Page 70 of Obsession

He levels me with a look. “Are you sure you’re ready to be back at work? I meant it when I said you can take as much time off as you need.”

“With all due respect,” I reply. “I don’t want to stay at home any longer.”

He nods, lost in thought, and then he shakes his head as if to clear it. “I’m not comfortable with you writing about Hammond now that…” He drifts off, clearing his throat. “It’s a conflict of interest.”

I sit upright. “But it’s my story. I have worked hard on it. You can’t just give it to someone else.”

“I know you have grown attached to this story, but Hammond has an unhealthy obsession with you, according to the police. I can’t allow you to put yourself at risk. I have asked Elliot to take?—”

I shoot up from my seat. “Absolutely not. Elliot goes nowhere near my story.”

“Campbell—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Robbie Hammond refused to let anyone interview him but me. I have spent months interviewing him and analyzing the information.”

“Elliot will take over from now on.”

My head shakes as angry tears prick my eyes. I won’t accept this. That fucker has been after my project from day one. This was my chance to write something that would get me out of this small town.

“Savannah,” James starts, rising to his feet and smoothing a hand down his tie. “Maybe you need to ease back into work. Paula has phoned in sick for the duration of the week. Maybe you want to take over the horoscope section for now.”

“The horosco—” A sudden burst of laughter rips from my throat, but then it dies just as fast. I scoff. “You’re joking, right? The horoscope section?”

James says nothing. He has made his mind up, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I stare at him for a heartbeat, blinking away stinging tears of anger.

Shaking my head, I press my lips together. “Unbelievable.”

“I think it’s for the be?—”

Fury clouds my vision, and I point an accusing finger in his direction. “Fuck you, James. Fuck. You! You’re a libra, right? Well then, here’s your horoscope for the day: You can take your horoscope section and shove it up your backside. I’m done.”

I storm out before he can say another word. The door slams shut behind me with such force that some of the ladies squeak in their cubicles.

Elliot got his fucking wish, after all. But I’m not staying around to see his smug face. It’s not wise. I might punch him.

After entering my cubicle, I pack my items. If Elliot thinks I’ll let him have access to my hours of recordings, he can go fuck himself. For once, I’m relieved to have used an old-fashioned recorder—no electronic files for him to steal.

I’m wiping away tears with my sleeve, trying to get the fucking laptop to fit in my bag when the man himself makes an appearance in the doorway.

It takes everything in me not to throw my desk lamp at him.

He leans his shoulder against the doorframe. “You don’t have to leave.”

I give the laptop one last, violent shove, then whirl around so fast strands of my hair stick to the tears on my cheeks. “Are you here to gloat? Well, you won. Happy now?”

My jaw clenches while he studies me in silence for a beat too long before holding out a parcel. “This came addressed to you.”

Confused, I look down. I was too angry to notice the parcel before.

“I’ll throw it away if you want,” he says.

I snatch it off him. “You can leave now.”

He looks down, scuffing the ground with his oxfords, and then he peers back at me. A muscle works in his jaw. “I’ll admit that I wanted this story… But not like this.”

“Does it matter?” I search through the clutter on my desk for scissors. “It’s yours. Meanwhile, I’ve been downgraded to the horoscope section.”

“Really?”