After the Kiss
Page 35
Where are your notes?
How’s the story coming?
Will it be any good?
“Kelli quit,” Camille said. “And good riddance, eh?”
Whoa. Julie sat up a little straighter. She hadn’t seen Kelli all week, but she’d figured she was just playing sick until the worst of the storm had blown over.
“Oh? Did she say why?” Stiletto had been everything to Kelli. She couldn’t imagine she’d leave it intentionally.
Camille arched an eyebrow. “Let’s just say her resignation was strongly encouraged.”
Ah. “You knew?”
“That she sold us out? Yes. Not that she showed any integrity and ‘fessed up. But Allen couldn’t wait to let me know that one of my own was responsible for that trash he wrote.”
Julie looked more closely at Camille and noted the dark circles under her eyes, the chips on her fingernails, and the hair that was just a little less shiny than usual. Most telling of all, her lips were completely devoid of red lipstick, and she’d forgotten to draw on her eyebrows. As a result, she looked . . . human.
Apparently Julie hadn’t been the only one doing penance for Stiletto’s undercover-girlfriend gig.
“I’m sorry the story got out that way. It hasn’t exactly been flattering publicity for the magazine,” Julie murmured.
Camille waved this away. “Are you kidding? My phone’s been ringing off the hook. I wouldn’t be surprised if this issue is one of our best-selling of all time. In typical fashion, short-dicked, shortsighted Allen didn’t have the brains to understand that in our world, any publicity is invaluable. His stupid attempt at sabotage blew up in his bloated face.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Julie said, meaning it. She didn’t want Stiletto to suffer on top of everything else.
“Allen’s fool stunt did hurt you, though,” Camille said, her voice softening.
Julie quickly dropped her gaze to her notebook. She hadn’t shed a tear since Mitchell had walked away, but sympathy from the ever-crusty Camille might be more than she could stand.
The older woman let out a sigh. “You know, Julie . . . I’m not a soft woman.”
Naaah, Julie thought sarcastically.
“But I’ve always liked you. Favored you, perhaps. Thought of you as a daughter.”
Julie blinked in surprise. This was new. And kind of scary.
“Not a biological daughter, of course.” Camille literally shuddered. “I’d never do anything so vulgar as to subject myself to stretch marks and that horrid breast-feeding, of course.”
“Of course,” Julie agreed.
“I see myself in you,” Camille continued. “I love your spunk, your drive, your humor.”
“Thanks.” Where the hell is this going?
“But the truth is, Julie, I’ve done you a disservice over the years. I’ve let you create a very effective niche for yourself in your professional life, to the detriment of your personal life.”
Julie tried to follow. “I don’t understand.”
Camille sighed and fiddled with her computer mouse, clearly out of her element. “Well, let’s take your reputation as the first-date girl. You’ve cultivated that. I’ve cultivated that. And it’s been very effective. This city loves you, men adore you, women want to be you. But you’ve always been so . . . alone.”
Ouch. Hold on a sec, boss. Let me just remove my spleen and let you stab at that too.
Julie’s hand went up to fiddle with her necklace, almost as though she could protect her vulnerabilities from Camille’s too-shrewd observations.
Then realization dawned. “That’s why you assigned me this story. You normally only ever assign topics to the new kids, but you ordered me to write this one.”
Camille nodded. “I thought it would be good for you. I wanted you to allow yourself to open up. To connect with a man on a more meaningful level.”
Julie didn’t know if she was touched or completely appalled. “Camille,” she began carefully, “it’s true that I’ve always been a bit . . . shallow when it’s come to relationships. But that’s been my own choice. Not because of my role at the magazine. I shaped my stories to fit what I was, not the other way around.”
Camille pursed her lips. “It probably seems that way. But you started writing when you were twenty-two, very early into your professional and personal development. I think the two shaped each other. And as long as you were writing about the easy stuff in relationships, that’s all you were going to experience.”
“I really wish you hadn’t interfered,” Julie whispered.
“I know that now. I wanted you to experience something meaningful. Something real. But this . . .” She waved a hand over Julie in dismay. “Your outfit clashes, your roots are showing, your brows are a mess—”
“Gosh, the useful revelations just keep coming.”
“My point is, I shouldn’t have stuck my cosmetically enhanced nose in your business. I just wanted you to have a chance at a real relationship. Maybe even a chance at love. Instead I handed you a broken heart.”
Julie didn’t bother denying it. “You couldn’t have known how it would turn out.”
“No, but I should have put my foot down when I heard about your fool-headed scheme to manufacture a relationship. That wasn’t my goal at all. But then Kelli was champing at the bit, and I was stuck between delivering a blow to the magazine and letting you suffer a more personal blow of having your position usurped. I should have chosen differently.”
“It was my choice to make. It was the wrong one, clearly. But I had to make it for myself.”
Even if it cost me everything.
Camille nodded, but her expression was still troubled. “So you still plan to write the story, then? Because I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”
Julie hadn’t seen that coming. She’d been planning to write the article. She didn’t have the energy to come up with a fresh idea, and the city was practically panting for it. And it wasn’t as if she had anything to lose at this point.
But Camille’s attempt at mothering was unexpected. And knowing that Camille was willing to sacrifice magazine sales for her employee’s well-being? Unheard of.
Julie chose her words carefully. “You just said that the publicity from Allen’s article would make this one of our best-selling issues. I need to write it. Without my article, people will be pissed.”
“So let them be pissed,” Camille said with an indifferent shrug. “No magazine is worth a heart.”
Julie swallowed. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
Camille leaned forward. “So you did care? About him, I mean.”
“Very much.”
“Then write about it.”
Julie resisted the urge to rub her temples. This conversation was getting exhausting. “I thought you just told me I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t mean write about that abstract idea we came up with two months ago. I mean write about what you learned. Write about your heartbreak. Write about him.”
Julie exhaled slowly through her nose. “Camille, with all due respect, I’ll write what I said I’d write because I’m a professional. I’ll write about the subtle difference between dating and being with someone. I’ll even sprinkle in some of my own observations. But I’m not going to spill my guts to strangers. You’re the one that told me that Stiletto isn’t a diary. Please don’t ask me to turn it into one.”
Camille gave a small smile. “A good speech, Julie. And I can tell you mean it. But somewhere in the midst of this train wreck, you unintentionally tapped into something we don’t cover often enough at Stiletto.”
“What’s that? Manipulation and skanky journalism?”
This time Camille let out a full-on laugh. “No. If I wanted all that, I’d ask Kelli to write a farewell piece. But I meant your heartache. As a magazine, we’ve never paid tribute to an inevitable part of many relationships: the breakup.”
Julie opened her mouth to protest, but instead, she let the truth of Camille’s observation run over her.
How’s the story coming?
Will it be any good?
“Kelli quit,” Camille said. “And good riddance, eh?”
Whoa. Julie sat up a little straighter. She hadn’t seen Kelli all week, but she’d figured she was just playing sick until the worst of the storm had blown over.
“Oh? Did she say why?” Stiletto had been everything to Kelli. She couldn’t imagine she’d leave it intentionally.
Camille arched an eyebrow. “Let’s just say her resignation was strongly encouraged.”
Ah. “You knew?”
“That she sold us out? Yes. Not that she showed any integrity and ‘fessed up. But Allen couldn’t wait to let me know that one of my own was responsible for that trash he wrote.”
Julie looked more closely at Camille and noted the dark circles under her eyes, the chips on her fingernails, and the hair that was just a little less shiny than usual. Most telling of all, her lips were completely devoid of red lipstick, and she’d forgotten to draw on her eyebrows. As a result, she looked . . . human.
Apparently Julie hadn’t been the only one doing penance for Stiletto’s undercover-girlfriend gig.
“I’m sorry the story got out that way. It hasn’t exactly been flattering publicity for the magazine,” Julie murmured.
Camille waved this away. “Are you kidding? My phone’s been ringing off the hook. I wouldn’t be surprised if this issue is one of our best-selling of all time. In typical fashion, short-dicked, shortsighted Allen didn’t have the brains to understand that in our world, any publicity is invaluable. His stupid attempt at sabotage blew up in his bloated face.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Julie said, meaning it. She didn’t want Stiletto to suffer on top of everything else.
“Allen’s fool stunt did hurt you, though,” Camille said, her voice softening.
Julie quickly dropped her gaze to her notebook. She hadn’t shed a tear since Mitchell had walked away, but sympathy from the ever-crusty Camille might be more than she could stand.
The older woman let out a sigh. “You know, Julie . . . I’m not a soft woman.”
Naaah, Julie thought sarcastically.
“But I’ve always liked you. Favored you, perhaps. Thought of you as a daughter.”
Julie blinked in surprise. This was new. And kind of scary.
“Not a biological daughter, of course.” Camille literally shuddered. “I’d never do anything so vulgar as to subject myself to stretch marks and that horrid breast-feeding, of course.”
“Of course,” Julie agreed.
“I see myself in you,” Camille continued. “I love your spunk, your drive, your humor.”
“Thanks.” Where the hell is this going?
“But the truth is, Julie, I’ve done you a disservice over the years. I’ve let you create a very effective niche for yourself in your professional life, to the detriment of your personal life.”
Julie tried to follow. “I don’t understand.”
Camille sighed and fiddled with her computer mouse, clearly out of her element. “Well, let’s take your reputation as the first-date girl. You’ve cultivated that. I’ve cultivated that. And it’s been very effective. This city loves you, men adore you, women want to be you. But you’ve always been so . . . alone.”
Ouch. Hold on a sec, boss. Let me just remove my spleen and let you stab at that too.
Julie’s hand went up to fiddle with her necklace, almost as though she could protect her vulnerabilities from Camille’s too-shrewd observations.
Then realization dawned. “That’s why you assigned me this story. You normally only ever assign topics to the new kids, but you ordered me to write this one.”
Camille nodded. “I thought it would be good for you. I wanted you to allow yourself to open up. To connect with a man on a more meaningful level.”
Julie didn’t know if she was touched or completely appalled. “Camille,” she began carefully, “it’s true that I’ve always been a bit . . . shallow when it’s come to relationships. But that’s been my own choice. Not because of my role at the magazine. I shaped my stories to fit what I was, not the other way around.”
Camille pursed her lips. “It probably seems that way. But you started writing when you were twenty-two, very early into your professional and personal development. I think the two shaped each other. And as long as you were writing about the easy stuff in relationships, that’s all you were going to experience.”
“I really wish you hadn’t interfered,” Julie whispered.
“I know that now. I wanted you to experience something meaningful. Something real. But this . . .” She waved a hand over Julie in dismay. “Your outfit clashes, your roots are showing, your brows are a mess—”
“Gosh, the useful revelations just keep coming.”
“My point is, I shouldn’t have stuck my cosmetically enhanced nose in your business. I just wanted you to have a chance at a real relationship. Maybe even a chance at love. Instead I handed you a broken heart.”
Julie didn’t bother denying it. “You couldn’t have known how it would turn out.”
“No, but I should have put my foot down when I heard about your fool-headed scheme to manufacture a relationship. That wasn’t my goal at all. But then Kelli was champing at the bit, and I was stuck between delivering a blow to the magazine and letting you suffer a more personal blow of having your position usurped. I should have chosen differently.”
“It was my choice to make. It was the wrong one, clearly. But I had to make it for myself.”
Even if it cost me everything.
Camille nodded, but her expression was still troubled. “So you still plan to write the story, then? Because I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”
Julie hadn’t seen that coming. She’d been planning to write the article. She didn’t have the energy to come up with a fresh idea, and the city was practically panting for it. And it wasn’t as if she had anything to lose at this point.
But Camille’s attempt at mothering was unexpected. And knowing that Camille was willing to sacrifice magazine sales for her employee’s well-being? Unheard of.
Julie chose her words carefully. “You just said that the publicity from Allen’s article would make this one of our best-selling issues. I need to write it. Without my article, people will be pissed.”
“So let them be pissed,” Camille said with an indifferent shrug. “No magazine is worth a heart.”
Julie swallowed. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
Camille leaned forward. “So you did care? About him, I mean.”
“Very much.”
“Then write about it.”
Julie resisted the urge to rub her temples. This conversation was getting exhausting. “I thought you just told me I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t mean write about that abstract idea we came up with two months ago. I mean write about what you learned. Write about your heartbreak. Write about him.”
Julie exhaled slowly through her nose. “Camille, with all due respect, I’ll write what I said I’d write because I’m a professional. I’ll write about the subtle difference between dating and being with someone. I’ll even sprinkle in some of my own observations. But I’m not going to spill my guts to strangers. You’re the one that told me that Stiletto isn’t a diary. Please don’t ask me to turn it into one.”
Camille gave a small smile. “A good speech, Julie. And I can tell you mean it. But somewhere in the midst of this train wreck, you unintentionally tapped into something we don’t cover often enough at Stiletto.”
“What’s that? Manipulation and skanky journalism?”
This time Camille let out a full-on laugh. “No. If I wanted all that, I’d ask Kelli to write a farewell piece. But I meant your heartache. As a magazine, we’ve never paid tribute to an inevitable part of many relationships: the breakup.”
Julie opened her mouth to protest, but instead, she let the truth of Camille’s observation run over her.
