Chasing the boss

Lexi

The flickering fluorescent light above my desk was trying to kill me. I was sure of it.  

I squinted at my computer screen, zooming in on yet another grainy photo, this time of some D-list actor getting handsy with his assistant in a nightclub bathroom. The pixels were so bad it looked like Bigfoot footage.  

This is what I went to journalism school for?  

Holy crap!

I held my head in frustration. This shitty life is getting on my nerves. 

Across the cramped office, Mia Torres, my only ally at The Daily Buzz, caught my eye and mimed hanging herself with a phone cord. I snorted, nearly choking on my third cup of shitty office coffee.  

“At least you get to go out and work.” She said, rolling her eyes. “I only get to sit here all day, staring into space. My life is worse than yours, Lexi.”

My heart sank. “We don't even get to date.” I hissed. 

Mia chuckled. “Can you marry you,” she pointed at my already worn out jacket. “...in this state.”

I laughed, tilting my head back. “Never.”

Mia pouted. “So don't blame innocent guys.”

“Carter!” Frank Moore's voice cut through the office like a rusty knife. My boss loomed over my desk, his cheap suit reeking of cigarettes and… failure. He slapped a folder down hard enough to make my empty coffee cup rattle. “Drop the Z-list crap. I've got your next assignment.”  

I flipped open the folder. A glossy 8x10 headshot of a man stared back at me, all sharp cheekbones, icy blue eyes, and a smirk that probably made stockbrokers wet their pants.  

“Let me guess,” I deadpanned. “Another billionaire with a God complex? What's his crime, killing puppies? Or does he enjoy watching peasants like me suffer.”

“It's not funny.” Frank rolled his eyes. “He is Lucian Cross. The CEO of Cross Media Entertainment who just bought out three rival networks. Rumor has it he's got skeletons in his closet big enough to sell papers for months.” He leaned in, his coffee breath making my eyes water. “Get me something explosive, or start cleaning out your desk.”

The unspoken threat hung in the air. My last paycheck had barely covered rent, let alone the mountain of my father's gambling debts. And my mother's columbarium had just sent another notice, apparently even dead people weren't immune to California's rent hikes.  

Two hours later, I stood in front of my cracked full-length mirror, twisting to see how much of my cheap black dress actually covered my ass. The answer, not enough.

Mia whistled from my bed where she was painting her nails. “Damn, girl. You clean up nice for someone about to commit felony trespassing.”

“I'm not trespassing,” I muttered, struggling with the zipper. “I have a press pass.”  

Her eyes bulged. “A fake press pass.”

“Semantics.” The zipper finally gave way, taking a chunk of my dignity with it. 

“You're unbelievable, Lexi.” Mia rolled her eyes, focusing on her nails.

“Besides,