by J. L. Berg
I didn’t have a husband or a family to call my own.
Hell, I didn’t even have friends.
Outside of this office, I had no one.
With a coffee mug in hand and the gym bag back over my shoulder, I settled into my desk for the morning. Booting up my computer, I took a peek at the notes I’d left myself the day before, all neatly stacked up by my monitor. I had a few loans to check on, money to disburse, and several meetings with students.
A full day.
Tapping my blunt nails on the desk, I looked at my calendar, wondering if I’d have time to take a lunch break. As of late, that precious hour had become somewhat sacred to me. At first, my coworkers had been convinced that I was seeing someone when they caught me darting off every day.
So, that was when the lies had started.
My apartment was being redecorated, I was going to get a manicure, or I had errands to run. I’d use whatever excuse I could to explain my absence. For someone who, up until this point, had used her lunch as a chance to catch up on Facebook or read, my vacant seat had definitely been noticed.
When I’d first explored the idea of writing an actual novel, it was something I had done at home, late at night, where no one could unexpectedly pop in on me.
But the more I wrote, the more consumed I became. It wasn’t a question of wanting to write. I simply had to.
The first time I’d brought my laptop to work and pulled up my unfinished manuscript while I hid in an abandoned conference room, it’d felt like I was committing a crime. I had been on my lunch break, so it was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Yet I’d still found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, listening for intruders, as my heart raced, and my fingers flew over the keys.
It was the biggest rush I’d ever felt.
And so I’d kept writing until I reached the end.
But it hadn’t been enough, so I’d kept going, starting another book almost as soon as I’d finished the first.
I’d never intended for anyone to read a single sultry word.
Until Jane had caught wind.
While visiting, she’d spent the night at my place, choosing to forgo her fancy hotel for an evening in with me, and while shopping for shoes, she’d found the document on my computer.
Nosy little bitch.
As if she’d heard my internal thoughts, my phone buzzed to life at that very moment.
Looking at the caller ID, I nervously answered, “Hey, Jane.”
“Guess what,” she said, not bothering with a greeting.
“You got a new Chanel bag?” I said, trying to act nonchalant but feeling my heart leap to a gallop at her words.
“We have an offer!”
I nearly dropped the phone. “What? What do you mean?”
“Actually, we have two, but one is significantly more. I’m in talks with the other publisher to see if they want to counter—”
“Can you slow down?” My mind was racing. “How is that possible? I’m no one. Seriously, no one. Did you put someone else’s name on that thing?”
She snorted. “I didn’t call you when the first one came in because, honestly, what they offered was kind of a joke. I expect they thought the same thing—some first-timer without a clue. But what they forgot was me.”
“You?”
“I’m your agent and, more importantly…your best friend. I’m not going to let you take a shit deal just so we can get you published. So, I told them we’d consider it, but we were waiting on other inquiries. And then the other offer came in!”
“How much are we talking here?” I asked, curious to know if she was blowing this out of proportion.
She rattled off a figure, and I nearly fell out of my chair. It was triple—no, more than triple my salary. It was math I couldn’t even do.
“You still there? I know it doesn’t sound like a huge advance. But to offer up that kind of cash for a new author? Believe me, they have huge faith in this book.”
“That’s not a huge advance?” I made a sound that somewhat resembled a gurgle.
She laughed. “I’ll send all the particulars to your personal email address, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. Sorry for keeping you in the dark, but I didn’t want to freak you out.”
I rolled my eyes.
Mission accomplished.
Definitely not freaked out.
Nope, not one bit.
“Jane?” I said hesitantly. “What if I can’t do this?”
There was a moment of silence, followed by her calm voice. “You can do anything, Kate. Why won’t you believe me?”
Because I don’t believe in myself, I wanted to say.
We said our good-byes, and like the last time she’d called me, I sat there, immobile, in front of my computer.
In my tiny little cubicle, where I’d sat for the last six years.
Only this time was different.
I felt different.
What kind of different? That was the question.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
What the hell?
My eyes, against my better judgment, slowly opened as the morning light from a nearby window instantly blinded me.
Didn’t I pull the blackout shades down before I went to bed?
As my vision adjusted, I took a look around, as the night before came back with a vengeance.
Right…
A bottle of tequila, a game of strip poker, and…the rest of the night was a little hazy. But at least I knew where I was now. It had been a while since I’d woken up in a stranger’s apartment with little memory of how I’d gotten there, and I was thankful I’d at least grown up a little since college.
“Kim, what are you doing up?” I called out, digging my head back under the covers.
“Answering a few emails. Go back to bed. It’s early,” she answered back.
Kim and I had been dating casually for a few months. But, with our equally busy schedules, those months equated to about three dates and a few overnight visits.
Remembering our wild evening the night before, I smiled.
It was enough.
Neither of us was looking for anything permanent. We were both career-driven New Yorkers, but it was nice to have some companionship on the nights I found myself needing a little.
And Kim was always happy to oblige.
She was an editor for a large publishing company in the city while I was killing it as a journalist for one of the top newspapers in the country.
I’d kissed so many asses and networked for so long, and it’d finally paid off.
I had my own column. In print.
All over the world, people sat around, debating my words. Being one of the most talked about opinion columnists wasn’t my ultimate goal in life, but it sure made me newsworthy.
I pushed boundaries with my topics.
I turned heads with my thoughts and opinions.
So much so that, in some parts of the country, I was actually considered a villain.
A menace.
It was fantastic. I loved my life.
Deciding to go ahead and get the day started, I made my way to the small bathroom next to Kim’s room. After a quick brush of my teeth, I headed back into the bedroom, intent on finding my clothes.
Instead, I found Kim back in bed, wearing my shirt, nibbling on a pencil, as she stared at her laptop screen. It wasn’t a bad look. Not bad at all.
“Bringing work to bed now, I see.” I grinned, jumping back into bed next to her.
She turned, placing a quick kiss on my shoulder, before returning to the document she was reading. “Sorry, Killian. It’s this manuscript I’m trying to acquire. My boss wants me to close the deal on it ASAP, and the agent is playing hardball because there’s another offer.”
“Drama in the literary world, huh? Who is it?” I asked, somewhat intrigued. I was a bit of a reader myself, so hearing of upcoming works was kind of a thrilling bonus to being with Kim.
That, and all the sex.
“It�
��s a debut,” she replied. “Can you believe it? Usually, it’s the agent begging us to take it. Not the other way around.”
“And you’re offering that?” I asked, pointing to the large sum of money I saw noted in her email.
“Crazy, right? But it’s actually really good. It’s like The Girl on the Train meets Fifty Shades of Grey. Super sexy with all these insane twists and turns.”
“Can I read it?” I asked, reaching for her laptop.
She laughed and pulled away. “I shouldn’t even be sitting anywhere near you. The agent has made it crystal clear that, as part of the deal, the author is to remain completely anonymous. If it gets out who she is, my ass is toast.”
“Why so secretive? What does she have to hide? Is she a nun or something?”
Kim shrugged. “I have no idea. Part of me wondered if she was an established author writing under a pen name, but after reading this, I doubt it. It’s so original and unlike anything I’ve ever read.”
“Sounds interesting,” I said, looking at the screen as she hit the minimize button to keep my prying eyes from discovering more.
“You know what else is interesting?” she said playfully, placing the laptop on the nightstand.
“What?” I grinned.
“This.” Her finger touched the hem of my shirt that looked so much better on her than me.
I watched in complete fascination as she drew up the fabric, inch by inch, until nothing but her naked skin was left. I forgot all about secret manuscripts and instead focused on what was right in front of me.
Pure satisfaction.
After a few more quick rolls in the sack with Kim that morning, I managed to make it into work just in the nick of time. Walking into the bustling newsroom I worked for was always exhilarating. It was never quiet here. Fingers were flying over keyboards, and people were shouting across cubicles as news was being made all over the place.
My first position out of college was working for a small publication online. After a few years of grunt work, I’d managed to get noticed by someone in the big leagues. I’d thought I’d finally made it.
But nothing in this industry was ever that easy.
Several more years after that, I’d worked my way from the very bottom to where I finally was. And only by sheer luck was I doing something worth recognition.
My column was supposed to be fluff. A nod to my dedication to the paper.
But I’d never been one to settle.
So, I switched things up, writing about topics that ruffled people’s feathers and got me noticed. It might not all be exactly my honest opinion, but it worked.
Online and in print, my column was well-known.
And so was I.
In a city where everyone was dying to become someone, how did you set yourself apart? This was the question I’d been trying to answer for the better part of my career. And, so far, I’d done just that.
Feeling refreshed from my morning with Kim, I sat down in my tiny cubicle, armed with the strongest coffee I could find, and got to work.
Life was good…full of possibilities.
“Hey, Killian. Boss wants to see you in his office,” my coworker announced on his way past me, heading toward the break room.
Life was now…giving me a stomachache.
There was something about that phrase, The boss wants to see you, that could instantly turn a good mood sour.
My mind traveled back over the last twenty-four hours.
Had I done anything wrong? Missed any deadlines?
Nope. I’d been a pretty stellar employee, if I did say so myself.
Usually, if there was a question about my column, Aaron Sanders—or Boss Man, as everyone called him—would just delegate the task to someone else.
I mean, you couldn’t write stuff as radical as I did and not get complaints. But, with ratings like mine, it was all taken with a grain of salt.
As long as I was making the paper money, the Boss Man left me alone.
But, now, he suddenly had time for me.
This could be good…or really fucking bad.
As I chanted silent prayers to the heavens on my way to the back of the building, I tried to hold on to that Zen-like calm I’d arrived with this morning.
Stepping up to the door of his office, I took a deep breath.
Nothing.
I had nothing in my lungs but a bottomless pit of nerves.
Man up, dude!
The post-sex bliss I’d been riding was gone like a puff of smoke. Peeking my head in the small window of the closed door was enough of a signal. Boss Man motioned at me with a quick wave of his hand.
Here goes nothing, I thought as I entered, feeling like a delinquent child entering the principal’s office.
“Killian Turner, always good to see you,” he said almost immediately, standing to shake my hand.
I tried to think back to the last time he’d actually seen me and couldn’t recall. But, sure, what the hell? It was a nice gesture all the same.
“Have a seat,” he offered.
I quickly took him up on it, angling back into one of the plush leather chairs in front of him. He bent forward, neatly folding his hands, as he reviewed a stack of papers.
Meanwhile, my insides slowly melted from the hellfire burning inside me.
Exactly fifty-four seconds later with a gallon of sweat lost down my back, he decided to speak, “Tricky business, journalism. We never seem to give enough, you know?”
I nodded, like I understood where he was going…even though I had no fucking clue.
He went on, “I’ve never been married. Not once. No kids, not even a dog.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
Sorry about that.
Do you want a ride to the animal shelter?
But, luckily, the rambling continued, “This job takes a lot of you. It’s been my family, lover, and religion for longer than I can remember. Do you have a wife, Killian?”
“Uh, no, sir,” I answered, wondering if he was about to give me dating advice.
He nodded, as if my response didn’t surprise him. “I see so much of me in you. That drive. That unrelenting need to be heard. You could have been great.”
“Could have?”
For the first time, I saw sadness in his stone-cold eyes.
“I’ve given you freedom in what you do, most of the time ignoring the chatter that came in.”
“Yes, and I appreciate it,” I said.
He took a deep breath. “Your last article, Killian, it went too far. I can’t cover your ass anymore.”
My mouth fell open. “Come on, it was a harmless opinion piece.”
His eyes widened. “You basically called the female gender stupid and petty.”
Yeah, I kind of had done that.
“Oh come on. I don’t really feel that way.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think, Killian. What matters is what the people who read our paper think, and right now, they hate you. Especially the women. They’re calling for your head.”
“So, I’ll issue an apology.”
But I could see the answer in his eyes.
“You know that won’t fix it. What will that mean for your column?” he asked. “If the man who is known for defending his beliefs and opinions, no matter what, goes on record and claims it was all a harmless joke? That he didn’t really mean it? None of it was true? No one will ever take you seriously again. You’re done, Turner.”
My stomach felt like it was going to heave.
“So, this is it?”
“I’m afraid so, son.”
“Don’t call me son,” I sneered.
My heart had stopped functioning sometime around the middle of his speech. My eyes began to blur.
“We’ll give you some severance; it’s more than most would do. Take some time, and figure out your next step.”
“My next step, Aaron? You and I both know there’s nothing after this. No one will touch me with a ten-foot pol
e!”
“Then, maybe it’s time to do something else,” he said softly. “Go find a nice girl. Settle down. Adopt a dog. Hell, go on a vacation. I’ve heard that’s what normal people do.”
On the walk back to my desk, I could barely remember exiting his office.
The rest of the day was a blur of exit interviews and paperwork. A small file box was thrust in my face, and soon, I was headed down the elevator with the last few years of my life shoved into a tiny, stupid box.
What the hell just happened?
“Tough break,” someone said to me as the doors parted on the first floor.
I looked up to see a man I didn’t recognize.
“Fired?” he asked, giving me sad eyes.
I simply nodded.
Because it was then when it finally sank in.
I’d been fired.
As of that moment, I was nothing.
Not a journalist or a writer.
Nothing.
What the fuck would I do now?
What I had assumed was a full day had in fact only been a handful of hours.
They hadn’t even let me finish out the day before giving me the boot.
For the next several hours, I found comfort at a bar down the street from work.
Correction—my old work. No, wait, my former employer. That was the proper way to say it. But, after a few shots of whiskey, I really didn’t give two fucks about grammar or formalities.
Or anything for that matter.
The bartender was kind, listening to me prattle on and on about untrusting bastards and my sudden fall from grace. He assured me I’d get back on my feet, one way or another, and maybe he was right.
Of course, he was a bartender, so what did he know about journalism?
Not a damn thing.
But, apparently, neither did I.
Aimlessly walking around through the city with my pitiful box, I found myself back at Kim’s apartment.
Maybe Boss Man Aaron Sanders was right. Maybe I should find a nice girl.
As I stepped into the elevator, squinting to see the dimly lit buttons, I smiled at the thought.
Hell, I had one right upstairs.
What if my casual fling with Kim was meant to be more, and she was exactly what I needed in this chaotic world?
The elevator dinged, announcing my arrival, and I took a shaky step forward, the alcohol I’d consumed making every motion take a bit more effort.
