by Tia Siren
“Not yet, but I'm sure I will,” Olivia said.
Olivia had been allocated a desk in a large, open-plan office alongside a few other more senior journalists. Mark introduced her to everyone and sat down with her to talk through what they would be doing over the next few days. After he'd briefed her, he told her she should spend the rest of the day reading the information Gretta had given her and familiarizing herself with company policy.
She got a coffee from a seedy looking vending machine and sat at her desk with a thick folder in front of her that read, “DR PUBLISHING - COMPANY INFORMATION.” She turned over the first page and began to read.
“Fuck me. You're joking,” she cried. Everyone looked at her quizzically.
“Are you okay?” her neighbor, a handsome young man, asked.
“Yes. I've just had a bit of a shock. That's all,” she replied. She thought for a moment. “What do you know about Daniel Raleigh?” she asked.
“He's the owner of DR Publishing, our parent company. I think in all, his company owns sixty other publications. He's a billionaire, well up in the Forbes rankings.”
“What kind of man is he?”
“I don't know him personally. I'm just a little fish way down at the bottom of his pond. I hear he's a generous man but that he can be ruthless if needed. Do you know him?”
“No. I just wondered is all,” she lied.
What an irony. She was working for the man she'd had sex with a few weeks earlier. A man she'd stupidly fallen for and who had never bothered to call her. All the feelings she'd tried to suppress over the last few days came rushing back to the fore. She'd thought she was over it, but just the sight of his name had torn her heart open once more.
She spent the next few days on the road with Mark, doing interviews. Their main story for the weekly magazine was an interview with a Somalian rock star who'd fled his war-torn country and landed in New York to great acclaim and instant stardom. He'd filled Madison Square Garden five nights in a row. He was a phenomenon the likes of which the States had never seen before. Why Americans had fallen in love with a Somalian rocker, nobody had a clue, but they had. Mark had made an appointment with him and was excited about being the only music journalist Haybee had agreed to speak to.
“What?” Mark shouted into his phone when they were standing outside the hotel they'd agreed to meet in. “You’re kidding, right? Well tell him we're here now.” When the conversation was over, Mark was so angry he threw his phone against the building.
“What?” Olivia asked, surprised by his sudden outburst.
“He's gone and canceled on us.”
“Who? Haybee?”
“Yes, Haybee. What an asshole. That's gonna leave us with a major space to fill in this week’s edition. These people never think. They just treat us like dirt.”
She could see the disappointment on his face. She too was disappointed not to get to meet the great man.
“He did what?” Gretta shouted at the top of her voice when they got back to the office. “That leaves us with a real headache. What the hell are we going to fill three full pages with at such short notice?” she added.
Olivia looked at the distraught faces and excused herself. She took a cab back to the Lavender Hotel and went inside. The young woman at reception wasn't at all helpful.
“You and thousands of others,” she said when Olivia asked to see Haybee.
“I need to see him. Tell him it's an urgent family matter,” Olivia said. The woman looked at her suspiciously but picked up the phone.
“A lady here wants to speak to Haybee. She says it's a family matter.” When the answer came, the woman scowled and pointed to the elevator. “Sixth floor. Someone will meet you.”
The elevator walls were mirrors, and Olivia looked at herself. She straightened her hair and pressed her lips together. The woman waiting on the sixth floor was a pretty Somali woman.
“What family business?” she asked.
“Sorry. I think the receptionist must have been confused. I'm here for the interview.”
“That has been canceled,” the woman said abruptly.
“Has it? Nobody told me. Shoot. And I made all this effort,” Olivia said, trying to make her lies as convincing as possible. “Why has it been canceled?”
“Because Haybee has discovered that your magazine isn't a small underground publication as he was led to believe, but rather part of a huge corporate conglomerate owned by a billionaire businessman.”
“Why does that make a difference?”
“You haven't done any research into Haybee's beliefs, have you?”
“Of course I have,” Olivia protested.
The woman looked down at her sandals and shuffled from one foot to the other. “Haybee is a socialist. He hates the corporate world. There's no way he'll talk to you, especially since what's his name lied to him.”
“Mark?”
“Yes, Mark. He should have known better than to lie.”
“Let me just see if I understand correctly. Haybee won't talk to the mainstream media.”
“You've got it.”
“May I ask who you are?” Olivia said.
“His wife, Afraxo.”
“I understand. I'm sorry Mark lied to you. I'm just a junior journalist, and it's my first day at work today.”
A door to her left opened, and a tall, dark man came into the foyer. “What's your name?” he asked.
“Olivia Halfpenny, Mr. Haybee,” Olivia answered.
“You are a liar, and the rag you work for is a cheap, gossip-laden pile of shit.”
Olivia's heart rate picked up. “Er...I'm sorry you feel like that...”
“So you should be. I'm going to call your bosses and have you fired. You lied to us to get up here, didn't you? Don't think I was born yesterday. Do you know how low it is to pretend you are delivering family news when all you really want is an interview? Now leave before I call the cops.”
When Olivia stepped back into the office, Gretta shouted at her, “Get yourself in here now.” Olivia entered her office and Gretta closed the door. “Your first day and I'm already getting calls complaining about your behavior. Why did you do it?”
Olivia looked at Gretta's face. It was red with rage. “Sorry. I just thought I could make him change his mind and do an interview.”
“Oh you did, did you? What makes you so special? Why did you think he would talk to you?”
“I don't know. I was only trying to help.”
“But you won't help if all you do is antagonize people.”
“But Haybee's philosophy is all wrong. He won't talk to the press. He calls us part of the dangerous corporate world. What he doesn't know is that all those people who buy his records are part of that world as well.”
Gretta lowered her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. It had been a long day, and she was worried about what she was going to fill her magazine with.
“Okay. If you feel there is an argument against his stance, write it. If it's good, I'll publish it.”
“Really?” Olivia said.
“Yes. You're right. He needs to be taught a lesson. He should realize he can't treat us like this. Write it.”
*****
“Maureen, come here a moment please.” Maureen tottered into Daniel's office on incredibly high heels and waited. “Who is Jenny Jones?”
“Er...I have no idea.”
“Have you read this article?” he asked. Maureen walked around his desk and looked at the copy of New York Street Scene that lay in front of him.
“No.”
“It is the most wonderfully written piece I have read in a long time. This woman, whoever she is, is a genius. It's a stinging criticism of Haybee and his double standards. And the best bit,” he said, pointing a finger to a long paragraph, “she says I'm an inspiration to the youth of America.”
Maureen looked at him and wondered when it was going to be her turn. She so wanted him to make love to her. He'd had Tracy and Emma; surely
she would be next. “That's great,” she offered.
“Get hold of Gretta at NYSS and ask her to get Jenny Jones to Skype me.”
Maureen disappeared for a while. Daniel swiveled his leather chair to the left and looked out of window and across the Boston skyline.
“She refuses to talk to you,” Maureen said.
“What?”
“Gretta asked her to Skype you, but she refused. I don't know why.”
“Does she know who I am?”
“I think she does but, she won't do it.”
“Who the hell does she think she is? I'm her boss. Tell her to Skype me or I'll fire her.”
Maureen left and came back a few minutes later with a wide grin on her face. “Mr. Raleigh, she says you can stick your job up your...er...ass if you so want. She's not going to speak to you.”
“When am I next in New York?”
Maureen looked it up on the schedule. “On Tuesday, next week.”
*****
“Gretta, lovely to see you. How are things?” Daniel asked.
“Okay. We're doing fine. Sales are steadily increasing and advertising revenue is up, so I can't complain. I'm very happy with the newspaper's performance.”
“Where's Jenny Jones?”
“Who?”
“Jenny Jones. I want to talk to her.”
“Ah, sorry. I forgot that’s a pen name. Her real name is Olivia Halfpenny.”
Daniels's eyebrows raised as he remembered her name, her body, and how much he'd enjoyed gorging on the delights she'd had to offer. “Olivia Halfpenny.”
“Do you know her?” Gretta asked when it sounded as if he recognized her name.
“I believe I do. Go and get her, and give us a meeting room. I want a chat with her.”
Daniel followed Gretta to room three of the five meeting rooms the newspaper had at its disposal and sat down in the sterile room. Gretta went to find Olivia.
“You're an asshole,” Olivia said as soon as she entered the room. “A misogynist. I believe they would have called you a cad years ago.”
Daniel looked at her and noticed the rage in her eyes. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. “The world is indeed a small place. How are you?”
“Don't give me that shit. You don't care how I am. All you care about is getting inside as many panties as possible without a single thought for the consequences.”
“Olivia, I don't know what has made you so pissed at me, but......”
“Don't you?” she said. “Well perhaps it'll do you good to have to think about it.” Daniel sat open mouthed after she stormed out of the room.
Olivia went back to her desk and did some breathing exercises to calm down. She pulled out How to Make a Man Love You from her handbag and looked at the stains it had collected during its short time in the trashcan. She turned to page eighteen and read it for the umpteenth time. Page eighteen told readers that a risky but effective strategy for making someone fall for you was to enter their lives, make an impression, and suddenly pull away, leaving them time to think about you. She wasn't sure her efforts to pursue that tactic had gone terribly well over the last few minutes. She seemed to have insulted him, not pulled away from him. What the hell, she thought. She was angry at him and he deserved it.
After a week Olivia had begun to regret how she'd spoken to Daniel. It hadn't had any effect; his silence was as loud as before. She continued to write articles that received rave reviews and drove sales through the roof. Her controversial style and her ability to capture the interest of the readers had earned her the respect of her colleagues and Gretta in a short.
When Gretta offered her a huge pay increase to prevent her from being poached by other publications, Olivia took out a mortgage on a luxury apartment in Long Island City. On Sunday mornings, she went to a local cafe to drink coffee, read the newspaper, and talk to the locals.
“They told me I'd find you here,” a man said.
Olivia looked up from the newspaper she was reading. “What do you want? I told you how I feel about you,” she said, continuing the tactic Ralph Penworthy had taught her. She reminded herself that she had no idea what qualified Ralph Penworthy to give such advice, but at least it had brought Daniel to her, and he was carrying a bunch of flowers.
“I'm sorry for doing whatever has upset you. I still don't know what it was. But I've been thinking about you recently.”
“Sit down and stop making a fool of yourself with that enormous bunch of roses,” she said.
Daniel wasn't used to being told what to do, and neither was he used to women scolding him. As far as he was concerned, he was the boss and what he said happened. But somewhere on his journey home between New York and Boston after their last encounter, he'd begun to think about her in a way he'd never thought about a woman before. Her talent and her courage in sticking up for herself had awakened his interest to such a degree that he'd bought flowers for the first time in his life.
“You hurt me, really hurt me,” she said over the roses that were lying between them on the table.
“How? I didn't mean to.”
“You callously screwed me and never bothered to contact me again. Didn't you think that it may have meant something to me?”
“Er...”
“See. You didn't, did you? That's what I mean; you don't care.”
“Olivia, I'm sorry, but I do care about you. It was never my intention to hurt you. I just thought—”
“You'd fuck me and throw me on the scrap heap next to all the other women you've used,” she said.
“Right, I've had enough of this,” he said as he slammed his fist on the table, making everyone look at them. “I've said I'm sorry. I've traveled here specially to see you. I even bought you flowers. I want to say I do care. I didn't, but I do now. Very much.”
“Why now?”
“Because you've made me see how special you are. I'm here because you are talented, and you stand up to me. I need that. And you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”
“So what do you want?”
“You.”
“Do you think it's as easy as that? Do you think I will forgive you for all the weeks I've suffered?”
“Well, I'm here, am I not? Either you forgive me and give us a chance or you tell me to go.”
Had she heard him correctly? He had said, “Give us a chance”? She felt like a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders. The agony of being spurned by someone she loved was evaporating and being replaced by optimism and hope.
“Okay, here's the deal,” she began. “I am very attracted to you, and I have strong feelings for you. If you think you may feel the same now, or at some time in the future, please tell me and we'll give it a try. If you're just here for a bit of fun and a screw, leave.”
“You are one hell of a woman. Why I didn't see that straight away, I have no idea. I must have been blind. I’d like to have a meaningful relationship with you.”
“Then take me home and fuck me like you did the first time. It was so wonderful.”
*****
When he touched her, she shivered. She'd waited for this moment for too long. She'd agonized and worried that she would never have the chance to feel his body on hers again, but now standing in her bedroom with him in front of her, all those worries disappeared.
His finger slid gently over her cheek and traced a line across her chin and down her neck. She felt goose bumps on her forearms at his touch. She closed her eyes and pouted her lips, waiting eagerly for him to kiss her. When he did, it sent a charge to her womanhood the likes of which she'd never experienced before. She pushed into him, grinding her pelvis against his groin, feeling him stiffen in anticipation of her.
“You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his lips caressing her ear in the softest of touches. They kissed again, deeper, more passionately. He spun her around and held her arms behind her back. He kissed the back of her neck and bent her forward over the bed.
“Oh God,” she moaned as his han
ds caressed her buttocks, feeling their way down to her thighs and under to her intimate area. Her arousal warmed his hand as it cupped her over the material of her pants. He reached around her, opened her pants, and pushed them down over her smooth legs. The sight of her panties and her bronzed legs completed his erection, and all he wanted now was to take her. When her panties were on the floor, he knelt behind her and performed an act that took her breath away. She reached behind herself and stroked his hair as he continued.
“If you keep doing that, I'm going to come,” she moaned. He didn't stop, and when she squealed and pushed back onto his face, he took her over the top with his tongue. Without letting her recover, he thrust into her. She threw her head up and cried out—such was the sensitivity he'd created in her.
“Slowly please,” she said, hardly able to bear it. But he didn't listen. He gathered her hair in his hands and pulled her head up, at the same time increasing the power of his thrusts. Her oversensitivity was replaced by more pleasure as another orgasm hit her.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“I love it,” she moaned. “I love you doing this to me.” His thighs continued to slap against hers, sending vibrations to her center. Suddenly she moved away and lay on the bed. “Too much,” she gasped as she fought tears of joy.
He lay behind her and spooned her. When she was ready, she reached for him and guided him inside again. He made love to her gently now. His hands fondled her breasts and stroked her stomach. The hardness of his body pushed against her. The hair on his legs tickled her lightly, adding to the sensation that was building up in her once again. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing as he pushed steadily in and out of her. The slow constant rhythm began to make her gasp again. When she shook, he held her until it was over, and then he released her.
It was such a comfortable position that she was loathe to change, but she wanted to sit on him and feel his body under her. When she was where she wanted to be, she put her hands on his chest and began to rise and fall over his length. He held her breasts and played with them until her nipples were so hard they ached.
