Boy Trouble by Reshonda Tate Billingsley Page B

lips. “How much y’all pay?”
    It was my turn to lose my excitement. “Well, we don’t really pay for stories.”
    â€œWho pays then?” she asked. “Because what I know is worth some money.”
    â€œI don’t really—”
    â€œI heard the National Enquirer pays,” she said, cutting me off.
    I sighed. I’d lost quite a few stories from people who demanded to be paid in exchange for their dirt, but WXIA, the TV station I worked for, was adamant that we never give someone money in exchange for a story.
    â€œYes, the Enquirer pays, but we don’t.”
    â€œWell, I need to be talking to them then.” She paused, and for a minute I thought she was going to hang up. But finally she said, “You know what? Since I like you and you be rocking some bad outfits, I’m gonna give you a little somethin’-somethin’. This isn’t the first time Demond done put them paws on her.”
    â€œSeriously?” I replied. I almost asked why she was selling her cousin out like that, but I’d been doing this long enough to know jealous family members and hating friends were usually the quickest ones to spill the dirt. Some, like this girl, spilled to the National Enquirer for money. Others talked for no other reason than they wanted to hurt the celebrity they were snitching on.
    â€œSo, you’re telling me this isn’t his first time beating her up?” I asked.
    â€œYou heard me. And not just her. Pretty boy had a history before he blew up as an actor. Do your homework. You’ll see. I gotta go.” She hesitated again, then said, “You don’t have the number to the National Enquirer , do you?”
    â€œUmm, no,” I said even though I did. I wasn’t about to help her sell her story to that tabloid.
    â€œFine, I’ll call information.” She hung up the phone before I could ask her any more questions.
    She might not have given up the dirt directly, but she’d definitely piqued my interest and had me ready to go digging to find out more.

Chapter 9
    I usually didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers on my cell, but lately, I’d been missing quite a few scoops because of that. And the way Tamara was breathing down my neck about the lack of good gossip I was bringing in, I couldn’t afford to miss anything. That’s why I pushed the button to answer my cell right before the call went to voice mail.
    â€œHello, this May—”
    â€œTrick, you’ve lost your mind!” The voice came bellowing through the phone before I could even get my name out good.
    Even Tangie, my hairstylist, stopped curling my hair and frowned, that’s how loud the caller was.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said. “Who is this?” I had thirty minutes before I went on air. I definitely didn’t have time for any drama.
    â€œI’m about to be your worst nightmare!” she screamed. That high-pitched nasally tone. The venom in her voice. Oh, there was no doubt who this was.
    â€œHi, Mynique,” I casually said, holding up a finger to let Tangie know everything was fine. She still shook her head, but went back to work on my hair.
    â€œDon’t ‘hi, Mynique’ me, like we’re friends or something!” she snapped.
    I tried to stay cool. “Girl, why are you dialing my phone, screaming at me like you’ve lost your mind?” I asked. I guess her cousin did know how to get in touch with her after all. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere filing charges against your boyfriend?” I probably shouldn’t have taken that jab, but oh, well.
    She lowered her voice but her tone was still firm. “I told you, you need to mind your business. My cousin told me that you called there looking for me.”
    I wanted to ask her if her cousin also shared that she’d told me Demond had beat Mynique up before, but I decided to just let her rant.
    â€œWhy you calling my