Page 162 of The Love of Priest

Priest nodded his head. "Bet. I respect your hustle and mentality," Priest commended her. Not many women would think the way Britain thought. He liked that about her.

"Thank you.”

"I gotta get going. I'll hit you with the details about dinner sometime later," he told her as he grabbed his keys.

Britain okayed him before giving him one final goodbye. As he opened the door to leave her apartment, they were both faced with Frankie, who was on the verge of knocking on the door. Britain immediately felt her heart drop to her stomach at the sight of her leading editor at her doorstep just as Priest was leaving.

"Frankie, what are you doing here?" Britain asked, nervousness lacing her voice as she tried to push Priest off toward the parking lot so he wouldn’t linger between her and Frankie.

Frankie’s brown eyes shifted between Britain and Priest. If she felt like her career could end at any moment, right now would’ve been that moment. She had vouched and stuck her neck out for Britain, and now this was happening.

"I'm Priest," Priest introduced himself as he stuck his hand out for Frankie to shake. "You are?" he asked her.

Britain felt her insides crumpling. She hated that Priest was so polite. He really could have gone without introducing himself to Frankie.

"I'm Frankie," she introduced herself with her nasally voice and thick New York accent. "I'm withThe New York Times. Britain's boss, actually." Frankie shifted her attention back to Britain, who felt as if she could die at any moment.

Britain said nothing as Priest let out an intimidating chuckle. "The New York Times,huh?" His dark orbs peered down at Frankie. "Quality of the content on the front page has gotten better these last couple of weeks. I appreciate the coverage." He smirked tauntingly at Frankie before averting his attention over to Britain.

"I'll see you later." He kissed her cheek before making his way off. Britain knew what he had just done was completely for his own entertainment.

Britain and Frankie observed him as he slid onto the cherry red seats of his Bentley Bentayga, revving the engine and then heading out.

"Explain, Demings," Frankie seethed through gritted teeth as she entered Britain's apartment without an invite.

Britain inwardly threw a tantrum before entering the apartment and shutting the door behind them. "I—" Britain fixed her lips to spill everything that had been going on to her boss, only for Frankie to interject.

"I don't even want to hear the elaborate fucking story, Demings!" Frankie shouted in distress. "Look at this!" Frankie whipped her phone out from the pocket of her hoodie, showcasing a photo of Britain on Priest's arm from the Liberty Gala they attended the night before.

A look of guilt formed on Britain's face. She knew attending that gala would’ve been the complete end of her and Priest keeping their relationship from being broadcasted mainstream. She didn't think about how fast it would get back to her boss. She honestly thought she had more than a couple of hours to come up with her excuses.

"I know it looks bad," Britain began.

"You think itlooksbad?! Itisbad!" Frankie corrected Britain. She was so angry, it looked as though she was about to pop a vessel. She paced the floor of Britain's apartment, thinking not only about exactly how exactly she was going to clear her name, but also the credibility ofThe Timesas well. Britain’s relationship with Priest automatically wrote her off as biased, which meant Frankie was publishing biased news.

"I can't believe I just saw that." Frankie lowered her voice as she shook her head. "He kissed you in my face, and you don't even care how this shit is gonna screw both of us."

"I do care!" Britain clarified. "But it's already happened! What can I do to fix this?!" she stressed.

Frankie screwed up her face. "You think you can fix this?! There's no fixing this, Demings!"

Britain let out a heavy sigh as she ran her fingers through her hair in distress. "I'm sorry."

Frankie shook her head. "Demings, I stuck my neck out for you. You went from freelancer to getting front pages in a matter of months. You just screwed me the fuck over."

Frankie really had a lot of faith in Britain. She loved her work and knew she could do more than others believed. Everyone looked at her like she was crazy when she decided to give Britain the front page for multiple weeks. Now, Britain had proven them right.

"Those weren't my intentions, Frankie," Britain pleaded. "I met him far before all of this came to be. When you gave me the story, I didn't want to just let the opportunity pass me by," Britain admitted.

She knew all this was blowing up in her face due to her own negligence. She wouldn't have been herself if she hadn't taken that opportunity. She had already dealt with the wrath of Priest when he thought she was playing him on behalf ofThe Times. Now, she had to deal with Frankie, who thought she was getting played on behalf of Priest and his team.

"All I needed was a little fucking honesty, Demings," Frankie shamed her as she brushed past Britain to get to the door. As she was stepping out, she spoke to Britain once more. "You're off of the story, and you're no longer a reporter forThe New York Timesanymore," she finalized before exiting the apartment and shutting the door behind her.

Britain stood in the same spot, processing how quickly her dream had come and how quickly it had gotten snatched away from her. Britain expected Frankie to take her off the case, but she never expected to be fired completely. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

Britain dragged her feet to go lock the door behind Frankie. Glancing to the right of her, Britain set her eyes on the wad of cash Priest left behind in her purse. She was going to make something happen by any means necessary.

Although Britain was completely bummed that she had just lost her main source of income, she still got ready to go see her mother. She had no plans of telling anyone she had gotten cut from her gig atThe Times. She wanted to figure out her next step before letting anyone in on her downfall. Arriving at her mother's brownstone, Britain parallel parked her car before getting out. As she climbed the short set of steps leading into the home, Britain shook away her sadness from just losing her job an hour before.

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