Bishop |18+|

Ch.7

Antonio

"It's like I can never have a fucking break" Grace groaned as she stepped into her office, her back facing me as she closed the blinds of the glass room. I sat against the leather couch, impatiently waiting for her to get her shit together.

"Your life is so hard" I muttered, looking out at the view from up here. It was pouring heavily at this point, considering it was afternoon. After a full day of rain, I'd expect it to be pattering lightly at this point. My head turned, my attention back on Grace. My gaze followed her as she walked up to a leather arm chair, resting comfortably opposite from me.

"It is, Bishop" Grace frowned at me. "One of my employees is dead."
"And who's fault is that?" I reminded her, watching her scowl frustratingly and cross a leg over her thigh, tapping the arm of the chair with arrogance.

"I don't know how he slipped through the system" Grace murmured, referring to the filtering system of the articles that get processed at GC news. "He also had his article unlisted so how the fuck do you expect us to—"

"If we could find his article, so could you" I hissed, taking the glass of whiskey from the coffee table and bringing it to my lips, downing the thing in one gulp. I let the alcohol burn my throat, letting out a light groan before setting it back down. Grace was starting to get on my fucking nerves. "That's not an excuse."

Grace slapped the arm of the chair with both hands, grunting in annoyance. "It didn't even get published. What was the point of the kill—"

"Cazzo!" I stood up and glared at her "That fucker sent that article to his brother. Thank fuck we got his laptop and erased it before anything happened." I looked down at Grace, who was glaring back up at me, trying to keep up with my intimidation but the twitch of her eye told me she started to falter. I took my glass before walking around the table, passing her as she moved her gaze down to the floor.

"So? It was just one person." Grace spoke, twisting her body slightly and watched as I refilled my glass, setting the bottle of whiskey down on her desk.

"It's not just about getting people in line, Grace" I muttered, looking over my shoulder down at her. I swirled the amber liquid around in my glass before bringing it to my lips, feeling it guzzle down my throat.

"It's about sending a message. One that your employees tend to forget every fucking time" I placed the glass down and looked at her.

"Oh grow a dick" Grace rolled her eyes and sunk back into the seat. "They're journalists, Antonio. It's part of human nature to be curious."

"Again, your excuses are fucking sloppy." I muttered and walked over to her, offering her a glass of whiskey. She took it and downed it with ease, her attention on the floor. So fucking childish.

"Trust me, I'm only doing my job and I suggest you do yours too." I muttered and walked towards the door, my hand on the handle and I paused. "I'll be leaving."

I took one last glance at her before leaving her office, closing the door behind me. Walking across the floor I took an elevator down to the lobby before striding out onto the tiled floor, the heels of my shoes clicking against the surface when I stopped, noticing a familiar woman.

Alia?

She had her satchel to her hip, looking outside at the pouring rain within the confinements of the glass building. I stood from a distance, watching her with a phone to her ear and tapping her foot impatiently against the tiles. Her curls weren't down like last night, instead tied up to a messy bun, some loose strands spiralled down.