by Myers, Kelly
“Do share,” I encourage him.
His eyes move from side to side. “Well, a source tells me that Ford was seen exiting the Palanick tower this morning.”
“That’s it?”
“Cormack,” he nervously scoffs. “everyone in this room knows what it means for Palanick and Ford to join forces. Have we forgotten the Almost Incident?”
“Can we talk about this more in my office after we’re done?”
Seemingly taken aback, he relaxes in his seat and nods, looking away. “Sure.”
I can tell that he doesn’t like my approach to his story, but as the newly assigned head of the business section at Boston’s most viewed news portal, I had to make my rules clear from the beginning.
Discussing the latest in money, mergers and acquisitions with my team of junior and senior journalists—in the presence of graphic designers and art directors—is one thing. Uncovering a potential case of corruption whose main star is one of the highest-ranking government officials in the cybersecurity department was a whole other issue. It’s sensitive and requires a great deal of tact. This meeting was neither the time nor place.
As soon as we’re done, I leap out of my chair and head to my office, discreetly directing Derek to follow me.
“Close the door,” I order as I settle behind my desk.
“My source is trusted.”
“Sure, but how accurate?”
“Very.”
“Did they see Ford step out of the building or Palanick’s floor?”
“The building,” he shakes his head, pressing his palms together as he sits across from me. He’s at the edge of his seat. “But who else would Ford be meeting there?”
“If it’s so confidential, don’t you think they would’ve picked a more secretive spot?”
“Hiding in plain sight has always been Palanick’s strategy. He tries to convince the world that he’s just a harmless innovator with his futuristic cars and space exploration programs while shaking hands with the government under the table, okaying questionable projects.”
“You’re aware that the Almost Incident was never actually proven.”
“But I know that if Keane hadn’t blown their cover, they would’ve gone through with it.”
“Keane leaked their program structure before it was finalized. He got lucky.”
“And we can, too,” he insists.
“You can’t buy luck.”
“But you can give it all the reasons to become your friend.”
“Let’s take this to Duvall,” I stand up, making my way around the desk and toward the door.
He follows me as I march toward the Editor in Chief’s office.
I push the glass door open and peek through. “Hey, Armin. Got a minute?”
“What do we have here?” he chuckles, tilting his head to show me that he sees Derek eagerly fidgeting behind me. “Come on in.”
“Mr. Duvall,” Derek slides through, waving his hands about. “I’ve got a story that promises to take the Crusades Journal off the top of that board.
My boss, set in his ways, still keeps clippings of news that he thinks are worthy of hanging on his pinboard. When the paper turned digital, he started printing them out to keep the tradition going.
“I’m all ears,” Armin grins, adjusting in his seat to get into a more comfortable position.
My phone starts vibrating with Zoe’s name on the screen this time. I swipe red and watch Derek passionately explain his theory to my boss. I grow more and more confident that he’s going to sell the idea, and my heart swells with pride.
Five years ago—and three years after I joined the B-Gazette—I employed my first hire, Derek Peele. When he joined my team, I was only his advisor, giving him pointers on research and the difference between writing a good article and building a case that could create a real echo with the public.
Now, thanks to our hard work, I became responsible for the entire division while he cultivated the courage to propose his envelope-pushing pieces with such fervor and without hesitation.
“Do it,” Armin’s smirk reminds me of just how much he enjoys these things. “Dina?” he turns to me. “Give this young man your unadulterated support. I smell explosive material in there.”
“You got it,” I grin, walking out of the room with a spring in my step.
To help Derek with his new piece—with promising potential for a column series—I am now committed to supporting him with all the finances, research and human resources at my division’s disposal. Just like that, his exposé crowned the top of my list.
Nothing makes me happier than nurturing talents and leading their quests toward completion.
On my lunch break, I dial Michael’s number.
“Hey, queen,” he chuckles, and I can hear him crunching something.
“What are you having?”
“Tuna sandwich.”
“Multigrain?”
“You know it. What about you?”
“Oh, Harlow brought me a burger.”
“When was the last time you ate lunch that wasn’t chosen by someone else?”
“Well, it’s better than forgetting to eat altogether, huh?” I unwrap my sandwich, rescuing the oozing ketchup with the tip of my finger. I lick it as I listen to Michael complain.
“We’ve been on, what? Three dates?”
“Five,” I roll my eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am kidding. But I’ve never been with a woman who looked thinner from one date to the other.”
“Perhaps they were too far apart?” I joke.
“Aw,” he pretends to be hurt. “That’s brutal, Dee.”
If only he can stop calling me that. “We met three months ago. People can lose weight in three months.”
“According to my degree? This can’t be healthy.”
“And that’s why we’re grateful for Harlow.” I take a bite.
“For now, I guess,” he exhales. “You still doing girls’ night with Zoe?”
“You still have that lumbar discectomy surgery tonight?”
“Well, the patient isn’t going anywhere.”
“Then, yes. I’m still getting drunk with my best friend.”
“Don’t let men buy you drinks.”
“Don’t let nurses hand you scalpels.”
“What?”
“I dunno.” I shake my head, giggling. “I got nothing.”
He laughs. “See you tomorrow, babe.”
“See yah!”
As I finish the rest of my meal, I text Zoe…
-Hey girl. Sorry, meetings.
-A moment later, she responds: That’s cool, I figured. We still on for tonight?
-Yep.
-Michael?
-Nope. Surgery, remember?
-Damn. Are you making him up?
-Excuse me?
-You’ve been dating for months, and I never got to meet him. Care to explain?
-Neurosurgeon. Busy man. I barely see him myself.
-We’ll go into detail about how pathetic that sounds when I see you. Don’t be late!
-Fingers crossed.
But of course, I am late. My meetings run long, with each one pushing the one after it so that I’m forced to stay at the office until nine-thirty.
That’s it, one more beer and I’m out of here. Zoe follows her text with an angry emoji.
Don’t you dare, I’m getting in my car right now!
At the bar, I see two men eyeing us out of the corner of my eye.
“How long have they been staring?” I inconspicuously tilt my head.
“Relax,” she stirs her cocktail with the straw. “They’re harmless.”
“How do you know?”
“One is a dentist, the other is a Wall Street broker.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “What?”
“They talked to me earlier.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. That’s what happens when you’re an hour late.”
“No,” I shake m
y head. “Wait… based on their professions, you assume they’re safe?”
“Unless they’re lying,” she casually shrugs. “yeah.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you date your doctors and your architects and whatnots… I meet them. I know they’re vanilla and walk away, looking for my DJ.”
Throwing my head back, I let out a sharp, bellowing laugh. “Unbelievable!”
“What? In my field? That’s fucking awesome.”
“And in your head?”
She suggestively licks her lips with a smoldering look in her eyes. “They’re hot.”
“You work with a lot of designers and boutique owners—real businesspeople. What’s wrong with those?”
“Uninterested in an up-and-coming stylist…” she counts on her finger. “prettier than me… and gay.”
“Aren’t they always the most interesting?” I joke, grabbing the beer the waiter just placed in front of me.
“Don’t be a jerk,” she chuckles. “Just because you don’t meet any interesting men in your—”
“Excuse you!” I interrupt. “The gentlemen I meet are serious intellectuals who—”
“Are flawlessly polite and perfect snoozers in bed?”
“At least they’re reliable.”
“Sure,” she rolls her eyes and watches the cute bartender she always tried to make me fantasize about. “I can depend on any of your dates to give me a good night’s sleep.”
“How are you still mentally nineteen?”
“How can you make it to thirty-one without a single hottie in your records?”
“That’s because I don’t judge my men based on their package,” I smirk.
“Dina,” she smacks her lips, exasperated as she locks eyes with mine. “Do you know what I would’ve done if I looked anything like you?”
Widening my eyes, I begin to quickly nod as I sarcastically chuckle. “Oh, I have an idea.”
“I’d use that natural, heroin, chic look and mesmerizing green eyes for evil,” she hisses.
“Oh my gosh,” I roll my eyes, taking another sip of my drink before resting my temple in my palm. I watched her turn me into a temptress in her head a thousand times before.
“I’d grow out that hair,” she continues. “black, shiny locks like a mistress from an old film noir.”
“Are you done?”
“Not even remotely,” she waves it off. “How’s New York?”
“They’re fine. They say hi.”
“Does Danielle know about Michael?”
“My mom... after five dates. Are you kidding?”
“He’s boring,” a victorious look shines in her eyes. “and that’s why you’re not telling her yet.”
“No, you idiot,” I slowly tilt my head. “I want it done right. If we make it till Christmas, that’s when they’ll get to meet. Properly.”
“Wow,” mockery draws itself all over her face. “Sexy.” She pauses, taking another sip and then popping a potato chip into her mouth. “Remember sexy? Y’know, from those fantasies we had back in high school?”
“Will you stop?” my smile fails to cover my annoyance. “I’m not a robot.”
“No?”
“Of course,” I pull up my shoulders, my face cringing at the thought. “Who doesn’t dream of a wild ride with a man who could sweep them off their feet and all that?”
“And all that?”
“Yes,” I insist. “All of that Hollywood-inspired fiction that’s nowhere near practical or realistic. That’s how our generation sets itself up for disappointment.”
Zoe looks at me like I’m an alien. It’s exactly the same way she looks at me every time the topic of dating and my choice of men is discussed.
I am Dina Cormack… and I value my mind above all else.
3
Gabriel
As Nicky pulls her weight under the crimson silk sheet, smiling with pleasure as her lazy eyelids reveal dilated pupils, my feet touch the ground, and I get out of bed.
“That was…” she sighs in ecstasy, her lashes fluttering as she turns in place and her hair a brown mess framing her face. She leisurely runs her fingers through her tresses, slowly taming them.
“Good,” I follow as I toss the black velvet blindfold into a laundry hamper in the far corner of the room. “Very good. Now, can you walk?”
“Oh, mister P, you’re such a romantic,” she bitterly chuckles, pulling the sheet over her breasts as she sits up, looking dazed.
“Well, you’re not new here,” I shrug. “And the guest bedroom down the hall is all yours if you want it.”
“You know I hate that room,” she grimaces. “It reminds me of my grandpa. It’s creepy.”
“I can have someone prepare a room upstairs for you,” I pick up the vibrator and turn away. “It’ll take a few minutes, though.”
“That’s alright, Gabriel,” she shuffles and gets out of bed, letting the sheet slip down as she treads naked toward her clothes in a heap on the floor. “I’d rather sleep with my dog,” she grabs her black lace panties, putting them on in haste.
“What’s with you?” I ask, regarding her with a quick glance as I put the vibrator back inside a drawer in my dresser.
“Nothing,” she sharply exhales. “I always seem to forget what the aftermath feels like.”
“The aftermath?” I scoff. “Aren’t you the same woman who begged me to remove my hand so she could scream? What was that? An act? What are we, a married couple now?”
“You know what I mean,” she titters, shaking her head as if forcing denial upon a blatantly glaring reality. “Forget it.”
“Oh, I will, I assure you.” I proceed to get dressed. “Either way, I have an important—”
“Conference call with Tokyo?” she interrupts, struggling to get back into her suit before giving up and tossing it on the bed. “Video call with Brussels?” she grabs her coat, angrily sliding her arm into one sleeve. “I can guess all night.”
“Beijing, actually.” I brush my hair, fixing it in place as I glance at her reflection in the mirror.
“Fantastic,” she hisses before tittering again, her uneasiness tainting the air around us, making it harder for me to breathe. “I wish you the best of luck.”
Exasperated, I let out a deep sigh. “Is it that time of the month, Nicky?”
“Don’t!” she snaps and points her finger at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Good night, Gabriel. Don’t call me anytime soon.”
Before I have the chance to respond and remind her that she was the one who called me, she marches out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Mystified by her odd behavior, I splash a little bit of cologne on my wrists and take a deep, long sniff. Even though my midnight business call is remote, I enjoy smelling good for my own benefit. It gives me a push that I can’t quite explain—and don’t really care to.
As I walk through the long corridor leading to my home office, I swipe across the phone screen and text Nicky.
Look, I’m sorry I referred to your cycle. That was crude and uncalled for. I just don’t understand women’s mood swings sometimes.
Sliding the phone back into my pocket, I push the office door open and flip on the light switch.
Even though I had this house built a few years ago, I made sure that nothing around here was connected to the internet. No smart technologies. No Bluetooth links. Old school security cameras. Nothing that can be hacked whatsoever.
Working in my field, I know full well the risks of leaving your home to the mercy of machine-to-machine communication and artificial intelligence. One unauthorized episode of access and my entire house can be in the hands of some malicious criminal.
As I settle in my large, cushy leather armchair behind the enormous antique mahogany desk, I open the laptop screen and launch the system. I watch the desktop image materialize in front of my eyes while my thoughts somehow go back to Nicky’s reaction. She knows I have work to do.
She knows I prefe
r sleeping by myself. In fact, it’s more than a mere preference—it’s a necessity. I can’t fall asleep with someone else in the room. Call it trust issues or stiff boundaries. It’s the only way I could truly relax—alone.
My call with Liu Guitian begins. I blink a few times as he gets straight to business.
“Mr. Palanick, we received your confirmation regarding this promising partnership.”
I confidently smile and nod in understanding.
He furrows his eyebrows. “But do we have a schedule?”
“The collaboration already began. It’s only a matter of time before the bill is passed.”
“As much as I trust that your team will finalize everything in time, I’d like to give mine a clear milestone timetable.”
“Feel free to implement one right away, based on our internal deadline.”
“And the bill?”
“It shouldn’t be a hurdle.”
“What if it doesn’t pass?”
“Your company’s contribution to this project will be appreciated, and you’ll be properly compensated, as per the agreement. Local rollout calendars shouldn’t be a factor for you at all.”
“I’m just worried—”
“Nobody,” I sternly interrupt. “and I mean nobody would dare leak a single letter.”
“We wouldn’t necessarily call it that.”
“But I would call it a breach of our agreement and the documents that have been signed. You and only you should be able to determine whether or not your team will be able to honor your word.”
“No problem here, I assure you.”
“Then I don’t see an issue in separating the delivery deadline from the deployment date. Am I correct?”
“You’re right. It shouldn’t be an obstacle.”
He knows this meeting is being recorded, just like all of my meetings.
“Now,” I smile and open a file of documents in front of me on the desk and skim through the first page. “shall we go over the details?”
“By all means. I’ll invite Hu Yen to join us.”
Throughout the rest of the call, we discuss the fine-tuning of the last remaining batch of technical tweaks to be finalized before the beta version of our product is ready for early testing.
“Now, regarding the UI,” I turn the page.
