Page 74 of In This Moment

“What happened?” Dorothy set a thermos on the station and shrugged out of her coat. “Why aren’t you at work?”

Before Rebecca could reply, Scarlett handed her a duffel bag. “Yeah, spill it. You have us more than a lot worried.”

Dry clothes, thank goodness. Cold plus wet did not equal a happy body with regards to Rebecca’s fibro.

“I’m sorry.” She set the bag on the floor and peeled the wet garments from her body. They hit the ground with a thwap. “Graham Roberts is what happened and why I’m not at work.” She stepped into a pair of pink sweats and a matching hoodie, then tried to balance to apply socks. Rummaging in the bag, she was grateful they’d thought of shoes, too. Hers were soaked, like everything else. “I could murder him.”

“I have plenty of land to bury a body,” Scarlett professed.

Tempting.

Turning around, she noted Scarlett had spread out a blanket on the floor with a battery-powered lantern in the middle. A muted yellow glow encased the small area.

Dorothy poured mixed drinks from the thermos into disposable glasses, passing one to each of them.

Rebecca downed hers in one swallow, not even tasting the Georgia Sunset cocktail.

“Well, goodness.” Dorothy took the empty cup and refilled it. “It must be bad.”

She sat with Scarlett on the blanket while Rebecca paced anew. From the door to the back wall, passing the floor-to-ceiling shelves, and back again. Her skin itched and her face burned and she shook with rage.

Where to start? “First, Gunner Davis came into the office, while he knew Graham was gone for lunch, and offered me The Gazette—”

“Hold it.” Scarlett tilted her head. “What does that mean, he offered you The Gazette?”

Rebecca threw her arms out and let them drop. “Heck if I know. It came out of nowhere. The way it was presented struck me like he was checking my reaction more than what he actually said carrying weight. I assume he wants me to take over Graham’s position as editor.”

Dorothy hummed a sound of disagreement. “As if you’d do that.”

Whirling on her, Rebecca pointed. “Thank you! I would never take Graham’s job out from under him, even if he wasn’t doing it right. Which he is. He’s an amazing editor.”

Dorothy crossed her legs. “What did you tell Gunner?”

“To take the offer and shove it. Not in those words, but anyway.” She resumed her pacing. “I said no, thank you, and told him if he fired Graham, I’d leave, too.”

Scarlett nodded approval. “Well, there’s a stand for you. Good girl. The both of you have done a bang-up job of bringing The Gazette back from the brink.”

“Why are you angry at Graham, then?”

Rebecca paused by the window, watching sheets of water pummel Main Square. “He walked in on the tail end of the conversation.”

“Ruh-roh.” Scarlett took a sip of her cocktail. “Let me guess. Graham overheard Gunner’s offer?”

“Worse. When Graham asked what was going on, Gunner just spit it out. La la la, offered your lover and subordinate your position. How’s your morning?” She growled. “Poor Graham looked like his head might blow off, and that was after thirty seconds of the someone-kicked-his-puppy expression.” The memory made her nauseous all over again. “Then,” she laughed without mirth, “in a pissed-off tone, he asked me what was my response to the offer. And let me tell y’all, it was a rhetorical question.”

Dorothy bared her teeth in a clear eesh reaction.

“Oh, hell no.” Scarlett flipped her hair over her shoulder, obviously as affronted as Rebecca.

“Oh, yes.” She downed her glass and set it on the windowsill. Physically and mentally drained, she leaned her butt against the frame and slouched. “How could he believe that of me? After all we’ve been through, how could he believe I’d betray him? Our field is so cut-throat. He’s experienced it. I’ve experienced it. Neither of us liked that aspect, and vowed to help one another, to work together instead of against. There was only the two of us with no one else to compete against.”

“Is that why you left Boston?”

She whipped her gaze to Dorothy, and found abject curiosity wrapped in sympathy staring back at her. Still, she couldn’t push words past her lips to reply.

“Is it?” Dorothy gently prodded. “Is the cut-throat atmosphere why you left?”

Tears stung her eyes, but Rebecca attempted to shove them aside. “No. I left because my throat had been cut on day one, and I was merely a ghost walking around mimicking a human that mattered. I was just too stupid to notice.” For almost ten years.

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