Page 12 of The Muse
“Foxton. Is it handled?”
Handled? Well, he certainly handled me.
My cheeks flush at the memory, and I feel a surge of guilt at the thought. “He refused to concede any of his points.”
Landon half looks up. “What do you mean?”
My eye roll at his comment almost gives me a headache. “I confronted him. Laid out my issues. There were names called, tempers flared, and he refused. As you’ve already pointed out, you don’t have control of the paper yet.”
“And you assured me that you’d take care of it yourself.”
I did. But that was before I walked in on Scott Foxton shirtless. Of course, those words will never pass my lips. Especially not to Landon. He’d kill me for simply looking at him. And I’m sure he’d have a thing or two to say about the idea of rough foreplay as well.
A wave of heat pinks my cheeks as Scott’s words cross through my mind and conjure up all those sparks again. Thank God Landon is more interested in what he’s reading again than this conversation.
“So, what’s your next move?” he asks.
He finally puts down the tablet with a thud and swivels in his chair to face me. I sit under all the pressure he wields with that stare and then become enraged all over again.
At both of them.
“What do you suggest? I already know you’ve got an angle here.”
“My angle is simple, Persephone. I don’t allow anyone to talk about my family in that way.”
“But Seffi Castlewood isn’t your family, is she? And I don’t want to suddenly ruin my career because you threw a temper tantrum.” I pick up my fork and spear a strawberry before I throw something at Landon.
“Your career is over thanks to your own doing. This is what you wanted. To quit as soon as you got to the top. Fucking ridiculous, in my opinion, but don’t you dare cry over it now.”
Sophie approaches and places a plate of fluffy pancakes on the table, followed by a second plate of eggs, bacon and tomatoes. She looks between the two of us, locked in our own bitter staring competition, before bidding a hasty retreat.
“You’ve never taken any interest in my dancing, Landon. And as you’ve pointed out so eloquently, it is my career and my choice.”
“And just what are you intending to do with your life now? Because you can’t expect to simply live as the baby princess of the family for much longer.”
I take a deep breath, hold it and count to five before I breathe out again. Of course, Landon views me like that. He’s never really been home. He doesn’t see how hard I’ve worked over the years, even though I’m young. That doesn’t mean I’ve not sacrificed or pushed myself to be the top. I am the top. And if it wasn’t for Alterro, I might still be. But that's been my choice. I'm not going to work for something I don’t love or feel passionately about anymore. No matter what my big brother says about it.
I pull the plate of pancakes towards me and jab my fork through the first two in the stack. “I don’t need to discuss this with you, Landon. You’re going back to the States in a matter of days.”
“And then I’ll be here permanently. You can’t avoid this conversation.”
“I don’t have to decide, either. I’ve been making my own money for years. I’ve been out of work for precisely four days, and you’re already on my back.” I slice the pancake and dip it in the small pot of maple syrup next to the tower and stuff it in my mouth. The sweetness lifts the curse words from my tongue, but only momentarily.
“You’re a Broderick, and for all the world to see, you’ve done nothing with your life. So now is the time to step up, Persephone. And regardless of what you say about the remarks that Foxton made, they matter. If you won’t sort it, I will.”
“Oh yeah, how? If you’re so smart, how are you going to get that jerk to issue a reprint?” I narrow my eyes at him and wait for his comeback.
“Simple. There’s a regular journalist who should have covered your performance—Lissa Thompson. I’ll email her and insist that she reconsiders the publication of the piece. She issues a new review, or she’ll lose her job when we take control.”
Typical Landon response. No thought for anything other than a Broderick getting what a Broderick wants. And the fact that he knows I'll be outraged at the principle isn't even considered.
“That’s not fair to her; she’s not the one who printed the review.”
“Fair's for fools, Persephone. If you weren't so fucking mollycoddled, it’s something you'd understand by now.”
With that, he stands, buttons his jacket and leaves me at the table with nothing but another reason to feel guilty.
Great.
