Extra Extra (Working Girl Series Book 1)

by CY Jones

  Utterly defeated, I power up my laptop and write Justin back. In all this darkness, he’s my only source of light.

  Dear Justin

  You’re definitely not broken anymore. Damaged or anything injured. You’re perfection. A shiny bauble I want to collect and hoard as my own like a dragon. I wish I was in the same place as you, but my beloved city has not been kind to me since I’ve been back. I lied to you in my previous letters and for that, I’m sorry. You do not deserve half-truths, and honestly, I do not deserve you, but here I am because, well, I’m selfish. I can’t… no, won’t give you up. No matter how much the world tries to push us apart, I will hold on with everything I have. I’m sure I’m confusing the shit out of you and you’re wondering what the hell is going on. Don’t worry about me. Just… no matter what, don’t give up on me. That’s all I ask. Fight for me because I’m damn sure fighting for you.

  Love

  Drowning in turmoil

  I hit send before I change my mind and delete the message altogether. I’m sure he thinks I have lost my ever loving mind. My message was supposed to be about cookies named Doug, and how much I can’t wait to see and touch him. Not some half-crazed, vague summary of how miserable my life has become. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve freaked him out and I wouldn’t be surprised if he called me, but if he does, it’s a call I know I won’t answer because I can’t hear his voice right now. It would be too much. Hurt too much. It would be the final straw that would send me spiraling as I breakdown from the emotion I’m certain I’d hear in his voice. I need to deal with The Turd. I’ve tried talking and that went just peachy, so now, it's time for action. I will take him down if it’s the last thing I do.

  I work through the whole day, not even bothering to stop for lunch. When five o'clock hits and I can hear the other ants shuffling past my door, happy to be off, I stay silent, shut in my office with the only sound being my fingers hitting the keys on my laptop. It’s when the sun starts to set and someone pounds on my office door like they are the police, that I stop. At first, I thought it was The Turd and my heart jumped in my chest dreading what he could possibly want. Unless he’s having me monitored, he shouldn’t know I’m still here.

  “Open up, sugar buns, I know you’re in there, a familiar voice shouts along with the knocking.”

  Relieved it’s Chaz, I let out the breath I was holding and try to calm my racing heart. Opening the door I glare at him. “Jesus, Chaz. Are you making it your mission to give me a heart attack while you’re here in the Big Apple? This is twice now that you scared the snot out of me.”

  “Well, sugar buns, I did call, but got concerned after my fifth call went straight to voicemail. Is there a reason why you’re here all alone, hiding in your office?”

  Oh crap, he tried to call me. I guess I do feel bad about that. “Don’t take it personally. I haven’t answered anyone’s calls today.”

  “And you’re hiding in here because?” he prods.

  Sighing, I take a seat behind my desk and motion for him to sit down as well. He does so, making himself comfortable before pinning me with his piercing gaze. “This morning, I went to have a talk with The Turd. Let's just say it didn't go so well. If anything, all it did was show me just how unhinged he is.”

  “I need more than that, sugar buns. What did you tell him?” he questions.

  “The truth. I told him that I’m miserable and don’t want to marry him. That I hate him and if I could get away with it, I’d kill him, but he basically was like, too bad, so sad, you’re stuck with me forever or I’ll ruin your ass with the video.”

  “Did he actually say that?” Chaz asks, shocked.

  “Not in those exact words, but it was basically what he meant. Chaz, what am I going to do? I’ll die if I have to marry him.” My voice cracks as the direness of my situation comes closing in. In a month and a half, The Turd is expecting me to walk down the aisle and pledge myself to be his until death do us part. If that happens, death will come for him sooner than he thinks because it won’t take long for me to snap and kill him.

  “We’re going to do what we discussed last night. In fact, while I’m here, now is the perfect time to start. Why don’t we go check out that asshat’s office and see what we can find.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s almost seven. It’s not unusual for people to still be here working, but I’m sure by now, The Turd has already left for the day. He no longer has to burn the midnight oil to make sure deadlines are met as he goes through and edits all our work. With his new cushy promotion, he can work the proverbial nine to five. Hell, if he wanted to, he doesn’t have to be here at all. With the proper staff in place, this building practically runs itself.

  “Sounds fun, let's go,” I tell him with a huge smile on my face.

  We see a couple of my fellow ants, but no one bats an eye as we pass them in the halls or when we’re on the elevator. If they are here this late, they have deadlines they are frantic to make or are part of the evening crew. News doesn’t stop just because the sun has gone down. In fact, that’s when most of it is being made. When we step off the elevator on The Turd’s floor, I’m not surprised to find it empty. Like The Turd, anyone who works up here makes their own hours and after seven p.m. there’s no one up here unless they're doing the secretary. On quiet feet, I lead Chaz to The Turd’s office door. With no one around, it almost looks threatening, somewhat ominous. When I turn the knob, it opens, having been left unlocked.

  “You know, sugar buns, the security in this building sucks,” Chaz comments.

  “Yeah, I think with all the security it takes to get in here when you first walk in the building, they don’t bother with any extra security once you’re inside. Plus, this is a media building. Anything newsworthy they have, I doubt they want caught on camera. You’ll only find cameras in the halls and that’s few and beyond. Although I’m sure The Turd should have at least locked his door or his secretary. They must have left in a hurry today.”

  Probably looking for me. I did have ten missed calls from him the last time I checked my phone, and I ignored his secretary when she came by knocking at my door earlier. She must have reported back to The Turd that I’m working away from the office today. Later, I’m sure there will be hell to pay, but right now, I’m enjoying this little bit of defiance.

  The Turd’s office smells like him, I hate that I still find the scent appealing, even if I can’t stand the owner. Going straight to his desk, I start rifling through his drawers while Chaz checks his shelves. There’s no point in checking his computer. It would only be a waste of time. I’m no hacker and have no clue what his password is to access it. Most of the drawers are unlocked, but when I go to pull the drawer in the center where you usually keep pens and pencils in, it won’t budge. I pull again harder but get the same result. Why on earth would he lock this and nothing else?

  “Find anything?” Chaz says, coming up to me.

  “I don’t know. This drawer is locked."

  Bringing his hand to my hair, he pulls out the bobby pin I’m using to keep my hair out of my face and bends over. Using the pin to work the lock, I’m impressed when in no time I hear a click just before he pulls the drawer open. Inside are a couple of fancy looking pens, a box of staples, some brightly colored post-its, and a chewed up pencil. The Turd has a nasty habit of chewing on his pencils when he’s nervous, a habit he has yet to shake it appears.

  Confused, I confess, “I don’t get it. Why lock this if there’s nothing in here?”

  “That is odd. Have you tried sliding your hand all the way to the back?”

  I do as he says, carefully sliding my hand throughout the slim drawer, feeling nothing but the cool underlay. I even press on it searching for a false bottom. When I go to pull my hand out, the top of my palm grazes something of an unusual texture, like leather. Pulling my hand out, I use the light on my phone and shine it in the drawer where I find a small planner lying out of sight in its own slot over the drawer. When I pull it out, I know I
hit gold. “It’s a day planner,” I tell Chaz excitedly.

  Turning the pages, it’s filled with names and dates. Some I have no clue who they are, but others I do recognize only because they are rich, some famous and are always mentioned in entertainment news. On the top right hand corner of each page is a red watermark of a logo I’ve never seen before of two lions standing on their hind legs clawing at each other with a crown in the middle over decorative swirls.

  “I’ve never seen this symbol before, have you?” I ask Chaz, and he freezes when he sees what I’m pointing to.

  “Well, hell. If your ex is messing around with The Gentlemen's Society, then this has gotten a lot more complicated.”

  “The Gentlemen's Society? What the hell is that? I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “You wouldn’t. They're a secret society made up of a bunch of wealthy and powerful men you don’t want to ever fuck with. Nothing goes on without them knowing. In fact, they are the ones that make the world turn. Half the bad shit that happens, I guarantee they’re behind it. They have a generation only membership policy, so I’m surprised your ex is involved. They’re not from old money.”

  “How do you know about them? I take it since they are a secret society you can’t exactly Google them,” I ask, raising my brow as my brain absorbs what he’s telling me.

  “I’m a Vanderbilt,” he answers like that explains everything. Seeing the clueless look on my face he explains further. "My family is ‘old money',” he says, making quotations. "My father is a member and before that, my grandfather, great-grandfather, and so on, you get the picture. My family is richer than God with a net worth somewhere in the billions. I’m not certain, but I wouldn’t be surprised if my family was one of The Gentlemen's Society’s founders. If they are involved with your ex, then you need to be careful. Trust me when I tell you that you do not want to fuck with them.”

  “I don’t care about any secret society, it’s Rebecca who I’m trying to locate.” Sure, a secret society sounds like a nice scoop, but right now I’m trying to get out of a bad situation, not put myself in a bigger one.

  Taking the notebook from me, Chaz flips through the pages, skimming the names until his finger brushes over a Rebecca Fairchild. Her name is circled with three others in a long list of women. “Fairchild, that figures. Unlike your ex, they are from old money, which is probably why your ex is interested in them. I also happen to know they do have a twenty-six-year-old daughter named Rebecca.”

  “Great, this has to be her then, but what’s with the others? Why are their names circled?” I ask curious.

  “I have my suspicions, but I need to do some digging of my own. Come on, let's get out of here. Usually, in the Sherlock movies, this is the point where someone comes in, and we have to hide or risk being found and shot at.” I giggle as I put the notebook back just the way we found it and Chaz locks the drawer so The Turd won’t be any the wiser.

  “Since searching The Turd’s office was your idea that makes you Sherlock and me Watson.”

  “Then I’m the hot, gay version,” he retorts, grabbing my hand, pulling me out the door. Stopping by my own office, I quickly gather my things, and we leave, thankfully without any further excitement.

  After we leave the office, Chaz treats me to dinner, and then we go back to the townhouse and go over everything we’ve learned. With a name, it was all too easy to find Rebecca. Her Facebook page isn’t even set to private. I’m not surprised. I can tell by the pictures on her account that she’s the type that loves attention. With straight blonde hair and glittering baby blue eyes, she’s my exact opposite. Just the type of woman, The Turd’s father would be overjoyed to call his daughter-in-law, and the icing on the egotistical douchebag’s cake, she comes from a well-established family. So why isn’t The Turd harassing her to marry him instead of blackmailing me? When I come across a picture of the two of them sitting side by side smiling at the camera, I’m even more confused. They look so perfect for each other and judging by the comments, I’m not the only one who thinks so.

  With his hand on the back of my chair, Chaz bends over, lowering his long body, so he can peer at the screen over my shoulder. “Aww, don’t they look precious,” Chaz gushes. He left to take a shower, but he’s back now with his gorgeous chest bare wearing nothing but a pair of sweats low on his hips and I’m tongue tied. Fuck, Chaz is ripped. A delicious vanilla sundae I wouldn’t mind licking.

  “Geez, Chaz, you really need to warn a girl first before coming out looking like that, especially since you play for the other team. I’m tempted to tie you to a chair, so I can stare at you like my own personal exhibit.”

  “Sugar buns, you can gawk at me all you want. If you’re good, I might even let you touch me,” he teases, giving me a cheeky wink.

  “You’re so bad,” I laugh, hitting his abs and yank my hand back like it’s on fire. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Girl, stop being so sensitive. A little love tap doesn’t bother me.”

  “That wasn’t a love tap,” I protest and then roll my eyes at the huge smile on his face. I’m starting to think he finds it amusing to work me up. “You’re such a tease, Chaz.”

  “Don’t get mad at me for trying to lighten the mood. Besides, you should get used to seeing all this sexiness while I’m here. It would be a crime to cover up.”

  “Humble much,” I laugh.

  In answer, he turns and gives his booty a little shake before grabbing a chair, so he can sit beside me. After a couple hours of social media stalking, we only found the one picture of The Turd and Rebecca on Facebook and the same one on her Insta, which only tells me both her accounts are linked. Depending on how far along she is, I was hoping to find a picture of her showing to get some sort of timeline. Besides being an heiress to an upscale beauty line franchise, she’s not mentioned much in the press. Her mother and two sisters are the real stars and apparently paparazzi gold. There's numerous photos of them all over the city. I’d say she’s suffering from the proverbial middle child syndrome. She craves attention because she doesn’t get it at home. It wouldn’t have taken much for The Turd to charm her and possibly knock her up.

  “I need to meet her. It’s not enough to stalk her online. I want to ask her myself if she was and is still involved with The Turd.”

  “And how do you expect to do that? Your engagement is public knowledge. I’m doubtful she’ll just meet with you. In her mind, you’re the enemy. You’re the one who took what she had. Spoiled high society types like her don’t get over smites like that easily.”

  “As if dude. She’s the homewrecker, not me. In fact, I’m glad she fucked him. If she wants The Turd, she can have him. I will wish them nothing but happiness. I just need her to convince him that she’s the one for him and to leave me the hell alone.”

  “This whole situation is crazy. I guess I can pull some strings and get an invite to brunch or something. In fact, I’m confident that won’t be a problem. Since people heard I’m back in New York, I’ve been getting numerous invitations to attend an ungodly amount of social gatherings. No doubt an opportunity created by the social climbers here to force me to meet their single daughters. They all know I’m gay, yet, they still try to sink their sharp, perfectly manicured claws in me. We all know it’s not me they want, but my money.”

  I feel bad for Chaz. I know his relationship with his own parents is strained. Actually nonexistent would be the better word since they cut him off, but he’s still a Vanderbilt. When people hear that name, they only see dollar signs and not the amazing person behind the name. Pulling him close, I hold him tight. “Being born into money sucks, but forget them. I love you for the person you are. Anyone else can take a hike.”

  “Aww, I love you too, sugar buns. Your rack is soft, I bet Justin just loves them doesn’t he?” he comments and I pull back laughing.

  “What?” I’m laughing so hard, I have tears in my eyes on the verge of leaking out.

  “Hey, I may be gay, but I still have an ap
preciation for all things beautiful and your tits are a work of art. I want to make a molding of them and take them out for a spin on my body.”

  I can’t help it. I buckle over, laughing so hard, I’m dying. I laugh until my sides hurt. Never have I laughed this much and it was just what I needed. The perfect medicine for a fucked up day.

  “What?” Chaz shrugs innocently, but the twinkle in his eye tells me he knows just what he’s doing.

  13

  Dinner Invitation

  Justin

  I’ve read Brooklyn’s email at least a dozen times and each time, I get choked up, hurt by the pain I can practically feel in her words. Each line renders an attack on my heart this very moment. I don’t know what’s going on with Brooklyn, but I don’t like it. My girl, my magical being that’s normally so full of life, sounds absolutely defeated and that’s just not right. What could have possibly happened while she’s been away? If I had to take a guess, I would say it has something to do with that shitty ex of hers. I just knew he wouldn’t give her up so easily. I sure as hell wouldn’t have, but I also would have never hurt Brooklyn the way he did.

  I had plans to go to New York closer to the holidays, but after reading her email, I’ll have to move up my timeline. I have no worries that she’ll go back to him, but what is he doing to cause her such misery? Is he messing with her job again? His father is the CEO of the company she works for, he could easily cause her even more trouble with her career without lifting a finger. What if he has laid a hand on her? Brooklyn didn’t say he’s the violent type, but she did leave me with an impression that he’s become unhinged since the break up. If he did touch her, nothing would stop me from showing him how a real man fights and beating the crap out of him. God, I hate not knowing what is going on. It’s killing me, but not for much longer. Soon, I’ll be with her, putting a smile on her gorgeous face. Once I get my affairs handled here and put my plan into place, nothing will keep me from her again. Just hold on a little longer, baby, and I’ll be there soon.