Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Callan and John were hurrying toward me from Callan’s Defender, their expressions tight with worry. “Where are you going?” Callan pressed a hand to my driver’s side door to stop me from getting in.
I knocked it away, throwing it open. “To fucking kill that wee prick!”
He winced as John paled. “What prick?”
“Did you see? Did you see he wrote another fucking story about Maia—except this time it’s about her dad?”
“We saw.” John gripped my shoulder. “You can’t go after a journo, Baird. Your career, and possibly your life, will be over.”
“My career is already fucking over,” I spat. “Fred says I need to break it off with My or I’m out.”
Callan’s eyes flared with anger. “No fucking way.”
“Aye. Way.” I jumped into my car and my best pal held the door open. “Keen, let go o’ the fuckin’ door. Now!”
At my bark, he let go and I slammed it shut.
The lads were already hurrying back to the Defender, but I didn’t care. I was out of there. The hour and a half drive it took to get from Edinburgh to Glasgow was cut down by at least twenty minutes with the speed of my wrath.
I parked illegally and tore out of my car and into the office building that housed the tabloid newspaper. I thought I heard someone shout my name as I got on the lift, but I stabbed the button for the newspaper’s floor and the doors closed on the yells. Blood rushed in my ears and my fists clenched at my sides, ready to mash the journo’s face into a wall.
Stepping onto the floor, I eyed the security guard who stood outside the glass double doors that had the newspaper’s name etched on it in gold. I forced myself to be a bit smart about this. As smart as I could be in the moment. I approached the receptionist. “Aye, could you point me in the direction of Craig Bennet? I have an appointment with him.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she searched my face, and I knew she recognized me but couldn’t quite place me. “Let me just call his desk.”
Shit.
Fuck.
I threw a shifty glance at the security guard who was scrolling on his phone. Christ, I could probably walk right by that idiot.
I was contemplating it when the receptionist sighed. “His line is busy. One second and I’ll go see if he’s available. What was your name?”
“John Keen,” I lied because I was intending to follow her, anyway.
Sure enough, the security guard just gave her a barely there glance as she pushed open the double doors, so I snuck in behind her, letting him think I was supposed to be following her. Then I slowed, waiting for her to make her way through the busy open-plan office. There were messy desks everywhere and while there were privacy screens between desks, everyone was loud and social as they went about the business of publicly gossiping about people’s fucking lives.
I sneered at them as I followed the receptionist through the room. When she stopped at a desk, I picked up my pace. I’d almost reached it, seeing the top of a bloke’s bald head when my arm was yanked.
“Baird!”
Callan was somehow there and had a hold of my arm, expression hard and determined.
John stood behind him, glancing over his shoulder at the security guard who stood nervously at the top of the room watching us as he spoke into a walkie-talkie.
“He’s not worth it, mate.” Callan’s grip tightened.
“Maia is.” I yanked my arm and turned back to see Craig standing, looking nervous but with a defiant tilt to his chin.
“Baird McMillan.” Craig Bennet had a reedy voice that irritated me as much as his crap journalism did. “I think you should listen to your teammates and leave before we call the police.”
I was going to knock his teeth out and then break his fingers. See how he’d get on writing his shitty articles then.
“Baird.” Callan leaned in, tone harsh. “You do this, and you really lose Maia forever. You’ll lose everything.”
I breathed hard, shaking against the urge to take it all out on this bloke. Because someone needed to pay for the pain Maia was in right now, all the pain I couldn’t fucking fix! “You said in your latest piece-of-shit article there was a source. Who?”
“I can’t tell you that. They emailed me the information and asked to remain anonymous. I have to respect that.”
“Respect that? I’m going to—”
Callan tightened his grip. “He’s not worth a prison sentence. And Maia needs you.”
“She broke up with me,” I gritted out. “She thinks … she thinks I deserve better.”
“Jesus.” Callan squeezed my shoulder. “She’s just hurting, mate. She doesn’t mean it. You’ll fix it.”
“I can’t!” I turned on him. “That bitch fucked her up so badly and he”—I stabbed a finger in Bennet’s direction—“fucking let her do it again!”