Ex-change

Chapter Seven: The First Move

Looking back, I should have known Eric Thompson would wreck me.

Even meeting him started with a disaster waiting to happen. And I remember exactly how it began.

A Few Months Ago

Mr. Callahan is the kind of editor every reporter dreams of having. He’s like that funny bachelor uncle who makes family gatherings bearable. But he’s only human, and sometimes, even he caves under pressure from his superiors.

That day, he stormed into the office, eyes blazing, and dropped his tablet onto my desk without a word.

"See?" He stabbed a finger at the headline flashing across the screen.

ERIC THOMPSON: HEIR TO A LEGACY OR JUST ANOTHER PLAYBOY?

It was familiar—because the sole subject of the article I was working on at that very moment was also Eric Thompson.

"I see it," I said slowly, wondering if he was testing my eyesight or trying to make a point.

"And you don’t even know what you did wrong," he said, voice tight with frustration.

I frowned. "I can’t seem to figure it out."

His eyes narrowed. "How did you become a reporter if you can't read between the lines?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but he didn’t wait for an answer.

"This is no longer an exclusive for us," he continued sharply. "If another news agency already published it, what do you think that means for us?"

I didn’t need him to spell it out. It meant low ratings. Fewer readers. And another step toward our agency’s decline.

It also meant something worse for me personally—because I was already the reporter with the fewest exclusives on the team.

And that meant my job was on the line.

Recognizing the look on my face, Callahan said, “I see that you’ve realized it. I want an exclusive before the end of the day.”

Then, with a pointed look, he added, “You don’t want to know what happens if you don’t.”

With that, he left me alone with my thoughts. And my impending doom.

I slumped back in my chair, staring at my half-finished article like it could magically save me.

“Yikes. That bad?”

I turned to see Jenna, arms crossed, already giving me that I-told-you-so look.

“Worse,” I muttered.

She dropped into the chair beside me, stealing a fry off my plate like she owned it. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Panic. Cry. Get fired.”

“Tempting, but maybe try something less pathetic.” She smirked. “Like, I don’t know… actually getting the exclusive?”

I shot her a glare. “And how exactly do you suggest I do that? Eric Thompson isn’t just hanging around waiting for me to interview him.”

Her smirk widened. “Actually…”

I narrowed my eyes. “Oh no. What did you do?”

She leaned in, voice dripping with mischief. “I might know someone who knows someone… who can get you into an event tonight. A very exclusive event.”

I already didn’t like where this was going. “What kind of event?”

She grinned. “The kind where billionaires get tipsy, and you get your scoop.”

"I can't go, even if my job is on the line," I said firmly.

“I know you can’t.” She gave me that knowing look—like she had already won. “That’s why the event is just for you and Eric Thompson.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

Jenna smiled, looking far too pleased with herself. “I have an interview scheduled with him today already. You can go in my place.”

I narrowed my eyes. "How?"

"First, through my father's connections. Second, there's nothing to worry about."

I sighed, already knowing what she was about to say next. So I said it for her.

“Because you’re a trust fund baby. If you get fired, you have somewhere to go back to. I don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. But if you’re interpreting it that way… you’re definitely going in my place.”

That was Jenna Williams for you. She gave her all to the people she cared about. And she never regretted a single decision she made.

Her father owned one of the highest-grossing companies in the world. As an only child, she was supposed to take over the business. Instead, she became a reporter, not caring about her family’s legacy.

And for someone who threw away a billion-dollar future just to chase a story…

I knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

So I didn’t bother trying.

“You are a lifesaver, Jenna.”

“I know.” She grinned. “Now, go make history.”

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the private lounge of an upscale hotel, staring at the man I was supposed to interview.

Eric Thompson.

I had imagined someone smug. Maybe lazily draped across the couch, drink in hand, flashing a grin that screamed trust fund troublemaker.

Instead, he was nothing like that.

He sat upright, posture composed, eyes scanning something on his tablet with sharp focus. His suit was tailored, but not flashy. His watch expensive, but subtle. No distractions, no wasted movement.

The headlines had painted him as a playboy billionaire.

But the man in front of me?

He looked like a CEO. Efficient. Focused. Untouchable.

“Miss Williams?” His voice was calm, measured. He didn’t even look up from the tablet.

I blinked. “Uh, no.”

He finally lifted his gaze, studying me like I was part of a business transaction. Not rude. Not arrogant. Just… assessing.

“You’re not Jenna.”

I straightened. “She had another engagement. I’m taking her place. I'm Adrianna James”

He nodded once, setting his tablet aside. No reaction, no smirk. Just a simple “Alright. Let’s begin.”

That was it? No irritated remarks? No dismissive glances?

I came expecting a cocky rich guy. Instead, I got a man who didn’t waste time—not mine, and definitely not his. Somehow, that was even more unnerving.

The interview went smoother than expected. No smug comments, no wasted words—just sharp, well-thought-out answers.

He closed his tablet and leaned back slightly, studying me for a beat.

"Good questions, Miss James."

"Thanks," I said cautiously.

There was a pause. Then, in the same calm, measured tone, he asked,

“Can I make you exclusive?”

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Your articles," he clarified, tone unreadable. "I assume you prefer writing exclusives."

I exhaled, trying to ignore the small, stupid hitch in my pulse.

"That's up to my editor," I said, reaching for my bag. "Not me."

He nodded slowly, then slid his card across the table. "In case you ever change your mind."

I hesitated for half a second. Then I left the card exactly where he placed it.

"Goodbye, Mr. Thompson."

I didn’t look back as I walked away.

But I knew, somehow—he was still watching me.

I had no idea that moment would change everything.

That meeting Eric Thompson would somehow lead me to Damien Carter—to a game I never agreed to play.

But that was how it all began.

And now?

Now, I was standing in front of Damien, hearing words that shouldn’t have mattered but did.

"You don’t really have a choice.”