Page 97 of The Player's Club

He shrugged. “We pay anonymous tipsters all the time. This isn’t a new thing.” He took his tablet back and stuffed it into his bag. “But I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

I nodded. I couldn’t fault him for doing his job. Because he was right; this was just an assignment. Mac was a celebrity, and we wrote about celebrities.

Oh, Mac. What are you going to do?

The story was published and all over the Internet by the end of the day. Roy was ecstatic, although he kept giving me dark looks. I was sure he knew I’d lied about being unable to find any dirt on Mac.

I called Mac multiple times, but he wouldn’t pick up. I left him three voicemails. I tried to explain that I wasn’t the one who’d published the story, but did it matter? I’d been the one to give Roy the address to the club in the first place.

The following day, I was working from home, but Roy called me, telling me to come to the office ASAP. Is he going to fire me?

I drove into the office, almost not caring what happened to my job, even as I’d gotten a bunch of bills that morning that were overdue. The water company was threatening to turn off my water by the end of the month if I didn’t pay. Who needs running water anyway? I thought in despair.

I went to Roy’s office right after I arrived, steeling myself for the inevitable.

But to my surprise, Roy wasn’t angry. He looked like he was at a complete loss.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly.

I sat and folded my hands to hide their shaking.

“I got an interesting call this morning,” he said, shaking his head. “From Cole Mackenzie’s publicist.”

Now I was the one who was confused. “His publicist?”

“She wanted to schedule an interview. Now, here’s the kicker. Mackenzie wants you to interview him. Nobody else would do.” Roy’s eagle-eyed gaze pierced straight through me. “Now, why would that be?”

I gaped at Roy. “There must be some mistake.”

“Oh, there’s no fucking mistake. I made the woman clarify three times. Apparently, Mackenzie wants to ‘address the rumors head-on’ or whatever bullshit.” Roy scowled. “We don’t do interviews. We’re a gossip rag. Have you ever done an interview?”

“A few. It’s been a while.”

Roy grunted. “Well, that’s better than none. They want to do the interview on Friday. I told them you’d do it.”

I didn’t understand. Why would Mac want me, of all people, to interview him? Was this some kind of revenge scheme?

“I’m assuming they want to vet my questions beforehand?” I asked.

Roy chuckled. “No, they don’t. They said ask whatever you want. Fuckin’ crazy, right?”

I told Roy I’d start preparing my questions right away. Although he confirmed that Mac’s team didn’t want to see the questions ahead of time, I planned to send them anyway.At the very least, I wanted Mac to know I took this assignment very seriously.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I tried calling him again. I realized, rather wildly, that this interview might be the last time he’d ever speak to me.

I have no choice, do I? I thought to myself as I stared at my laptop that evening. I didn’t even know where to begin. It didn’t help that I already knew a lot of the answers people would want me to ask.

How did you get into BDSM?

Why did you join a sex club?

Are you a sub or a Dom?

Have you ever had a normal relationship?

Were you always like this? When did this all start for you?

I felt a headache coming on. Even as exhaustion hit me like a freight train, I felt a sense of resolve.