Hooked

by Christine Manzari

  “Sorry, I have to get in to work early. Shitstick required it.”

  “Who is Shitstick?” The look of confusion refused to leave Huck’s face as he continued to stare at me.

  “An asshole I work with.”

  Huck pushed up on his elbow and shook his head like he was shaking off his sleepiness. “Work?”

  “Shit,” I said, realizing I’d let the off-limits info slip. Not that it was that big of a deal, but that’s the way I’d always been, slow to share my personal information. “Forget I said anything.” I kneeled on the bed and kissed him quickly, dodging his hand when he tried to grab me and pull me back to the mattress with him.

  “I really need to go.”

  “Cat,” he managed to say through a yawn, running his hands through his sleep tousled hair. “Maybe we could meet up for lunch.”

  “Maybe,” I told him as I grabbed my black leather bag off the floor and shouldered it. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry. Jay is making waffles today. I bet if you wander out there without a shirt on in about an hour, you could earn yourself a free breakfast. Gotta go.”

  Huck was still calling my name as I hurried out the front door and down the steps. I didn’t have time for playful banter, I needed to get into work early and put the finishing touches on my designs so I could send them out to the client for review before the day started.

  As I was sitting in traffic waiting to get out of Venice Beach onto I-10 West, I heard my phone chirp with a text. Since I wasn’t moving, I picked it up and saw it was from Jay: “Huck wants to know if he can have your number. He works in L.A. too and wants to meet up with you for lunch.”

  Typing out a quick “Sure,” I sent the text just as traffic started moving again. I turned off the ringer and then reached over and shoved the phone deep in my bag, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to look at it if I thought Huck was texting me. I didn’t need a car accident on top of everything else.

  I loved getting into the office early and being there alone. It was so much easier to get work done when there was no one around to interrupt me. It was barely 10:00 and I was already on my second cup of coffee. The emergency designs had been sent right at 8:00 to meet the deadline. I was grateful the client was based in California, too, or I would’ve had to show up at the office at an obscene hour to get everything done. Getting in to the office two hours early was bad enough as it was, especially considering I’d left a naked Huck in my bed to make it happen and that just seemed wrong on so many levels.

  I pulled up the file of the project I’d been working on at the end of last week. It was a branding design for a new smoothie company called Fruithies. The name was unfortunate, but I was having a blast coming up with quirky and funky logo ideas. I still had a couple of days before I had to present my designs to the client so I was feeling pretty confident. After they selected a logo, I was going to work on a few website templates for them to choose from. I would call my mom and check in with her later, but for now, things were good. My life felt normal.

  Damn. I realized that I could see the bottom of my coffee cup again. Time to head into the break room and see if there was a fresh pot brewing. I opened the door to my quiet office, annoyed that I had to allow the hustle and bustle of the morning and my coworkers to invade my space. If I hurried, maybe I could make it to and from the break room before someone could corner me with some inane conversation about their boring, suburban weekend. I rounded the corner with my head down to avoid catching anyone’s eye and ran right into a suit. A suit covering a well-muscled body.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to walk around whoever it was before I could get sidetracked.

  “Cat?”

  My head snapped up at the familiar voice using an unfamiliar name at work. Huck was standing in front of me wearing the most beautiful suit I think I’d ever seen. Okay. It wasn’t the suit that was beautiful. But damn he looked good in it.

  Before I could ask him how he found out where I worked, Nick, an advertising sales rep in my office, grabbed Huck’s elbow. “Hey Will, the executives from Legend Records are in the conference room.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, motioning for Nick to go on without him.

  “Why did he call you ‘Will?’” I asked. “And what are you doing here? How did you find out where I worked? You have a meeting in our conference room?”

  Huck, or Will, or whatever the hell his name was, smirked. “He called me ‘Will’ because it’s my name. I’m here because I work here. I had no idea you worked here, too. You never told me, remember?”

  “You work here? What the hell do you do here? And what do you mean your name is Will?”

  “William Huxley Stone, Jr.,” he said, holding his hands out to the side as if to say “Ta-Da!” “I’m the new advertising art director for the west coast office. I just moved here from the east coast office.”

  My stomach dropped. “You’re fucking kidding me.” Anger and betrayal and a million other emotions I couldn’t identify crashed into me. “You’re Shitstick? Is this some kind of fucking joke to search out and destroy your nemesis?”

  “I’m ‘Shitstick?’” he said. “What are you talking about, Cat?”

  I held out my hand. “Cate Maverick. New lead graphic designer for the Hoffman account.” I waited for him to shake my hand, but what I really wanted to do was punch him in his lying face.

  Huck. I thought I was having fun with Huck. But no. I’d had mind blowing sex with the asshole who had made my professional life a living hell more times than I could count. Not only that, but he was rumored to be the playboy of the east coast office. Just great. I was now another notch on his bedpost. I wondered if he’d planned this out the entire time. Maybe it wasn’t so random that he’d found me on the beach in the first place. Maybe he’d known exactly where to find me. Maybe this whole thing had been his plan all along: to get back at me for being a difficult coworker.

  I was sick to my stomach. And pissed. I couldn’t believe I slept with William Stone, Jr.

  Oh God. I fucked Shitstick.

  “Cate Maverick?” he repeated, recognition brightening his features. He laughed like it was a huge joke. “I can’t believe it. You’re Cate Maverick, the Wicked Bitch of the West Coast.”

  Wicked Bitch of the West Coast? I may have taken a swing at his face. Yup. Totally punched him in his perfect, smirking, mouth.

  — HUCK —

  12. SILENT TREATMENT

  Apparently, I’d found the limit to Cat’s sense of humor. It ended at calling her the Wicked Bitch of the West Coast. I probably should have thought that one over before I said it, but I’d become accustomed to the fact that she wasn’t easily offended. Big mistake.

  I had to postpone the client meeting for another day since I looked like I’d just gotten my ass kicked, which I guess I had. I asked Nick to make up some convincing excuse because I couldn’t very well show up and tell the executives from Legend Records that I had a fat lip and bloody nose because one of my coworkers had punched me in the face. I also couldn’t very well admit that I didn’t have that person fired.

  I couldn’t fire her. I needed her to work on the Legend Records account. She was the best designer we had and her edgy style would be perfect for the account—not to mention that the turnaround time for most of the projects was going to be damn near impossible and I needed someone who was efficient, reliable, and who could deliver on time.

  That person was Cate Maverick.

  Another reason I had to postpone the Legend Records meeting? I had no idea how I was going to handle the situation with Cat or Cate or whoever the hell she’d be when I finally got a chance to talk to her. I was pretty sure we’d broken some sort of fraternization policy and I was already walking on shaky ground for something similar back home, thanks to Bridget.

  I had a lot to figure out. I also had to rectify the disaster that was currently my face. The one thing I could say about the whole encounter this morning, Cate Maverick had a
good right hook.

  My office had a small bathroom attached to it, for which I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was for half the office to see the aftermath of my first face-to-face with Cate Maverick. We both had less than stellar reputations as difficult personalities and our stormy work relationship was legendary, despite the fact that it was only over email and conference calls. I guess it should have been no surprise that our first meeting in person as Cate and Will ended so explosively.

  My lip was busted and my nose took forever to stop bleeding. Luckily, I had a change of clothes stashed in the bathroom. I’d dropped off some things after hours on Thursday night and the extra set of clothes was one of those things. It was amazing I hadn’t run into Cat on that trip. It probably could have saved a lot of pain this morning. Although, admittedly, it would probably have prevented the incredible weekend we had together, too.

  I stripped off the blood splattered shirt and replaced it with a clean one. I stared at my reflection in the mirror as I knotted my tie. Cat and I had never gotten along at work as Cate and Will, but this weekend proved, that against all odds, we were compatible as Cat and Huck. That had to mean something. I had my work cut out for me in making her realize that, however, because she seemed to think I’d known who she was all along. And did I really call her the Wicked Bitch of the West Coast to her face? Jesus. I had some damage control to do.

  I finished straightening my clean outfit and leaned out the door of my office.

  “Corrine,” I said to my secretary. “Can you please tell me how to get to Cate Maverick’s office?”

  Corrine glanced apologetically at my cut lip before answering. Damn. News traveled fast.

  “Down the hall, third door on the left. She always has the door closed when she doesn’t want to be bothered,” Corrine warned.

  I found the door, which was closed as Corrine had cautioned. I knocked and heard a terse “Come in” in response. Pushing the door open, I saw Cat standing at her desk, filling a box with belongings.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Leaving.”

  “Where are you going?”

  She refused to look at me. “Sorry you don’t get the satisfaction of firing me. I already went to talk to HR and resigned.”

  “I wasn’t planning on firing you and you’re not resigning,” I declared.

  She finally turned to look at me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Stone. I assaulted you. I know the rules.”

  “Don’t call me Mr. Stone,” I said tightly. “I want you to call me Huck.”

  “That would be inappropriate,” she said. “And it’s also not your name.” She turned and continued to shove things in the box.

  “Cat—”

  “It’s Ms. Maverick,” she corrected me. A picture frame went into the box along with a handful of pens and some gaudy item that clearly came from one of the vendors on the Venice Beach boardwalk.

  I walked over to the box and started taking things out.

  “Cat,” I said, refusing to play by some insane rule she was creating on the spot. “I’m not reporting you for hitting me. It was an accident.”

  She looked genuinely offended. “No it wasn’t. I hit you exactly where, and how, I wanted to.” Her hands were on her hips, her shoulders were squared, and she looked ready to fight again, either with words or her fists. It probably didn’t matter to her which as long as she got the satisfaction of a fight with me.

  “Yes, you’re obviously a badass. But I’m still not firing you. For one thing, you’re the best designer in this office and I need your help with the Hoffman account as well as our new Legend Records account. For another, my father thinks you shit solid gold. He’d let me go before he’d agree to firing you.”

  I saw the realization in her eyes that I was not only her superior at work, but also the son of the owner of William Stone Media, the company we both worked for. She shook her head and resumed filling her box.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

  “Cat, it’s not a big deal. We’ll figure this out. I’ll talk to HR and see what the rules are about fraternization. We can make this work.”

  She stopped stuffing things in the box to glare at me. “I don’t want to make this work,” she snapped. “I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with her boss to climb ladders. Especially not with a boss who has a reputation for being a total man-whore. And especially—especially not with a boss who is a total jackass.”

  “A jackass? Cat, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but that was before we knew each other. Things will be different.”

  “No, they won’t. I’ll admit that I liked Huck, the guy I knew for three days. But I absolutely loathe Will Stone, the guy I’ve worked with for three years. I don’t know if this was some elaborate plan to get revenge on me for being the ‘Wicked Bitch of the West Coast,’ as you so eloquently put it, but I do know that I’m not going to stick around to find out.”

  She grabbed her box, which was still only half full, and stalked toward the door. She wasn’t done packing, but she was done talking to me. She really was going to just walk right out the door and away from her job. I panicked, knowing it was because of me.

  “Please,” I begged, moving in front of her to block her exit. “Don’t go. I need you on the Hoffman account. And Legend Records will look incredible on your resume. Just stay until these two projects are successfully underway. You owe me that much.”

  She vibrated with anger and I knew that I’d said something wrong. Again.

  “I owe you nothing.” Her voice was cold. Definitely not the warm, carefree Cat I had gotten to know over the weekend.

  “Come on, you like your job. You’ll love working on the Legend Records account. They just signed Clap for the Right Reasons to their label. They’re an Indie Rock band out of—”

  “I know who they are,” she interrupted.

  Of course she knew who they were. I saw a postcard in her room advertising one of their local shows, which was why I mentioned it to her. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.

  “Please, just stay.” I grabbed the box and she let me take it from her. I backed up toward the desk with it.

  She was quiet.

  “Lead designer for Legend Records,” I reminded her, pulling her chair out for her to sit in.

  Cat glared at me, an internal battle clearly waging in her mind. “Fine. I’ll stay,” she said grudgingly. “But just until I get some resume-worthy work from Legend Records and then I’m out of here.”

  “I’ll take what I can get,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “I still hate you.”

  ***

  Cat kicked me out of her office right after that. I thought about emailing or texting her to see if she’d have lunch with me so I could do something to fix the massive clusterfuck I’d gotten myself into. But if I’d learned anything about her from the last three years of doing projects together, it was that you didn’t try to corner her or order her around. That was the best way to guarantee that she’d do the exact opposite of what you wanted. I would just have to be patient and let her cool down. At some point she’d have to get over the shock that I was Will Stone, that I was someone who supervised her work and had an amount of control over it. I wasn’t her boss exactly, but in her eyes, that’s probably how she saw me. And I knew that fact, even more than her hatred of my past behavior as an art director, was probably what bothered her most. She liked being in control.

  But then again, so did I.

  Later that afternoon, I made a visit to Human Resources. A middle-aged woman with a bob of blonde hair came up to the counter to see what I wanted.

  “I’m Will Stone,” I said, holding my hand out to her. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”

  The woman’s smile was nervous but she took my hand and shook it. “I’m Nancy Waters. We can talk in my office, Mr. Stone.”

  She gestured to a door to the right and I walked around the
counter to follow her. The room was small and unassuming, but tidy. I sat in the old, worn chair as she settled herself behind the desk.

  “What can I help you with today?” she asked.

  “I’m sure you know who I am and maybe you’ve heard some of the unfortunate rumors surrounding my departure from the east coast office.”

  Nancy inclined her head in admittance.

  “Just to make sure I don’t find myself in a similar situation, I would like you to enlighten me on the company’s fraternization policy.”

  Nancy’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked down at some papers on her desk and began to unnecessarily rifle through them before straightening them again. “Does this have anything to do with Cate Maverick?”

  What the hell? What kind of rumors had started now? “I don’t follow.”

  “It’s just I heard there was an altercation between the two of you this morning—”

  “No altercation,” I interrupted her. I didn’t want Cat getting in any trouble. “It was a misunderstanding and an accident.”

  Nancy nodded. “Of course. But then, Ms. Maverick came to me about an hour ago also inquiring about the fraternization policy.” She looked up at me and shrugged. “It just seems odd.”

  Cat was here asking about the fraternization policy? Was she still afraid I was going to report her?

  “What a strange coincidence,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably failing miserably. “I just want to make sure that after what happened at the east coast office, I’m clear on all of the rules. Perhaps you can just give me a copy of the handbook.”

  “Of course,” Nancy said. She spun her chair around and opened a file cabinet drawer, pulling out a thin, spiral bound notebook with a blue cover and the William Stone Media logo on the front. She handed it to me and I stood to leave.