Hiding isn’t an option. But facing Mark directly right now?
Probably not wise.
Which leaves me with only one sensible option.
Richard.
He’s my editor, and the one who’s been hearing Mark's lies. He’s also the one who’s been unknowingly giving Mark credit for my work all this time. If I want this situation fixed, I need to go straight to the person who signs off on every article.
Go to Richard. Lay it out for him. Get the truth on the record.
Decision made, I reach for my make-up bag and get to work.
Once I look every inch the professional woman that I am, I head out of my apartment to treat myself to a quick coffee and a pastry from the cafe over the road before I return and open up my work laptop.
We’re one hour ahead of UK time here, and I sit and wait for the clock to tick to nine-thirty a.m before I find Richard’s name and press call.
This is it.
It's time to fight back.
*
I end the video call with Richard and set my laptop down on the coffee table with a frustrated sigh.
The conversation had gone... okay. As okay as it possibly could when dealing with Richard’s unique blend of casual sexism and corporate detachment.
He'd listened, at least, and raised his eyebrows in surprise when I'd laid out the full timeline. The condescension, the lies, the way Mark had claimed he’d been helping me with my articles while doing absolutely nothing of the sort…
Richard had hummed and nodded, muttering something about how Mark was a long-time company man and how he'd need to look into things further.
But when I asked for specifics on what that actually meant, he'd immediately deflected.
So, no, it wasn’t exactly a resounding success. But it was a start.
Small steps, I tell myself.
My phone vibrates against the glass table, breaking me from my thoughts. Matteo’s name - along with that blasted winking emoji - flashes across the screen.
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips despite the weight of the morning, and I swipe to answer.
"Hey," I say.
"Ciao, bella," comes the low, familiar drawl from the other end. "How did it go with Richard?"
"Not terrible, but not amazing either. He said he'd look into it, but you know how corporate guys are."
"Useless?"
I laugh lightly.
"Yeah, pretty much."
Matteo is silent for a moment.
"Well," he says, voice darkening slightly, "good thing I’ve been doing some digging of my own."
My stomach dips.
"Matteo..."
"I told you I wouldn’t let him get away with this," he says simply.
There's something about the calm certainty in his voice that makes me nervous.
"What did you do?"
"Just made a few calls." He pauses. "People know Chapman here, Daphne. Actually know him. And his reputation isn’t as spotless as he’d like you to think."
I chew the inside of my cheek, torn between gratitude and anxiety.
Matteo clearly has far more connections than I'd realised.
"I don't know if this is the best idea," I say slowly. "What if this backfires? What if Mark hears you’re digging around and twists it to make me look bad?"
Matteo is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. Steadier.
"Do you trust me?"
The question lands in the centre of my chest.
Do I?
I glance around my apartment, at the pizza box sitting on the kitchen counter that I’d pulled out from the fridge, the one he’d brought with him last night. I can still smell his aftershave on the pillow beside me and recall the way he held me close when I broke down.
And there’s no doubt about it - I absolutely remember the way he looked at me when he promised to fix this.
My throat tightens as I swallow.
"Yeah," I say softly. "I do."
"Good," Matteo breathes. "Then let me handle this. You don't need to do everything on your own all the time."
The simplicity of that statement makes me close my eyes for a moment.
I've always prided myself on being independent. On handling my own problems without asking for help.
But Matteo's right. I'm exhausted from fighting this battle alone.
"Okay," I whisper.
"That's my girl," he murmurs.
I can hear the smile in his voice, and my heart practically skips at his praise.
"Now, go do something nice for yourself. Go for a walk. Get some lunch. Eat more ice cream if you want. Just… breathe for a bit, okay?"
"Yes, Dad," I tease.
He chuckles.
"Careful. I’ll come back there just to punish you for that later."
Heat prickles up my spine at the memory of exactly how Matteo punishes me.
"I’m hanging up now,” I tell him.
"Yeah, yeah. Text me later, bella."
I hang up and sit there for a moment, staring at the phone in my hand.
Let me handle this.
The idea of handing control over to someone else makes me squirm.
But I mean it: I do trust Matteo. If anyone can stop Mark from taking advantage of me and my work, it’s him.