And the planning began.

* * *

Four days later, Maddie nervously eyed the Features Editor for the esteemed US Review magazine she was sitting opposite. The woman was in her sixties, with a sharp face and a weary expression.

“To recap,” Dorothy Follows said, “you wish to change that brilliant pitch you emailed last month and instead write something on…” she consulted her notes, “…the ethics of outing gay people?”

“More than that.” Maddie leaned in. “I’ll talk to people who’ve been outed and how that affected their life. Some celebrities, political figures, maybe a coach on a high school team, an ethicist. I’ll ask where we draw the line in a nation that prides itself on free speech.”

Fallows regarded her. “An interesting concept, but no.”

Maddie’s heart sank. “But it’s so wrong.”

“It is. It’d be like running a story on the ethical question of racism. Why would we, when the answer’s obvious?”

“It’s, um, topical?” Maddie said weakly.

“How so? Who’s been outed?”

Maddie fidgeted and wondered if she should be honest or…

“You know you could have just pitched me an exclusive on you and Bartell if you wanted to tackle Emmanuelle Lecoq’s outing you.”

Maddie blinked, stunned.

“Glossy mags are a small world, Ms Grey.” Fallows looked amused. “We’re well aware, for instance, of who always goes to media events together. And then you coming in with this pitch, right after Lecoq’s story, well…”

Oh. Maddie’s cheeks burned.

“So I can offer a cover for you and Bartell’s…” she twirled her finger “grand romance.”

Maddie shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. You intended to embarrass Lecoq with your evils-of-outing story, without getting any mud on you or your lover. Right?” She arched an eyebrow.

“I just think she should understand what she’s done.”

“So don’t go soft. Own it. Get out in front of the story; spin it your way so that the vacuum won’t get filled with someone else’s lies and innuendo. Yes, you’ll have to put yourselves out there, get muddy, but it’s a better result: You set the message.”

“Elena’s private. She’d never—”

“Even if she says no, I’m still offering you the chance to tell your story.”

“But I’m a no one.”

“You really think the woman who turned the head of the world’s most mysterious and ruthless media baron is a no one? Look, Lecoq’s rumours are now out there. They’ll keep swirling until they’re addressed.”

“Paparazzi have been staking out our home and Elena’s office,” Maddie conceded with a huff. “Since the day that damned story hit.”

“Shocking,” Fallows said dryly. “Can you do it by the thirty-first? I’ll need it that soon if I’m to capitalize on Lecoq’s stunning idiocy.”

“I haven’t agreed yet.”

“So think about it and get back to me ASAP.”

Maddie nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

* * *

Elena was in a foul mood, having dodged more intrusive reporters on her way into her office building. Damn them. It would only get worse when Madeleine’s story came out. Elena had dearly wanted to say no, but she’d been helpless in the face of her lover’s pleading look.

She wouldn’t be involved herself, of course. The very idea of explaining herself to strangers who had no right to her life made her shudder. But Madeleine would make it work.

“Tell the truth for both of us,” Elena had told her. “Just remember, if you make me sound even the slightest bit soft…” She’d pursed her lips in a veiled threat that only made Madeleine laugh.

Elena wished it were over already. Instead, each day the rumours intensified.

The word from Perry was that CQ’s staff were in near open revolt about Lecoq’s article.

“I can see why Véronique calls the media cafards,” Felicity Simmons hissed, as she stalked up to Elena’s desk. “Your stalkers might be few, but they are persistent as scuttling roaches.”

Elena glanced up at her Deputy Chief Operations Officer. While the highly strung former lawyer had lost some of her skittishness in the past year since her promotion, she still reminded Elena of a well-bred dressage horse—all tight ribbons, flounce, and attitude. “So, what calamity brings you to my floor? I thought you were organizing Hudson Shard’s first anniversary party.”

“I’m multi-tasking.” Felicity slapped a newspaper page down. “And you’ll want to see this.”

A full-page advertisement from The New York Times stared back.

We, the following fashion designers, photographers, advertisers, artists, and models declare a boycott against CQ Magazine while Emmanuelle Lecoq remains editor. As proud allies or members of the LGBT+ community, we feel outing a rival editor reveals a serious lack of character and judgment. Further, outing anyone who has never harmed the queer community is an act of violence and hate. It is irresponsible, dangerous, and something we cannot support. Our services to CQ are withdrawn effective immediately.

Signed…

A list of names ran down the page, some famous. At the end were social media hashtags: #FireLecoq and #boycottCQ.

“Eighty-seven names,” Felicity nodded with satisfaction. “Plus dozens more boycotting unofficially.”

Elena couldn’t believe it. “CQ made half of those careers. To boycott the hand that feeds them is astonishing. I had no idea outing was this despised.”

“Elena, it’s not just the principle. They admire your work, respect Style, and are disgusted at how Lecoq treated you. They’re fuming.” Felicity’s expression darkened. “My God, I’d happily poke her eyeballs out myself if I could reach that high.”

Elena smiled at the thought of her deputy squaring off against the towering Lecoq. “Whose idea was the boycott? Yours?”

With a spectacular eye-roll, Felicity said: “It may astonish you to know I’m actually rather busy running Bartell Corporation for you. I don’t have time to manage campaigns. Although I must say it’s good someone’s finally standing up to that ego-puffed cow. She’s been untouchable for far too long.”

Turning her gaze back to the ad, Elena said: “If not you, then who? Madeleine?”

“Oh, please. We both know your Australian is far too nice.”

Elena’s lips twitched. “Yes, well. I’m not denying Madeleine’s mystifying eternal niceness.”