by Ava Claire
"You don't look like you're ready to kick any ass in the meeting today."
I saw the coffee cup before I saw Peter, a smile instantly leaping to my lips. I brought the cup to my nostrils and inhaled so deep that I already felt caffeinated and recharged.
"Peter, you didn't have to-"
"Un uh," he interrupted, propping himself on the desk beside me. "Just let me do something nice for you, okay? We can skip right past how I didn't have to do it, and how awesome you think I am, etcetera etcetera."
I peered up at him. Today his dark, wavy locks were tucked beneath a backwards Warriors cap. He usually wore contacts, but today he opted for his black glasses that made him look like an advertisement for some optometrist, the lines of the frame making his brown eyes pop. He had a dusting of stubble on his jaw and chin and around his mouth. His lean frame was covered in a crisp, white button down shirt and dark jeans that lead the way to the same Chucks that were on my feet. In the five seconds since he stopped by my cubicle, a handful of women that usually barreled right on past without so much as a nod of acknowledgement were all smiles and 'Good morning!'
I brought the cup to my lips and I felt Peter's eyes on me, but I pretended I didn't.
"Careful, it's hot," he warned softly.
"Thanks mom," I winked, but I warmth pinched my cheeks because I knew he wasn't nagging like my actual mother did. It had been almost a year since I'd gone home and I still heard her voice whispering when I got ready in the morning. I gave you such beautiful blonde hair, why would you go and ruin it with that jet black crap? If you went out in the sun, met a nice boy, instead of holing up in here, you wouldn't look like a vampire. Thank God you have good genes or you'd be as big as a house!
Fun times with my mom. But Peter wasn't like that. He'd seen me in sweats, face filled with pimples like I was going through puberty, and on the verge of tears because Perri tore me a new one in a meeting.
Meeting.
Holy crap there was a meeting this morning...and I was supposed to be bringing in a lead for a new story.
Me burning my mouth was kind of irrelevant because I lowered the cup back to my desk with a groan.
"Did they screw it up? It's supposed to be a vanilla latte, extra shot, with two extra pumps of vanilla-"
I smiled glumly up at him. "No, the drink's great. I really appreciate it. I'm just about to make a fool of myself in the staff meeting. Again."
He grimaced. "No lead?"
I shook my head. Lying. The truth was, I had a lead. A damn good one. It didn't get much better than a behind the scenes look at Hush. But I knew Perri. I'd seen and experienced first hand the way she demolished reporter's ideas, claiming they were ridiculous or a waste of time. I wouldn't let this story die on the vine, or let some other writer take my story and run with it. But I was so wrapped up in my side project, a project that could open a whole new world of opportunity for me, that I completely ignored the job that was currently paying the bills.
I shimmied my mouse and brought the screen back to life. The clock didn't help, there was only five minutes left until the meeting. My fingers flew over the keys, hoping that Google would throw me a lifeline. Some new celebrity catastrophe that I could throw out when we went around the table. The chances that someone else would have the same lead were high, but something was better than, "um...uh..."
"You know that douchebag chef from all of those cooking competition shows?" Peter asked, taking a sip of my coffee. "The one who's always cussing and throwing things and he gets away with it because everyone wants him?"
I was only half listening, scrolling through headlines that read like what you'd expect. Socialites partied, celebrity couples were getting divorced, actors were saying stupid stuff on Twitter, and actresses were condemning hackers that stole their nude selfies. "Yeah, I know who you're talking about. A bastard, but damn if he isn't hot as hell."
"Right, Desmond O'Connell. I got this tip that the reason the last contestant got axed on America's Chef is because he told the dude that he 'wasn't good TV'."
I stopped skimming. It wasn't the a career making story, but the public gobbled up behind the scenes looks at how reality TV shows worked and the lives of the rich and famous.
"I think that would work," I mused, tapping my nails on the desk before I came to a hard stop. I looked up at him, guilt settling in my gut. "But what about you? That's your lead. I wouldn't feel right taking credit and leaving you hanging."
"C'mon, Soph," he winked. "You know I've got lots of tricks up my sleeve."
I narrowed my eyes in disbelief, clutching my coffee cup. "Peter, if you're sure-"
"I wouldn't have offered it to you if I didn't have it to give," he assured me, standing upright. He cocked his head toward the conference room. "Shall we?"
"Let's do it." I rose from my chair with a nod, pulling my cardigan tighter. Peter was already making a beeline for the meeting, but I tugged his elbow, needing to say something. "Thanks for helping me out." There was the guilt again. The worry that even though I didn't feel like I was leading him on, that any kind gestures came with strings attached, even if he had the best intentions. But he just smiled and shrugged like it was no big deal, so I breathed easy, grateful that he had my back and I'd dodged a bullet.
We walked through the sliding glass doors, the room humming with our co-workers gathered around the long table that nearly stretched the entire length of the room. People from all walks of life surrounded the table. There were the hard boiled journalists who reminisced about the good ole days, dressed in skirts and blouses and shirts with ties. There were the hipsters, my age to thirties, in their beanies with their eyes glued to their cell phone screens. And then there were the bots, women and men who made it clear that this was a stepping stone for them, and they were just waiting for one of their celebrity subjects to fall madly in love with them...or some producer to notice them and hand them their own reality TV show on a silver platter.
Peter and I nudged our way in between Carl and Lucy, both of them talking about some new action movie at the box office and how CGI had destroyed modern movies.
"It was just so blatantly fake, so over the top that I hurled my popcorn at the screen and walked out," Carl huffed.
Lucy nodded. "And I'm the biggest action movie enthusiast ever. Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Wallace." She shuddered, glancing over at me. "Have you seen the new one yet? Fist to the Face?"
Before I could tell her heck no, that I was one of those saps that lined up for romances and tearjerkers, her face went pale and I knew that the Queen had arrived. And just like any queen that wielded her power like a lethal weapon over her kingdom, she stood in the doorway for a good five minutes past the start of the meeting, hollering into her Bluetooth.
"I am aware that English is your second language, but I do not pay your company's inflated prices so you can write me a check when your idiot staff destroys my custom Gucci! What am I supposed to wear to the Met Ball? Your check?"
I exchanged a look with Peter and he leaned in, whispering, "Won't someone think of Perri Collins?!"
I bit back a smile as I sat back in my seat—and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach when I realized that Perri was looking right at him.
Not looking. Glaring.
"You have not only wasted my time, but now you're wasting my staff's time. You want to know what will make me whole? Tack on more zeroes to the end of that number." She tapped her Bluetooth and turned her full ire on Peter. "Since you have something to share, why don't you go first." Peter opened his mouth, but she wasn't done. "Name first. Lead second."
I felt him bristle beside me. He'd been at The Dish for over a year and she didn't know his name?
"Peter Rhodes...and I don't have any new leads."
Now my face was as white as the board on the wall behind us. He gave me his lead, his opportunity to escape the firing squad?
"Peter," I hissed.
Perri snapped her fingers at me like I was a dog. "You, brunette. I
haven't gotten to you yet."
Her pink lips smoldered as she flashed her bleached white teeth at Peter, like a lioness bearing her fangs. I'd seen pictures of her when she was younger; soft, even beautiful in an understated way. Now, she was all sharp angles, thin and brittle, her face a frozen mess of plastic surgery and Botox. Her hair was the color of scissors, the same pair of scissors that had been used to carve out her heart.
"Mr. Rhodes," she sneered. "Please tell us why you've bothered to join us when you don't have anything to offer? You're just taking up space and wasting oxygen."
This was my fault. I had to fix it.
"He has a lead,” I blurted. “I'm the one that's unprepared." Before Perri could spew more venom, I kept talking. I ignored the fact that I was now in her crosshairs, and she'd fired people for a lot less than not coming to a meeting prepared. "Peter's lead is Desmond O'Connell. Apparently someone overheard him telling the last contestant who was axed that he was let go because he didn't make good TV."
All eyes in the room shifted from me to Perri, standing in the doorway with her shades and crimson sheath dress. We were transported to some Roman coliseum where she was the Empress, and me and Peter were bloodied in the dirt. Whether she flipped her thumb up or down was anybody's guess.
"Is this some sort of Romeo and Juliet thing happening here?" She waved her hand, dismissing that thought. "Never mind." She breezed into the room, sitting in her plush seat at the head of the table. Her assistant appeared and filled her glass with sparkling water. "The lead is a solid one. Follow it, brunette. Since you two have annoyed me and I feel a migraine coming on, please feel free to excuse yourselves so the rest of us can get on with taking care of business."
Peter was fuming and I was disgusted, but we managed to walk out of the room with our heads held high. When the doors closed behind us, the sea of cubicles empty because everyone was behind us, trying their luck with a perpetually disappointed boss, I almost felt relieved that we got a pass.
Not we, you.
I reached for Peter's arm. "You didn't have to do that-"
"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to." He pulled from my hold gently, but I knew he was angry. And not just at Perri. "I'm gonna go get some air."
If I was a better friend I would have gone after him. Said the right thing to make it all better. I shouldn't have taken his lead, period...and I shouldn't have stepped in to save him when I'd seen him stand up to Perri and hold his own. And now I had a story, his story, a story I could care less about considering the massive one I had brewing-
Just let it go.
I trudged back to my seat, exhaling and doing my damnedest to do just that when my phone shuddered to life on my desk.
I looked at the screen, murmuring the words as a smile stretched across my face from ear to ear.
I hope I don't need any introduction, but just in case, I'm the man in the black mask...and you're the submissive that I can't get out of my head. Come find me tonight, Dungeon #3 and I'll do things to you that make you scream.
If I were smooth, I’d wait a few minutes before I replied. Instead, I wasted no time shooting him my answer: Yes Sir. :)
~
The Safeword Series
Red (The Safeword Series: Book One) - November 6
Yellow (The Safeword Series: Book Two) - November 19
Green (The Safeword Series: Book Three) - December 17
About The Author
Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to paper or glued to her e-reader, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and fantasizing about her favorite book boyfriends.
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Blog: http://avaclaireromantica.blogspot.com
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Twitter: @avaclairewrites
Stay tuned to my blog for up to date information on my works in progress and release schedules!
