Page 84 of Savage Suit

She would not box me into a corner. Fuck her. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I would think, as an independent reporter, you would know what I mean. My statement was in response to your accusations. What I said relates to my life and my situation. No one else’s so please refrain from speaking on matters unknown to you. Most topics are out of reach for your comment.”

Laughter rose around us.

The hatred in her eyes burned through me.

I cleared my throat and continued, damning her husband. His poor interview rooted her viciousness. “As for your accusation that I am acipher, are you calling me insignificant? A nobody? A nothing or a nonentity?” I smiled at her surprise. “One can only assume you peppered your diatribe with such words to expose my ignorance. So sorry to disappoint you. Calling Mr. Keegan a philistine was a little beyond the pale. Is it because of his wealth? I suppose you see him as a jaded, materialistic, uncouth chauvinist.”

“You’re being kind in your assessment,” she said coldly. “He’s manipulative and awful. His own family disdains him.”

I sighed, holding in my true feelings. Here and there, I read about media etiquette, so losing my cool would spiral out of control. The power of the pen was in their hands. Words were a powerful persuader. Once public opinion turned against me too, all might be lost for Keegan Enterprises. “Admittedly, I am a new hire, but either they are excellent actors or they—”

“Or actresses,” she cut in. “Your own lack of respect for your gender is telling.”

“I’m not apologizing for my choice of words, especially to you. You have tried to humiliate me because of my clothing. You’ve demeaned every woman employed by Mr. Keegan and insulted my intelligence, ignoring this company’s talented and hardworking female staffers. Tina Keegan is the president of Kee-Tel. This isn’t a child’s game, Ms. Warrington. Whatever else you may accuse Mr. Keegan of being, a fool he is not. He wouldn’t allow anyone a place in his company if they were not competent.” Fuck, I was so fucking glad I’d sifted through the information Noah gave me. “Mrs. Keegan is the wife of Mr. Keegan’s brother, but unless you’re a novice, adilettante, you understand the rules of business.”

She looked over my shoulder toward Megan and stared, before narrowing her eyes. A moment later, she pulled out her cell phone and looked at something, before placing it in her empty chair.

Now that I had her full attention again, I arced my hand through the air. “Given the wealth of artwork throughout the building, I challenge you to tell me he doesn’t care about the arts.”

“These are reprints belonging to the company.”

“So now you’re accusing him, and by extension me, of being a liar?” Not allowing her time to answer, I shook my head. “I assure you, the fabric of our moral fiber remains intact. The works are originals and are from Mr. Keegan’s private collection.”

Again, known to me because of my homework. He encouraged his employees to support artists and sculptors, especially local rising stars. I detested abstract art. Suddenly, I realized why he encouraged such support. Somewhere in the documents, I’d read his mother fostered his love.

“You know a lot about Noah Keegan, to say you’re only an employee,” she sneered.

“I know no more than every other employee, Ms. Warrington. But I digress. Rosa Mikes is Mr. Keegan’s long-time assistant.” With a slight turn and a sweep of my hand, I indicated the woman’s general direction. “She would not be here if she didn’t have exceptional organizational skills, a no-nonsense attitude, and a character above reproach.” I paused, needing a moment before I extolled the virtues of the next woman. “And what of Miss Megan Buford? She has a BA in Organizational Skills and minored in marketing. From what I’ve seen today, she deserves to be right where she’s at.” In fucking hell, but I couldn’t say that. “There are other women employed here.” Not many. I had to work with what I had, however. “Before you say there aren’t many in executive positions, let me ask you: do you think your poorly researched piece wouldencourageapplications for our sex? Suppose the unfair rumors and assertions, circulated for years, and reinforced by your grossly negligent exposé, are scaring off qualified female applicants?”

My point made, I no longer needed to stand so close to her. I’m sure she wanted to engage more, and I was equally sure I’d created enough doubt for the upcoming news cycles to report a different spin. Reid’s information wasn’t required. Why play her dirty game? Besides, I’d hear from Ingrid Warrington again. We both crossed lines today.

Returning behind the podium, I glimpsed Megan, as white as a sheet and her expression frantic. Curious, I glanced around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Bored coworkers, chattering reporters, busy photographers, and still no Noah.

We were supposed to meet to discuss my ideas. Maybe his absence was good. Today had been worth shit. I hadn’t had a chance to fine-tune my presentation. Sighing, I faced the media people again. “I’ll take a few questions.”

I pointed to a reporter with a welcoming smile and a friendly expression.

“Thank you, Ryan,” she said as she stood. “I’m—”

“You’re a fraud, Ms. Hagen,” Ingrid Warrington interrupted, getting to her feet again. “Setting yourself above reproach with all the skeletons in your closet.”

“Nice try, but my life is an open book. I have no stray bones for you to dig up and twist to fit your nastiness.”

“At least I don’t claim perfection.”

“That’s ridiculous. No one is perfect.”

“According to you, your family is.Youare.”

“No, I’m not,” I said in exasperation, vaguely aware of a sudden uproar. The intermittent shutter clicks and flashes of light went wild. Fuck, this argument would be front page news.

“Either you’re a liar or a fool,” she told me. “Your parents didn’t die in an accident, Ryan. That car crash was intentional on your father’s part. They found a note at the scene—”

“You’re a liar,” I interrupted, but my voice sounded small and faraway and horrified. If I hadn’t known my father’s history, I would’ve laughed off her implication.

“Your argument isn’t with Ryan,” Noah snarled, suddenly next to me. “Unless you wish to be sued—”

“It’s public record,” she said in triumph.