The One & Only: The One Lover Series Book 1

by La Serra, Maria

  “Are you done?” Greg smirked, folding his hands on the table. “Because I’d like to get started without dealing with whatever anger you’re holding onto toward me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Greg,” I said, squirming in my chair. “If I had any anger toward you, then that would mean you meant something— which you don’t.”

  He chuckled. “What did I do to you?” He stared at me with his palms turned upward in a shrug.

  I looked into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to pluck the perfectly placed hairs on his head out one by one. “Your father—my boss,” I said quickly, looking at my notepad, “wants us to get a proposal for the direction of the site done by the end of the week. I can handle writing that up. For today, I think we can just bounce around ideas for articles and the daily blog posts.”

  “Right, the blog posts,” he said, still staring at me. He leaned back in his chair before he pulled out his cell phone. “This magazine is supposed to engage readers practically every second of the day. I think we should hire some social media influencers to promote our blog posts to broaden our readership.” He turned his phone screen to me, which displayed the profile of a famous YouTube star. “He’s a good friend of mine, and he has been freelancing for Avant-Garde for years. I think he’ll be a good fit for our team.”

  Snatching the phone, I scrolled through the information and nodded, pleasantly surprised. “I think this is a great idea. Set up a meeting so I can share my thoughts with your friend on the articles he should write.”

  “Well,” he replied, putting his phone in his pocket, “I don’t think we should look for a ghostwriter when the whole point of this magazine is to promote us—as a male and female point of view about dating in this generation. That’s why my father is pushing so hard for us to be involved in the comment section. We need to interact with our readers.”

  “Who was talking about ghostwriters? I meant the post he would write about us. I want to approve everything before it’s published on his social media. We have to be picky about who we align ourselves with in case they don’t agree with the message we’re sending,” I said, jotting down a few articles ideas.

  “Everyone wants to create healthy relationships, but I don’t think censorship is the right way to go,” he said under his breath.

  What was he talking about?

  Ignoring his comment, I turned my paper to him, full of titles like:

  “How to Increase Intimacy”

  “Trust-Building Exercises”

  “How to Get Back into Dating”

  “What’s New in the Dating Pool?”

  “Obviously, we need to brainstorm catchier titles, but the main theme is here. Empowering people with information, so they don’t waste their time while searching for the right person. It’s not about getting the guy or girl. It’s about forming a healthy, lasting relationship with someone.”

  “I agree,” he said, tossing the paper back.

  I raised my eyebrows. “You agree?”

  “Yes, you have some great ideas. I like the direction you want to take it. But we also need something edgy to bring in more readers.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He tapped his hand on the desk, then leaned back in his chair. “We live in a time that makes it challenging to be present in anything. We are addicted to novelty, and now, with these dating apps, it’s like a wide buffet of options. It reduces your willingness to settle on what might be the right person for you, so you don’t because you think there might be someone better out there, but it doesn’t materialize in practice. People don’t understand you need to invest time to get something out of a relationship.”

  “You believe that? Investing time in a relationship?” I blinked.

  “Of course, if the person is worth it.” He paused. “But I think people jump ship before really getting to know someone.”

  “Huh,” I said. “I’m impressed by that outlook.”

  “I’m not just a pretty face,” he said with a wink.

  “You’re not even that,” I grumbled, looking down at my notes. When my gaze lifted, it was met with provocative eyes. I cleared my throat. “So, how do we get the readers to give us their time? What would be different from the relationship section in Starlet or Avant-Garde?”

  “We will be different because we’ll give it a personal touch. Dating is tenuous and hard, but it can also be fun. We will give our readers the tools to date smart.”

  For the next couple of hours, we discussed article ideas, web design, and our proposal for our bosses. Both had to sign off on everything before we could continue. Soon, According to Staci and Greg had some legs to stand on. It pained me that we worked so well together, but when he wasn’t so smug, he had some good ideas. For a while, I could put aside my pride, be civil with him, except for a few witty exchanges.

  I could feel when it was time for lunch, as my stomach rumbled. My brain started shutting off the Good Ideas tap. “I think we should end it here for today,” I said, moving out of my chair. “Mornings will be good for this so that I can work on my articles in the afternoons. Sounds good?” I stood, but before I could reach the door, Greg was holding it open for me. “I can get it myself,” I said flatly.

  “I’m a gentleman. It’s just how I am.” He grinned.

  I took the door handle from him before stomping back to my office. When I returned to my desk, Jackie smiled in a way that made my cheeks go hot.

  “So, how was it?” she asked, rolling her chair over to me. “Was Greg as charming as ever? Can you imagine if you two had kids? They would be so gorgeous.”

  My stomach turned. “Don’t you dare say that again, or I’ll start dry-heaving.” I turned to my computer but felt Jackie staring at me. Sighing, I whirled back around, rolling closer to her. “Okay, we shared our thoughts for the magazine and discussed our game plan. He had some great ideas, and he agreed with a lot of what I said. Happy?”

  “See? You worried for nothing. Greg is a great guy if you give him a chance.”

  I leaned close to her ear, whispering, “I’ll tell you something, but if it ever gets out, I’ll know you blabbed.”

  “I would never,” she said with a severe expression, crossing her heart with one finger.

  “Today, with Greg, I had fu … fu …”

  Jackie smiled from ear to ear. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “I had fun,” I said, the last word sliding out of my mouth like vomit.

  Jackie clapped lightly, struggling to hold back her squealing. “I knew you guys would hit it off.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I hissed. Then, I softened my tone to give Jackie an apologetic look. “Yes, Greg was charming, intelligent, and he used big words …”

  “But?”

  “But that’s his ploy!” I rolled back to my desk. “He entices women with his charm, then scratches another notch in his bedpost when he’s done. He’s a player. I refuse to fall for his advances.”

  “Wait, he put the moves on you?” Jackie frowned.

  “Ew, no,” I said, looking up at her. “But, if Greg ever tries anything, I won’t fall for it. He’s a user.” I took out my agenda from my bottom drawer before slapping it on my desk. “He thinks people are disposable once he’s taken all he can from them.”

  Like Luis.

  Jackie leaned on my desk, her arms folded. “Has he ever done those things to you?”

  “He doesn’t have to,” I said, staring straight at my computer screen. “I know him well enough to understand the type of man he is,” I said, typing furiously on my keyboard.

  “Try not to be too hard on him,” she said. “You wouldn’t want it to affect your work because you couldn’t get along.”

  Her words sat in my mind for the rest of the day. She was right. I couldn’t let the anger I had to project on my work. I had to express myself in other ways so the magazine didn’t suffer. As I left for work that day, a sly grin remained plastered on my face. My mind sw
irled with ideas. Just because I didn’t like him didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun with Greg. Right?

  I knew exactly what to do.

  Want to get rid of a man? Be a crazy. Hot. Mess. Guys get put off by drama, and that’s the most successful way to purge a man from your life faster than you can type out #boybye. I get it— you’re the coolest girl on the planet, and that’s why he’s so into you. Flip the switch, make him believe you’re a complete natural disaster.

  So the next time you see him, try this one out on him: Sorry I’m late. I was trying to sneak out of my apartment without my landlord catching me. I’m, like, two months behind on my rent. Then, on my way here, my car broke down, and I had to steal a bicycle to get here. I’m so thirsty I could drink a bottle of Chianti, but none of that cheap kind—you’re paying, right?

  You get the gist.

  “5 Ways to Make a Guy Leave You Alone”

  by Staci Cortés

  3

  Staci

  The next morning, I did something I’d never thought was possible. I got to work early. I was stepping into the elevator as Greg was coming through the revolving doors of the building. We caught a glimpse of each other as the doors started to close. With one last attempt, Greg held up his hand, yelling at me to keep it open, but it was too late. The elevators were extremely slow, so waiting for one was excruciating.

  When the doors opened, I made a beeline for the conference room after I waved at Jackie through the window. I sat in the same chair as yesterday, scribbling notes and waiting for Greg to arrive. I kept my head down until I heard the door open. I lifted my head. If looks could kill, I would be dead right now. Mission accomplished.

  “You’re late,” I smiled as he tried to catch his breath, most likely from running the long lobby.

  “No thanks to you. I had to wait ten minutes for the elevator,” he said, flopping down in the seat across from me. “Didn’t you see me running for the elevator?”

  I scrunched my lips, tapping the pen on my chin. “No, I don’t think so.” I fluttered my eyelashes.

  “I was calling your name,” he said, pulling his laptop out of his suitcase. “Oh well. I guess you were so wrapped up in whatever that beautiful mind cooks up every day.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I snorted.

  He reclined in his chair. “Oh, yeah, I would love to get in that head of yours. You fascinate me,” he said, taking a sip from his coffee without removing his eyes from my face.

  “Can you stop?” I said.

  “What?”

  “Looking at me. It makes me uncomfortable.”

  He smiled, straining his tie. “Where did you go to school? You have an approach to your column I’ve never seen with writers.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.

  “Relax, it was a compliment.” He chuckled. “You’re blunt with your information, and you don’t often use any bias to sway people. You state your opinion while presenting the facts in a balanced way. No matter how many people comment on your articles about you being too harsh, you don’t change who you are. You’re strong, and that clearly shows in your work.”

  “What? Have you been reading up on me?”

  “Of course,” he said with a bright smile. “I always research the people I work with. Don’t you?”

  “I didn’t have to,” I said, handing him a copy of the proposal. “I wanted to have your say on this before we submitted it. Maybe you can add something to it that I forgot.”

  Greg took it, skimming through the pages. “I trust you. It looks good. What did you mean you didn’t have to research me?”

  “When I was younger, I had a summer job working at the Pelham Country Club. I used to work with your cousin Josh.”

  “Yeah, I used to go there sometimes,” he said. “How come I don’t remember you?”

  “I remember you—vividly, in fact.”

  He sat there staring at me, deep in thought. “To be honest,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I’ve blacked out most of those days. If I wasn’t drinking or smoking weed, I was living recklessly. It’s a miracle I’m still here.”

  “Look at you now. A changed man?”

  “I am,” he said. “After my motorcycle accident, I did some soul searching while traveling through Europe and South America. Experiencing different cultures and seeing how some people lived in poverty opened my eyes to the world. One day, I’d like to write a piece about my experience from the perspective of my younger self and now. You’re from South America, right?”

  “My mother is Cuban, my father is Puerto Rican,” I said, disturbed that my body had a warm, fuzzy feeling from his story. “I was born here, but my parents got married in Florida. Then, we somehow ended up in New York. This is the only home I’ve known.”

  “I’d love to interview your parents if that’s okay?” he said, his gaze caught mine. “I’m working on a project.”

  I smiled, then quickly wiped it away. “My parents would love to be interviewed. They’re always telling stories of their childhood. It’d be great for them to share those stories with someone else for a change.”

  “Do you think you could set that up?” he asked, leaning in very closely, making me feel uncomfortable. Why did he have to be so attractive?

  “I mean, I don’t want to push, but now that I’ve said my idea out loud, it’d be great to get started.”

  “How are you going to publish it? Your magazine isn’t exactly the platform for it.”

  “I’ll figure it out when I finish it,” Greg said.

  I looked up at him, seeing a spark of excitement in his eyes. In this light, his eyes were like the ocean sparkling in the sunlight. I pushed that thought away as I cleared my throat. “Sure, I could set it up for you. I’ll give my dad your number. Pass me your phone and I’ll plug the number in for you.”

  What am I getting myself into?

  “Great!” he said, clapping once. “What about you? What piece would you write if you could?”

  “Don’t we have work to do?”

  “We’ve got time to kill until the social media influencers get here for the interviews.”

  I dropped my pen. “Multiple interviews? I thought I was just meeting your freelance friend?”

  “We got talking last night, and he connected me with a bunch of people. Options are good, right? Now, answer the question.”

  “Fine,” I sighed. “I’d want to write a piece about this foundation, Worldly Education. They’re not well-known but they build schools and bring supplies to villages all over Africa and Asia. They’re trying to expand to the rest of the world. Someone needs to shine a spotlight on the work they’re doing. The piece is almost done, but Kate won’t publish it in Starlet, which is fine because I want it in the New York Times.”

  Greg whistled. “That’s an impressive goal.”

  “I’ve wanted to work there since I was four when I saw the magazine in a dentist’s office, the one with Brad Pitt on the cover with the headline, ‘America’s Fascination with Buddhism.’ I didn’t know how to read, but even at that age, I just knew it was an influential magazine.” I smiled to myself. “I actually cried when my mom took it away from me.”

  “I remember the cover. Seven Years in Tibet—have you ever seen the movie?”

  “Yes, many times,” I said.

  With the way he was looking at me, I felt the heat run up the back of my neck. Why did he have this effect on me? One minute, I wanted to strangle him—so badly, and the next, I wanted to …

  Well, just leave it there, Staci.

  “Staci Cortés, editor-in-chief of New York Times magazine,” he said, fanning his arms across an invisible banner. “I like the sound of that. You’re almost overqualified for the position.”

  “Oh, please,” I scoffed, trying to hold back my smile. “When did you get to be such a suck-up?”

  “It’s true. You’re an educated, classy woman. I’d hate to see your talents go to waste in a relationship colum
n for the rest of your life.”

  “It’s good work. I help people.” That was what I kept telling myself.

  “I’m not saying it isn’t, but I’ve got a feeling you’re destined for much more.”

  We locked eyes, caught in a staring match of mutual appreciation. When a fist tapped on the glass door, we broke our gaze and glanced at it. The influencers were here, and I was eager to know about their visions for the magazine, but leaving Greg to deal with it on his own was much more fun. This would keep him busy at least for the next two hours, giving me a head start on writing my first post.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” I said, standing abruptly.

  “Excuse me?” he asked as I ushered everyone into the conference room.

  “I trust your instincts. Let me know who you pick,” I said.

  “These interviews will take me all day!”

  Oh, I was counting on it.

  “Have fun!” I winked.

  * * *

  Later, I headed to the break room for an herbal tea. I grabbed a tea bag from the cupboard in the white room that smelled musty, then opened the fridge to look for the snack I’d packed. What I found instead was Greg’s lunch, placed neatly in a container. I wasn’t hungry enough for a full meal, but I wanted to piss Greg off, so I pulled out a chair across the linoleum floor and ate a soggy tuna sandwich with the apple slices.

  Did a kid pack his lunch?

  Once I polished it off, Greg came in, looking drained. He stopped at the edge of the table, rubbing his face. “I put my name on that for a reason.”

  He appeared annoyed, but he struggled not to show it.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, innocently batting my eyelashes. “I didn’t see that. I was just looking for something to eat.”

  I waited for Greg to lose his temper, but he sighed.

  “My niece made my lunch. She was staying with me for the night to give her parents a break. I was looking forward to it. How was it?”

  Awful, but I needed to push the knife deeper into his back. “It was so delicious,” I said, wiping my mouth on a napkin. “You should have tried some. How are the interviews going?”