Chapter 158
Nora's POV
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot as I finished packing up my recording equipment. Vincent loaded the last of the camera gear into the van while I scrolled through my phone, reviewing the day's interview footage.
My phone buzzed with an unknown number. I almost declined, but something made me answer.
"Nora, I'm outside waiting for you."
Kyle's voice hit me like ice water. My entire body went rigid.
I scanned the parking lot. There—a black Porsche with its hazard lights blinking, parked illegally by the curb. The window rolled down and Kyle leaned out, waving at me like we were old friends meeting for coffee.
Every muscle in my body tensed. I took a slow breath, forcing my voice to stay level. "Kyle, I made myself very clear. We're done. I have work to do and no time for this conversation."
"Come on, don't be like that." His tone carried that familiar pleading quality that used to work on me. "I just want to talk. I know you're still angry, but at least give me a chance to—"
I hung up mid-sentence and turned to Vincent. "Let's go."
Vincent glanced at the Porsche, then back at me with concern. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine." I climbed into the passenger seat, refusing to look in Kyle's direction. "Just drive."
---
The van merged onto the ring road as dusk settled over Silverton. I was organizing my interview notes when Vincent's voice cut through my concentration.
"Nora, that black Porsche has been following us for ten minutes."
I looked back. Sure enough, Kyle's car maintained a consistent distance behind us, close enough to be obvious but far enough to avoid looking threatening. He even honked twice, like this was some kind of game.
My jaw tightened. "Just keep driving normally. He can't follow us into the underground garage."
Vincent's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "This is insane. Should I call someone?"
"No. The security checkpoint will stop him." I kept my voice steady even as my heart rate picked up.
The van descended into NPR's underground parking structure. The automated gate arm rose as our vehicle ID registered. Through the side mirror, I watched Kyle's Porsche attempt to follow. A security guard stepped out of the booth, palm raised.
The Porsche stopped.
Relief flooded through me as we pulled into our designated spot.
---
Back at my desk, I tried to focus on editing the day's footage. My hands moved mechanically—importing files, organizing folders, typing notes. But my mind kept circling back to Kyle's face in that car window.
Half an hour later, My phone rang. Team lead Bobby Owens.
"Nora, conference room."
I glanced at the time. Six forty-five. "Owens, I'm on deadline. The piece needs to be finished by tomorrow night—"
"Now, Nora." The line went dead.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Bobby didn't do after-hours meetings. I saved my work and stood, grabbing my notepad out of habit.
Vincent looked up from his editing station. "Conference room at this hour?"
"Your guess is as good as mine." I tried for a casual tone and failed completely.
The walk down the hallway felt longer than usual. Through the conference room's glass walls, I could see several figures already seated. My steps slowed as I recognized Bobby's silhouette, along with other supervisors.
And Kyle.
He sat across the table, those amber eyes tracking my approach like I was prey he'd been hunting for weeks.
I stopped in the doorway, every instinct screaming at me to turn around. But Bobby's expectant gaze left no room for retreat. I walked in and deliberately chose the seat furthest from Kyle, keeping the long table between us like a buffer zone.
Bobby smiled, oblivious to the tension crackling through the air. "Nora, this is Kyle Vaughn from Vaughn Mining Group. He's here to discuss a potential partnership—sponsoring our 'Rust Belt Renaissance' documentary series."
Kyle's smile was warm, practiced, designed to look genuine. "Nora and I are old friends. Actually, that's partly why I'm here. I'd like her to lead this project. As a gesture of goodwill, we're prepared to offer one million dollars in sponsorship funding, with ten percent going directly to the project lead as a performance bonus."
My face went cold. Money dangled in front of my bosses like bait, with me as the prize they'd pressure me to accept.
Bobby leaned forward, enthusiasm lighting his features. "Nora, this is an incredible opportunity. Not only the bonus, but the exposure."
I met Kyle's eyes across the table. His expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the calculation behind it. He'd found a way to force proximity, using money and corporate influence to manufacture a situation where I'd have to interact with him regularly.
"I'm not interested." My voice came out flat. "I have serious concerns about Vaughn Mining Group's reputation. Accepting their sponsorship would compromise our department's independence."
The room went silent. Bobby's smile faltered. The commercial director cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Nora, that's... that's not really—" Bobby struggled for words. "Mr. Vaughn is offering support for economic revitalization. This is corporate social responsibility."
Kyle jumped in smoothly. "Nora, I understand your concerns. But I'm here to make amends for past mistakes. I want to support the work you care about."
I let out a short, bitter laugh. "I don't need your amends."
Bobby tried to salvage the situation. "Look, let's not make any hasty decisions. We'll sign the basic agreement today, and we can discuss project leadership later." He turned to Kyle with an apologetic smile. "Give us some time to work out the internal details."
Kyle reached into his briefcase and produced a contract, already stamped and notarized. "I came prepared. We can finalize this right now."
The other executives murmured their approval. "Very efficient, Mr. Vaughn."
Bobby signed with a flourish. Kyle slid a copy across the table toward me. "For your records. I'm confident you'll reconsider."
I didn't touch it. He left it sitting there, a physical representation of the trap he'd just sprung.