A pained expression shrouded his features. But he didn’t say anything further.
What was there to say?
Only one thing. “Good-bye, Grant.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Charli was in the mood to break things by the time late afternoon rolled around. Or maybe beat things—like Pete’s smarmy face. Trey hadn’t been in the office, and no one seemed to know when he’d be coming back. She’d tried his cell number without any luck. Pete hadn’t returned either. He was probably busy studying her notes so he could fake his way through owning her story.
She gripped the edge of her desk, letting out a groan of frustration.
Her phone beeped, indicating an internal call. She nearly pounced on the receiver. “Hello?”
“Beaumonde.”
“Trey!” she said, relief zipping through her. “I’ve been trying to track you down all day.”
“Sorry, it’s been a crazy day. But I’m in my office now. We need to talk.”
“Boy, do we.”
Charli had never made it to her boss’s office so quickly. She swung open the door, her story ready to burst from her lips, but Trey’s grim expression halted her in her tracks.
He already knew. She could see it all over his face.
“Shut the door.” He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “And sit.”
She clicked the door shut, then sank into the chair, her limbs half numb. “So Pete told you anyway.”
He looked to the ceiling, as if counting to ten in his head to calm down. “I told you to back off that fucking story, Beaumonde. But you had to keep pushing. Always pushing.”
She frowned. Wait, this wasn’t about the audiotape? “What are you talking about?”
He leaned onto his forearms, his gaze trapping her. “Any sane person would’ve dropped a story if they’d been run off the road and threatened. But no, you’re like a goddamned bulldog who keeps breaking its leash.”
Her blood chilled beneath her skin, her muscles going taut.
“You know anything about the company you work for, Charli? In all that dogged research, did you ever look at what percentage of the board of directors graduated from Dallas U?”
“Why would I research that?” She couldn’t wrap her thoughts around his question, her mind spinning, putting all the pieces in place.
“Because, those are the people who cut our fucking paychecks, Beaumonde,” he barked, his cheeks going ruddy. “The people I answer to. Men who would do anything to make sure their good names aren’t sullied and that their team keeps winning.”
Her stomach lurched as her brain caught up with the conversation, rage welling up inside her. Her own company had tried to shut her up—hurt her.
Trey shook his head, resignation settling like dust in the creases of his face. “I’ve always liked you, Charli. May have even loved you once upon a time.” He sighed. “I wanted to keep you out of it, tried to. But you couldn’t leave well enough alone. You were never good at listening.”
She wanted to yank him up by that collar of his and shake him. How dare he act like some martyr who’d tried to help her? “I was doing my job, Trey.”
“It’s not your job anymore, Charli. You’re fired.”
“What?” Red flooded her vision, his words like glass shattering in her brain. “You can’t do that.”
“I can and am.” He grabbed a sheet of paper from his printer and slid it across the desk. “We had Pete destroy all of your notes and facts. So, you have no proof of your story anymore. Plus, he got us the added bonus of your phone interlude with your boyfriend. Legitimate grounds for termination anyway.”
All she could do was stare at the notice of termination.
“Oh, and we talked to your source this morning, so don’t bother going back to him again. He no longer has any memory of speaking to you.”