Off the Record by Camryn Garrett (read more books TXT) 📕

“And I’m only seventeen and I just want to write. I don’t want to worry about that.”

“Well, there hasn’t been any sort of lawsuit that I’ve heard of,” she says. I can already picture her—the same face she makes when someone comes in with an overdue library book. “Anyway, your lawyer will take care of that if it happens.”

“I don’t have a lawyer, Mom.”

“You do now.” She pauses. There’s the sound of paper shuffling. “A woman named Eve called earlier. She said she wanted to make sure you had legal counsel if necessary.”

“Seriously?”

When Eve said she’d help from the sidelines, I didn’t think she meant getting me a lawyer. And she’s paying for it with her own money. I’m pretty sure this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I let out a sigh, tension releasing from my shoulders.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, lowering my voice. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” she says. “We’ll talk more about everything else when you get home.”

“Home?”

“Yes, your father and I had to book another flight for you girls after you missed the first one,” she says, sass pooling into her voice. “But I see why that happened now, so I’m not as angry.”

Not as angry. But probably still pissed. I try my best not to snort. Even when I’m published in the Times, Mom is still Mom.

“I emailed the tickets to Alice,” she adds. “Your flight is at nine. Don’t miss this one.”

The clock on the wall says it’s 4:30 p.m. right now. That leaves us loads of time.

“Right,” I say. “We won’t. I’ll see you soon.”

Everything’s happening so fast.

I leave the bathroom to see that Monique and Alice have flipped back to the news. It’s not CNN this time but another channel. A reporter speaks while a huge block of text appears on the side of the screen.

“Roy Lennox has issued an apology to all of the people impacted by his actions,” she says. “His production company, Lennox Productions, has put him on indefinite leave in the meantime.”

“Wow,” I say. The information doesn’t fully register. I think I’m in shock.

Alice turns to look at me. Monique is on the phone.

“Hopefully it gets a lot worse for him,” Alice says. She and Monique share a look. “We know this has been hard for you, but we’ve just been trying to make it easier by hanging out here all day.”

“Well.” I rub my hands on my thighs. “I was hoping we’d spend our last day in New York reenacting all my favorite scenes from The Devil Wears Prada—”

“Oh, stop. We know you’re going a little stir-crazy.” Monique snorts, hanging up the phone. “But Alice got a call from Lauren Jacobson, and she says she has something at the office for you. How do you feel about making a trip downtown?”

I glance between the two of them, eyebrows raised.

“Um,” I say. “Would this something happen to be a lawsuit?”

“Not sure,” Monique says. “They’d be foolish to try it, but you never know.”

I think back to my phone call with Ms. Jacobson, the way she dismissed the idea that I could be writing this story. It feels like that happened years ago or in a different dimension. I still don’t feel great about going to see her, but I can’t spend my entire last day holed up in Monique’s apartment. And despite all of the shit going on, I do feel a little invincible. Just the tiniest bit.

“Sure,” I say, already looking for my jacket. “Let’s go.”

It’s not like I’m expecting the paparazzi to follow us when we take the subway down to Deep Focus’s office, but I’m still expecting things to be different. I’m expecting people to look at me differently—maybe gape. But it doesn’t happen. This one guy with red glasses looks at me a little longer than normal, but then I realize it’s because my head is blocking the subway map.

Deep Focus is housed in a gigantic skyscraper that reminds me of the Empire State Building, or at least the opening shots of Working Girl.

Monique tells the man at the front desk our names, and he asks for ID before printing passes out for us. Once we get upstairs, it’s like the office from The Devil Wears Prada—all light and open and white. I seriously don’t think I see any sort of stain anywhere—and it’s eerily quiet, unlike the Times office. There are movie posters signed by people who worked on them and celebrity pictures and magazine covers all blown up. They also have those big, clear doors that you can see everything through.

My first instinct is to loiter around the elevator until someone asks what we’re doing, but Monique walks straight in. There are people sitting around at desks and typing away on shiny laptops. Up in the corner, there’s a TV playing the news. It’s still all about Lennox.

I can’t wrap my mind around it. This is something I had a gigantic hand in. I’m not just watching someone else report the news. I did it.

“Josie!”

I blink before I’m wrapped in a woman’s arms. She’s a few inches taller than me, and her hair smells like lemon. As soon as she steps back, I realize it’s Ms. Jacobson. I stumble away with surprise.

“When did you get in from California?”

“Just this morning,” she says. “The magazine flew me in when we realized…Josie, you’re so talented. The profile is excellent.”

“Wow,” I say. “Thank you.”

I was just starting to forget about Marius, too.

“I read it all in one sitting. The edits are honestly so minimal. The piece really made me feel like I was meeting Marius, becoming friends with him. Do you know what I mean? I just wanted to hug him by the end.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Um, he definitely has that effect.”

“So,” Alice says, breaking up our little lovefest, “what did you call us down here for? I remember you threatening Josie a few days ago.”

“Alice,” I hiss. God. I can handle myself.

“Threatening?” Ms. Jacobson looks