ECHOES OF SECRETS

EVERYONE'S INTERESTED CONT...

The bluntness of it unsettled Myra.

“I….. uh,” her mind failed to articulate a reasonable explanation.

“Look around you.” Myra did as she was told. She glanced where Schmidt pointed at. A bookshelf stood at the corner, overloaded and uneven, with old magazines and forgotten scripts stacked carelessly at the bottom. “I don’t need false hope. And neither do people working here. Why hasn't it happened yet?”

The thing is, Myra was counting on the party to initiate a contact. But Schmidt wouldn't like that answer. “I planned on paying him a visit today.” She said instead. Light entered through bent window slats and caught briefly in Schmidt’s eyes.

“Don’t delay. Unless…… “ She bent and got out a folded sheet from the drawer that refused to shut properly. “You aren’t up to the task. I can assign someone on your behalf. I know you won’t find it hard to acquaint us.”

Colour drained from Myra’s face. She couldn’t believe her ears. Was Schmidt implying that she was incompetent? She dragged a chair forward and sat, the scrape loud enough to cut through the room.

She looked Schmidt directly in the eye. “Have I given you any reason to doubt me?” Schmidt hesitated, then shook her head. It was obvious she hadn’t seen this other side of Myra. “You need the exposure. I know him well enough to get him to listen. So right now, the question isn’t whether I can be replaced—it’s whether you want the interview done properly.”

Myra drew back. “You can replace me afterward. But for this interview, you need me.”

“Need is temporary, Myra. Don’t confuse it with importance.”

“I’ve got this.”

Myra pulled the door shut behind her. For the first time since entering Schmidt’s office, she felt the air tilt—not in her favor entirely, but enough to stop feeling cornered.

“You were in there a while.”

Sarah again.

She stood near the wall now, a folder held lightly against her chest.

Myra stopped.

How long had she been there?

How much had she heard?

“Was I?”

Sarah’s mouth curved faintly.

“Schmidt doesn’t usually keep people unless something important comes up.”

Myra adjusted her sleeve, buying herself a moment.

“Then I suppose it was important.”

A slight tilt of Sarah’s head.

“About the interview?”

This time Myra met her gaze fully.

“Why? Interested?”

A soft laugh.

“Everyone’s interested. The whole studio knows what landing that interview means.”

Silence stretched.

Sarah filled it.

“If you need anything, I meant what I said earlier.”

Myra studied her face.

Too smooth.

Too available.

“I remember.”

Sarah’s fingers tightened around the folder.

“Schmidt sounded tense.”

A beat.

“She always sounds tense.”

Then, almost casually:

“She trusts results.”

Myra held her eyes.

“Then it’s a good thing I plan to give her one.”

She moved past without waiting for an answer.

The corridor narrowed around her as she returned toward editorial, stale office air pressing against her skin. Even without turning, she felt Sarah's gaze quiet, watchful.

By the time she reached her cubicle, her jaw had begun to ache.

She dropped into her chair and dragged a hand across the desk.

“Your cheeks—”

Jane had already turned halfway toward her, brows drawn, pen suspended above unfinished notes.

“They’re red.”

Myra touched one cheek instinctively.

“Am I angry,” she murmured, “or embarrassed?”

Jane leaned back, studying her.

“With you? Could be either.”

That almost drew a smile.

Almost.

Myra exhaled, reached for the file on her desk, then stopped.

“Jane.”

Something in her voice made Jane straighten immediately.

“Hm?”

“Come with me.”

“To where?”

Myra looked at her directly.

“The Pooles’.”

Jane blinked.

“Now?”

“After work,” Myra said. “We’ll go from my house.”