Boston's Man-Eater

XXI

"What is this?" I spat, waving the day's newspaper in the air.

"What do you mean?" Naomi asked.

"I mean you publishing about Tess being strongly suspected for Derek's death."

Her glossy lips formed into a perfect O.

"Isn't that what happened?"

I stared at her with bewilderment, and she clearly couldn't have cared any less.

"That is not what happened Naomi, she was questioned, I was questioned—a whole lot of people were questioned, but you chose to write about how she was a strong suspect, which isn't true. You didn't even include the rest of us!"

She shifted her seat to fully face me, and cocked her head to the side.

How annoying!

"I only write the truth, Kyle. The fact that she was a suspect is what led her into being questioned, isn't it?"

"Naomi, her boyfriend just died. Why are you choosing to do this? Do you want people to hate her?"

"Why would I?"

"You never even mentioned the rest of us."

"I guess I never thought of that considering you weren't in his circle."

"You clearly weren't thinking about anything—all you care about is yourself, and it's at the expense of others. This is a very big exaggeration and you'll be damned if it affects her in any way."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's the truth."

"Tell me something, Kyle. Do you like Tess?"

"I do like her."

"I mean with actual feelings."

"Maybe I do, Naomi."

"Well, then that explains why you're making such a hissy fit about it," she shrugged, folding her arms as I scowled.

"What you did wasn't right, despite whatever I feel towards her."

"Whatever," she mumbled and I shook my head before walking back to my desk.

This was exactly why Tess needed a getaway. It's people like Naomi who worsen the situation, and she didn't need that.

I threw the copy into a trashcan and ran my hand through my hair, staring at the blank document on my computer.

After what seemed like an hour of writing an article that paid tribute to Derek—sigh—I stood from my desk to get myself a latte from a nearby café.

I quietly observed the busy streets of the Boston city as taxi drivers hollered, crowds weaving in and out of the sidewalks.

Naomi had obviously pissed me off, and only broadened my appetite for the Junior Editor position.

She was asking for it.

When I had my latte in hand, I saw a silver Bentley identical to Tess' park in front of the Boston Independent, and I searched the driver's face from the windshield to no avail.

Nobody stepped out, so I shrugged and walked up the stairs, settling down in my seat.

I had to stop obsessing with Tess.

Tess this, Tess that.

It's like she was the only thing that was happening in my life, and I was rashly becoming addicted to the high.