Page 6 of Bishop's Queen

CHAPTER THREE

As days went, this Monday had been a long one. After walking into Tara’s office that morning, Ella and Jay hadn’t left until they broke for dinner. At least now with a belly full of roasted veggie vegan naan, Ella felt reinvigorated, which was good because Jay was hell-bent on mapping out the rest of her blog’s calendar tonight if it killed them. All he’d wanted to talk about during dinner was logistics.

“If you don’t need me…” Tara knew she wasn’t needed for the nitty-gritty. The promo had long since been hashed out. “You two have fun and lock up again when you leave.”

Ella turned to Jay, hoping the good food had put him in a decent mood. “Let’s finish this tomorrow.”

“Slacker.” He turned to Tara. “Might as well start pitching her to TV execs again, because she’s done with the hard stuff.”

“Jay.” Ella’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”

“Just saying. When have you ever been one to not finish what you started?”

Tara pressed her perfectly lined lips together and shook her head. “Call if you need me. I’m gone.”

“My phone’s dead,” Jay muttered.

“Then Ella can. Have fun.” Tara hugged her and waved at Jay then left them in front of the restaurant.

He was already walking toward Tara’s office. “Let’s get it done already.”

Her big project now focused on lavender and mint, semi-hard to kill, easy to transfer in real life. Jay’s concern was that Ella wanted to bring real people into the blog’s posts. Logistically, what she wanted was a “nightmare,” as Jay had explained a dozen times over dinner.

“Coming,” she mumbled, catching up.

They closed in on Tara’s office, and he twisted his key in the door.

“Telling Tara to pitch me to TV was a low blow.”

“Got you back to where you were supposed to be.”

“Nice,” she snipped.

They tromped the familiar path up the stairs and into the conference room. “What’s your problem lately?” Ella asked.

Jay walked in, slamming the conference room door so hard that the walls shook. “My problem is you, Ella.”

Her phone rang, and Jay grumbled while she grabbed it. “It’s my dad. Chill out for a second.” Accepting the call, she put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Dad.”

A picture waited for them in the center of the conference table, and her blood went cold. “Oh no.” Ella stepped closer, unable to look away, and Jay’s eyes caught it at the same time.

“Hey, El. We were just checking in,” Dad said.

Jay stepped in front of her, trying to keep her from seeing what she was certain she already had.

“Jay, move.”

“El?” Dad tried again. “Are you there?”

This was clearly the work of her stalker. A picture of her and everything she hated, things she railed against, had been Photoshopped into a collage—rainforests that had been mowed down, smashed turtle eggs, and a rhino or an elephant, she couldn’t tell which, that was missing part of its tusk or horn.So much blood.

“El, are you there?” Dad’s worried voice called to her.

“It happened again, Daddy.”

When she had first turned over the sick photos and scary mail and recapped herfeelingsto the police, they hadn’t taken her seriously. She had millions of fans. The police had told her that TV personalities attracted creepy people. Issue activists brought out the crazies, they explained. Surely some of them would be overly excited, especially because her message was semipolitical and very emotional. There would be people who grabbed onto her message with their whole hearts, as well as those who rejected it with fervor. Passion bred reaction.

“Are you okay, El?—Yes, it’s El. Pick up; she had a problem again.”

---