“I assumed you would. You’d be surprised though. Sometimes a controlled professional is just a cover for darker impulses. There are more ways to win than killing. Success is the ultimate win. Don’t you agree? You’ve certainly won in your field.”
“I suppose I have. I’d like to think I’m still winning.”
“I’m sure you are. Your career is as important to you, as mine was to me. Staying where we are and not moving forward isn’t who we are.” Natasha pouted a bit. “I suppose I can’t keep the rest of the cake, can I?”
“No, they told me I’d have to bring it back out with me. I wondered if they just said that so they could have a slice too.”
“I wouldn’t blame them. After a slice of that, Keith will really want to get into your pants.”
“Oh God, no more men please!” Celia rolled her eyes. She knew Keith had an eye on her, but prison guards were a no-fly zone.
“Hmmm... sounds like there’s a story there. Maybe I’ll want to explore that in our next meeting.”
Keith knocked, and they both laughed. “You ladies must have had fun?” He looked confused.
“Oh, Celia is a lot of fun,” Natasha said, winking as the other guard led her out of the room.
Keith and Celia walked down the hallway in silence. He entered the code, and the doors opened. They were almost to the entry when he turned to her. “Hey, Celia—“
“Want some cake?” She interrupted. “I have some spoons in my pocket. I was planning on leaving it with the clerk at the desk.”
“Oh,” Keith said. “Sure, it looks great.”
When they got to the front desk, Celia cut a piece of the cake for Keith and the clerk, Myra. Myra’s reaction to the first bite was similar to Natasha’s, and Celia told her to take the rest home. Keith enjoyed it too, though he looked a little disappointed that she had interrupted him in the hallway. Sorry, Keith, no-fly zone. She told Keith to be nice to Myra so he could take some home too.
Her cellphone rang as she walked to her car. It was John.
“Hey, Celia, are you heading back from the prison?”
“I just walked out. I should be back after lunch.”
“Okay then. I’d like a status report when you get here. I also have something else I’d like you to look into. I think it’s your kind of thing.”
“Sure,” Celia replied. “I’ll text you when I get back.”
Celia tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and started her car. Ever since she’d set John straight, he’d avoided her a bit. This new story was probably a way to get back into her good graces. Or it was a carrot to convince her to spill all the details about her interviews with Natasha. Either way, Celia knew she’d need to be on her guard. John never did anything without an agenda.
“So I was thinking about how long you’ve been here,” John began as Celia walked around her desk as sat. “I’ve been thinking about how we can expand the writing you do.”
“That sounds interesting.” Celia smiled.
“You’re adept at outlining the implications of things like corruption, negligence, and topics that sometimes go over the public’s head.”
And often yours, John.
“I’d like you to consider a weekly byline, sort of a general inform-the-public series, almost educational. You could do what you do best, lay out the facts.”
Celia’s smile froze in place as she thought about John’s words. It was typical. It seemed like a compliment, but there was also a dig. This time the dig was in reference to her drama-based interviews with Natasha.
“I think it would really bump up our numbers, yours included, and you could share your expertise.”
“I’ll think about it,” Celia said. “I’ll have to see if it will fit in with the other stories I have in progress and the exclusive interviews with Natasha.” See, I can dig too.
“I understand,” John smirked. “You do that.” He left the office, closing the door loudly on his way out.
Celia opened the folder titled “Prison” and began typing up her notes from the day’s interview. She’d listen to the recording later. When she got to the word parents, she paused. Celia hadn’t been completely honest with Natasha. She knew her father was single again; his trophy wife had taken the kids and left. That probably explained why he kept reaching out, continuing to reconnect. And somehow, knowing he was alone made Celia even less inclined to return any of his calls.
Sorry, Dad. You used up your chances.
Chapter 9
It was the fourth time Bart had called. Celia sighed and turned over her cell phone. He’d left repeated apologetic messages, hoping to talk with her to “straighten things out.” At first, Celia had considered indulging him. However, after the third rambling voicemail, she became completely turned off. Hopefully, if she ignored him, he’d just give up eventually.
As she worked, Celia periodically eyed the file labeled “Prison.” Every time she interviewed Natasha, she listened to the recording, consulted her notes, and created a transcription of sorts. Then, she printed the transcription and placed it in the file folder. It was the only story she was working on that wasn’t digital storage only. For some reason, Celia felt compelled to print each transcript, in case some unheard-of technology travesty erased the digital records. It was a bit obsessive and paranoid, but Celia couldn’t seem to help herself. Today, however, she resisted the temptation to open it.
John was pleased with the bits and pieces of her visits with Natasha that Celia had chosen to share. He still didn’t like the fact that they were sitting on the story; he was paranoid about getting scooped or having one of the prison employees leak Celia’s visits. Any early preview of the
