Page 80 of Your Rhythm
I’m calling her name before I even get to her office. The door is closed, but I give it several sharp raps with my knuckles.
“Voyons, Kay!” It swings open and Marie-France appears in today’s pantsuit, a deep maroon number. “J’ai pensé qu’il y avait un feu.Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
I’m worked up enough that I can’t blame her for thinking there was some kind of fire in the building.
“My article, the draft I did to show you why we should change the Sherbrooke Station angle—who’s seen it?”
She squints at me for a moment before opening the door wider.
“Come inside.”
She points for me to take my usual seat as she settles herself at her desk.
“I’ve had some meeting with a few directors. I’ve been talking with some of my department heads as well.” She shrugs. “Your draft has come up. I’ve used it as an example for a few people.”
“It leaked.”
She doesn’t look as fazed as I expected her to be.
“Atlas got it,” I continue. “I only found out because one of my sources in the band told me he read it.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I can’t imagine he was too happy about that.”
“This is really serious!” I plead. “Someone leaked my article and now Atlas will come after us, just like they did to me last time. I’m surprised they haven’t sent you threats already.”
“I’m not.”
I do an actual double-take, and Marie-France sighs.
“Your article doesn’t have any slander against the label or the band,” she explains. “It’s an opinion piece, backed up by some quotes from their own drummer. Like you said when you sent it to me, it sounds petty. It’s not something Atlas is going to worry about. If anything, this leak will get the band in trouble, not us.”
Trouble.
Shayla’s message said she wasn’t managing Sherbrooke Station anymore. Another wave of nausea hits.
“Shouldn’t we be worried our articles are leaking anyway?” I demand.
“I’ll look into it. I’m not happy about it, but Kay, as important as this story is, you weren’t tracking down top-secret political information. This is an article about a rock band. You don’t need to be so concerned. You look sick.”
“I won’t ever get to talk to them again,” I admit. I sound as hollow as I feel.
“Your interviews are all finished. Just yesterday you told me you have what you need to write your final story.”
I don’t want to betray the truth, don’t want to break down in Marie-France’s office of all places, so I stand and pretend that’s all I was worried about.
“You’re right,” I assure her. “I was just concerned about our security, that’s all.”
“Like I said, I’ll look into it.”
I nod and leave the room.
“What was that about?” Pierre urges, as I slip my laptop into its case.
“Nothing. Just wanted to let her know my piece for Friday might be a bit late. I really don’t feel well. I’m going home.”
Back at my place, I end up sinking to the floor in the kitchen as soon as I walk through the door, sitting with my back up against the fridge as I dial Matt’s number. I’m sent to voicemail again, and I hang up before I even hear the beep. He’s either screening my calls or blocking them. He has to be.
What do other girls do when they fight with their boyfriends?
