Page 80 of The Southern Submission

“Get that deal restarted. We have a hockey team to bring to Atlanta,” Zander says. “Ainsley, if you need anything I’m the brother to ask. Welcome to the family, blondie.”

“He’s an idiot who doesn’t know a hook from a cross. If you have an enemy you want buried so no one finds him again, you come to me,” Hayes adds.

Forty-seven

Ainsley

Payton’s an asshole. I love him, but I don’t agree with everything he does, and sharing my personal details, even with his family, without my explicit consent, really pisses me off.

Once he let me off his lap, I left his office and have been posted up at the kitchen table sending emails to every news outlet I can think of that may consider taking me on as a staff reporter. The Southern Sounder is still my only job offer and it’s depressing as hell thinking I may have tanked my career for good.

All that hard work, and gossip is my only legacy and also what’s keeping me from finding a legitimate job because no one wants to touch me with a ten-foot pole after the way I was publicly humiliated.Why did I even bother with the years of schooling, internships, and busting my ass at the Gazette? Why did I take the worst story topics and turn them into something worth reading time and again if I’m destined to be infamously known as the “Gossip Girl of Georgia” for the rest of my career?If I even have a career left.

I sigh and hit send on yet another email to a paper that takes freelance stories. I’ll try to build up a portfolio as a freelance writer and reestablish my credibility that way. It’s not ideal and the pay isn’t guaranteed unless I sell a story, so I’ll be hustling all the time, trying to find stories to write that are worth buying. It’s something to do in the meantime to keep myself relevant and provide an income.

My email notification dings and I quickly scan my inbox. The new email is from John Buckman, the editor-in-chief of the Atlanta Free Press. I sent him the proposal for my human interest story on Payton yesterday. Maybe he’s letting me know if they’ll pick it up. I click it and my heart rate quickens as I read through the email.

From: “John Buckman”

To: “Ainsley Montgomery”

Subject: Your Future with the Free Press

Dear Miss Montgomery.

Thank you for your story proposal. I’ve reviewed it and I’m intrigued. Your previous stories on Olympus International have been well thought out and your writing is excellent. You have a way with the craft and are a natural storyteller who has a confident grasp on the rules of journalism that you know just when to break to make your stories sing.

I also admire your tenacity in the face of adversity. I’ve heard from my peers that you have been diligentlyinquiring about staff reporter positions with local papers, yet turned down a position as a gossip columnist with the Southern Sounder. I was curious as to the possible reasons you would refuse such a position, so please forgive me for extrapolating from what little I know of you and the situation. I imagine it has to do with wanting to distance yourself from the gossip that brought you so much notoriety and wanting to legitimize your journalism career. This is a noble cause when you could so easily lean into the infamy instead.

While I may not know the whole story, I know your writing enough to understand you as a journalist, and with that, I’d like to have you on my team as a staff writer. If you’re interested, there’s a place for you at the Atlanta Free Press. You’ll have to earn your spot like every reporter here, but you’re already well on your way with the stories you’ve written for us and the proposal you’ve most recently provided. Should you accept, we’ll assign you stories outside of the Olympus realm to test just how versatile your abilities are and let your talents truly shine.

I look forward to speaking with you soon. Regardless of your answer, we’d like to buy your story on Payton Olsen and his work at Olympus.

Regards,

John Buckman

I jump up from my chair and pace the length of the dining room and back, my hand over my mouth, eyeing my laptop like this is a trick. I purposely didn’t reach out to the Atlanta Free Press, wanting to pitch my latest story first to test the waters, see if they’re still amenable to working with me in a freelance capacity before I spring the idea on them of being a full-time reporter. John reaching out proactively and askingmeto join their team ismind-blowing.

They want me on their team. I didn’t completely wreck my career. There’s still a future for me in journalism that doesn’t involve gossip. Relief courses through my body and heady elation fills me.

Fuck yes!

I sit and quickly type a response, accepting John’s offer. Minutes later, he replies with an invitation to stop by the Free Press office to finalize details. I slam my laptop shut and rush into the bedroom to shower and get ready. Holy shit, I have a job.

Payton walks into the bathroom while I’m putting on makeup and leans against the doorframe, watching me. “Care to tell me what you’re up to?”

I put my mascara down and turn to him, fighting the smile that wants to take over my whole face. I give in and blurt out the news. “I accepted a staff reporter position with the Atlanta Free Press.”

His eyebrows rise and he rushes in to scoop me in for a crushing hug. “I’m so fucking proud of you. I knew you’d come out on top and would find another paper.”

I take his praise and affection without rebuffing it, which would’ve been my standard reaction before he asked me to trust him, to let him in, and let him care for me. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, kind of like Velcro rubbing my brain, but I fight the urge to say something snarky or dismiss his confidence in me. I can grow and learn in this respect as much as I can from my gossip-mongering ways.

“I have to sign my contract. I shouldn’t be gone long, but figured I’d put myself together and make a good impression.

“You’ll be amazing, as usual. Take the Rover and stop for an iced coffee so you have your favorite drink to hype yourself up,” he instructs. After kissing my head, he turns to the closetand retrieves an outfit. “Wear the navy pencil shirt and white sleeveless top I like so much. You look incredible and so professional. It’ll give you an extra boost of confidence, and it'll make me want to fuck you even more when you get home.”

Once I’m dressed, he even kneels and helps me into my favorite heels, doing up the ankle straps for me.

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