Page 147 of Babies for the Big Shot
I’m not doing this alone.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Nick
The café is quiet.
I don’t like it. It gives me way too much time to think. But I chose it deliberately. I wanted distance… distance from the world that knows me, from the people who think they understand me.
Here, I’m just another man waiting for a meeting.
And Isla Vale? She’s just another journalist.
She walks in through the door, and at first glance, she doesn’t look like much. She doesn’t have that air of evil. I don’t know why I expected that; I think I’ve built her up into something in my mind that she isn’t, really.
She’s dressed simply, nothing flashy, but everything about her seems calculated. Her movements are fluid, confident. She walks with the poise of someone who knows exactly how much space they occupy.
She spots me immediately, of course.
She doesn’t need to search for me in the crowd; it’s as if she has some kind of radar. Isla takes her time walking toward me, and when she finally sits down, she doesn’t need to say anything. The silence says it all.
“Ashford,” she finally declares, her voice cutting through the quiet in the room, more coldly professional than anything else. “I didn’t expect to hear from you. I was told I was being cut off.”
I don’t offer a smile, no handshakes. It’s not that I don’t want to engage, I just don’t think it matters.
“You’re late,” I remark.
She shrugs as if it’s an afterthought. “A little bit of drama builds anticipation.”
It’s not a defense. It’s just a line. And the way she says it, so effortlessly, so practiced, tells me everything I need to know.
She’s not here to be intimidated. She’s here because she thinks she can control this conversation. And maybe she can.
She doesn’t waste time. “Do we really need to talk about this in circles, Nick? I came here for a reason, as did you. So let’s get to it.”
I narrow my eyes.
I’ve seen enough to know this is more than just a journalist trying to get a scoop. Her eyes may be calm, but I can see how quickly they dart, calculating. Looking for the angle. Looking for leverage.
Damn, she’s sharp.
But she won’t take me down.
“I’m offering you a way out,” I say, keeping my voice low, measured. “A sum that should be more than enough to make you reconsider publishing the story you’ve been drafting. No headlines. No follow up. Just… nothing.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her gaze unwavering.
When she speaks again, her voice has an edge of amusement, as though she’s toying with me. “A buyout, then? Interesting. How quaint.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “You think I’ll just take your money and walk away? You think I’m the kind of journalist who can be bought off that easily?”
I can see the challenge in her eyes, but I’m undeterred. “I think you can be bought off. And I think you’ll take it.”
“Hmm well this is interesting,” she says, eyes glinting as she reads the check. “I have to admit, this is a lot. Youreallydon’t want this story to get out, do you?”
I lean forward slightly, watching her. “So, you’ll take it?”
She shifts in her seat, but doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she takes a long breath, like she’s considering the weight of it.
