While the ice-pick thing was huge, I’d promised Itani I wouldn’t use it for three days. That meant that in three days I’d have an exclusive on the ice pick. This was a byline there was no way Brent was going to wrangle from me. But I didn’t think one story would be enough. I needed to make such a splash and impact that I’d secure a position in the newsroom once a spot opened. Brent was already on the elevator when I got in at the parking level. “Well, well,” he said with a little smirk, “here’s our talented gossip columnist. And tell me, please, what will Nicole be up to on this night?” No word on my absent byline, my stolen opening paragraph. Nothing at all, really, beyond the patronizing emptiness I’d always gotten from him. I groped for an answer that would stop him in his tracks, shut him up and remove the smirk from his face as though by a kick from my pointy-toed shoe to his groin. I couldn’t think of anything. When the elevator doors opened for him, I gave up.
