Tell Me More | T.H.

XIV

Tommy ☺️:
So, do you think I'll be able to hear your voice?

me:
quite possibly never lol

Tommy ☺️:
What? Why not?

me:
do you really think any of this is a good idea? What happens if anyone finds out about this, Tom?

Tommy ☺️:
What exactly is "this"?

me:
I think it's too early to have this conversation, we'll get back to it at a later date. I've got work to do, I'll talk to you later.

It's difficult to not look at your phone every five seconds. Texting  Tom has become second nature within the past month, and there's this feeling in the pit of your stomach that is telling you to abort mission, to jump boat and swim safely to shore.

You turn your head to see Cecilia talking to your boss, the TOM HOLLAND INTERVIEW file held safely in her hands. You're trying to pass off the assignment to anyone who is willing to take it - but the authorization for that has to go through your boss first. He looks a bit peeved, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed together in irritation.

He turns to you, chest heaving as he takes the file from Cecilia. He walks back to his office, leaving the blonde standing in the path of other workers. With a raised brow, she turns to you with a shrug. "He said he'd think about it," is all she says as she passes your work desk.

Not even a minute passes before the phone on your desk begins to ring - the caller ID making your stomach twist.

"Yes sir?" You say, placing the phone to your ear.

"My office. Now."

Your blood pressure is through the roof as you push through the large wooden doors to his office. Your entire body is warm, palms sweating and heart straining against your ribcage as it beats. Your boss is nice, he always has been - but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't intimidating. Plus, it's like being called to the principals office and that, that never happened before. Ever.

"I would just like to know why you aren't taking the opportunities I give you." He says as soon as you enter. He's sitting at his desk, blazer buttoned and eye glasses on. With a pen in hand, he crosses out one of the questions in a file and begins to re-write.

"S-sorry?" You feel small, and as he motions for you to take a seat in one of the leather chairs directly in front of his large black desk - you can't help but shrink in.

"You're ungrateful for the things I give you. You would have a hot-topic story, Y/N, your name would be on the front cover instead of somewhere on a random page." Your inner journalist wants to jump at the opportunity, but this is Tom he's talking about. Someone who trusts you, someone you feel things for. Someone who makes your heart jump when his name pops up on your cellphone screen.

You've learned personal things about him that's not open to the public - and when he's finally able to put a name with a face and a voice and a job title; he'll feel betrayed. You can't wrap your heart around taking the questions and doing the interview, writing the story.

"I can't," you breathe out.

You watch as your boss leans back in his seat. "Why?" And it's a one worded question, one that should be easy - can be easy if all you do is lie.

"Because I don't want to," but what lie would even be good enough? "I don't find him interesting, I could probably get a better interview with Robert Downey Jr himself rather than Tom Holland. He's just a kid - they didn't even let him read the official script for Endgame."

"Don't you think that this boy could leak you something though?"

And yeah, he could - because he already has.

"He's doing press tours and stuff, he'll probably deny the interview always. Give it to Cecilia."

"You're lying," and he's so quick to accuse you that it makes your stomach tie in knots. You're awful at lying, at least when it comes to face-to-face things. You've always been pretty good with pen and paper though.

"I want you to do the interview,"

"And I don't,"

"What's wrong? You've never once turned down an assignment."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Yes, you are."

"May I leave now?" You ask, adjusting in your seat.

"Yes, Cecilia can have the interview."

"Thanks." And you leave empty handed, a frown on your face as you shut the wooden doors behind you.

You're relieved - sort of.