Unwritten (The Unspoken Series Book 1)

by M. C. Decker

  “Brooke! Don’t walk away! Let me, at least, get you a cab. It’s not safe to walk alone at night. I would die if anything happened to you. … I would die.” He was pleading with me. I could hear the torment in his voice.

  I was livid right now, but I didn’t want to worry him, either. And, truth be told, he was right. It wasn’t safe to walk by myself at this hour. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head right now. … “Always keep your wits about you,” she would say.

  “Fine, hail me a cab then,” I snapped. “But, I don’t want to hear another word from you until Monday and even then, it better be for professional reasons only.”

  I felt a twinge of sadness as I left Rich on the sidewalk in front of the bar. But, what he did was not appropriate; I was not his and he had to get that through his thick skull.

  Minutes later, the cab dropped me off at the front of the building. Without greeting the night security guard, I ran through the lobby and up the stairs to my apartment. I quickly unlocked my door and ran straight to my bedroom where I crawled into bed and buried my sobs in the pillow. I felt so alone for the first time in my life. Usually, I would run to Cass and consume a big bowl of “Chunky Monkey” on her couch, but she was over five hundred miles away. The last thing I could remember was crying out loud to my mom before sleep consumed me.

  I woke up the following morning, with raccoon eyes and tear stains smearing my cheeks. My hair was disheveled, never completely drying from the previous night, and I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my clothes before going to bed. I was pretty certain my breath probably smelled like Pepé Le Pew on his death bed. Yep, I was the picture-perfect definition of a “hot mess.” I’m pretty sure if Merriam-Webster added the phrase as one of its entries, my picture would be right next to it.

  I took a quick shower and threw on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt before grabbing my cell to call Cassidy. I was in desperate need of best-friend therapy at that moment. I plopped down on my chocolate-colored, microsuede couch and entered my phone’s security code. I noticed that I had four missed texts. I clicked on the message icon and saw Rich’s name with the number four in the corner.

  Two messages were from last night:

  Rich: I hope you made it home OK. I really am sorry about what happened tonight, Brooke. I really did enjoy spending time with you like that, before things got out of hand. I really hope you can forgive me and we can go back to being just friends. I promise I will try harder and not overstep my boundaries next time. Please text me to at least let me know that you arrived home safely.

  Rich: Brooke, it’s getting late and I’m starting to worry. Please text me.

  Before I had a chance to read the other messages from earlier in the morning, I heard a loud knock at my front door. I got up from the couch to see who it was. Thinking it was the doorman with a package or something, I opened it without even looking through the peephole.

  “Brooke, thank God. I didn’t hear from you last night and then not at all this morning. I was really worried.”

  “Rich, what the hell? I’m fine! I got home and went right to sleep. I woke up not that long ago and took a shower. I was just about to make a phone call and then take a walk to the farmers’ market downtown to pick up some fresh produce before I’m stuck eating frozen pizza for the rest of my life – not that it’s any of your business anyways,” I fumed. “And, most importantly, how did you get past the doorman downstairs? I thought this place was supposed to be secure from UNWANTED guests!”

  I was being overdramatic, but Rich was really getting on my nerves. I was not his to worry about, or his to protect; I moved to Washington D.C. to become an independent woman, not to get rescued by my knight in shining armor.

  “Besides, I told you that I would see you tomorrow at work and I meant it. I don’t think we should spend time together outside of work, for awhile anyways.”

  “I’m sorry, Brooke. Your doorman let me in because he and I know each other,” he shrugged apologetically. “We ran a story about the contractor and owner of this complex, his boss, before it was built. I guess you could say he was doing me a favor. I can behave, though, I promise. Let me walk you to the market and then maybe we can stop for a quick bite to eat. Too bad I learned last night that you don’t like pickles, because I’d offer you mine – again. What are your feelings toward sausage?” he said with a wide grin.

  I couldn’t help but blush at his suggestive nature.

  “I don’t want your pickle – or your sausage, Rich. And, remind me to have a chat with security about allowing guests access to my door without my prior consent,” I huffed.

  “Your rosy cheeks would suggest otherwise, Miss Anderson.”

  “See Rich, you’re just proving my point that we can’t do this. I don’t even think that we can be friends, for now at least. I’ll just see you at work tomorrow,” I said, as I lightly closed the door in his face.

  My heart broke for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Stopping in the kitchen first to pour myself a glass of wine, I headed straight back to my couch and dialed Cass. She answered on the second ring to the sound of my heavy sobs.

  Cassidy provided me with the best-friend therapy that I needed so desperately. We talked and laughed for the next two hours. I told her about the events of the previous night and she referred to Rich with her standard “Douche Monkey Davis” on more than one occasion.

  She also told me about the latest “Kaitlynisms” before we ended our conversation. I swear she could write a book using just the lines that her kid came up with. Just last week, they were at the grocery store checkout when the clerk asked Kaitlyn what her mommy was going to make for dinner to which she replied “vagina” instead of lasagna.

  I spit out the wine I’d been drinking when Cass threw that little gem into our conversation. Really, I must have laughed hysterically for, at least, five minutes. Kids really do say the darndest things.

  I just had an hour to spare to make it to the farmers’ market before it closed for the evening. Opening the door, I found a dozen red roses sitting at my doorstep. I picked them up, knowing exactly who they were from, but, nevertheless, opened the attached card which read:

  My alarm woke me up shortly before sunrise. I hadn’t slept well the night before. It was one of those restless nights where I’m not really sure if I slept at all, but figured I must have dozed off at least for a few minutes at a time. I wasn’t sure what I was most nervous about – starting my dream job, or working for the man of my dreams.

  I crawled out of bed and walked to the kitchen to pop a K-Cup into my Keurig. While waiting for my coffee to brew, I quickly dialed the closest taxi company and requested a cab out front in about forty minutes. I drank my coffee then headed to the bathroom to start getting ready for the first day at my new job with my new boss.

  I stepped into the scalding-hot shower in hopes of waking myself up after my fitful sleep. After about twenty minutes of letting the water run down my back, I figured it was about time to step out in order to avoid an obscene water bill.

  I wrapped the towel around my body and began to blow dry and straighten my naturally wavy hair. I dusted on some light powder and neutral eye shadow before glossing my lips with a sheer glaze.

  I slipped into my black lace bra and matching panty set before dressing myself in the pair of slightly flared-leg, charcoal pants and lightweight purple, fitted sweater that I had set out the night before. I decided to pair the casual look with a simple gold chain and small, diamond-studded earrings that my mom gave me for my high school graduation. It would be a simple reminder of her, being with me, if I needed her today. My phone rang just as I was slipping on a pair of black heels, which nicely completed my look.

  “Hello, this is Brooke.”

  “Miss Anderson, the taxi you called for just arrived,” said Roger, my doorman, through the line.

  “Thank you, Roger. I’ll be right down.”

  I grabbed my briefcase before heading out the door. It held my
brand new tablet that my dad insisted on buying for me as a congratulatory gift. I was perfectly happy with taking my old laptop, but he insisted that it was the tablet that all the up-and-coming journalists on television were using. Who was I to argue with my father? After all, I was now the proud, new owner of a shiny, new Apple iPad.

  I made my way downstairs and greeted Roger with a friendly hello before hopping into the cab that was waiting near the sidewalk. I rode in complete silence for the twenty-minute ride through town. I must have been in a complete daze as I hadn’t even noticed we’d pulled up to the Post.

  “Your destination, ma’am. That’ll be eleven dollars and sixteen cents,” the cab driver said.

  I pulled my wallet out of my briefcase and grabbed my credit card to swipe through the driver’s scanner. I exited the cab and stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at my future.

  “This is it, Brooke. You’re finally here. It’s not just a dream anymore,” I whispered to myself.

  Just as I was about to take the steps up to the front door, I felt a familiar, warm breath against my neck.

  “Prompt – just how I like it, Miss Anderson. Did you receive the flowers I sent over yesterday?” Rich asked.

  “Yes, I did.” I wanted to be short with him. I didn’t want him to feel what he was doing to me. Truth be told, my heart was racing and my palms were sweating. Just this man’s breath was getting me all worked up. What the fuck am I going to do?

  “May I carry your bag for you?” Rich offered.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Davis. I think I can handle it.”

  “What did I tell you about that ‘Mr. Davis’ shit, Brooke?”

  “Yes, Mr. … I mean, yes, Rich.”

  He put his hand on the small of my back and escorted me up the stairs, through the doors, and to the elevator.

  “I figure if I accompany you on the elevator then you won’t be able to crash into me once we exit, even though I like it when you crash into me. I do want you to know that I know your rules. I may not like them, but I will respect them … If I must.”

  “You must.”

  Rich walked me to my office which, coincidently, shared a wall with his. It was relatively small, but I was actually surprised I had an office at all. Most of the other reporters simply had a small cubicle set up in the large newsroom.

  “This is nice. Thanks, Rich.”

  “I asked Caroline if she would move out into the lobby area. I thought it would be more beneficial if she could greet guests as they come up to the newsroom for interviews. You can have her office; it will give you a bit more privacy than one of the cubicles. I’ll give you some time to get settled. Please meet me in my office in fifteen. I’d like to go over some story assignments with you before we have our daily staff meeting at ten.”

  “OK, I’ll see you in fifteen, Boss.”

  “Don’t toy with me, Brooke, or I’ll be forced to break YOUR rules on the very first day.”

  I watched Rich leave my office as I pulled out the few picture frames that I had packed in my briefcase. The photos were of my parents and me at my college graduation and of Cass, Kaitlyn and me at Lake Michigan last summer. I added a framed, crayon drawing that Kaitlyn had given me before I left earlier in the month. She insisted it was a picture of her cat, Simon, but I wasn’t so sure.

  There was a light knock on my door, as I was unpacking the rest of my belongings: a few notebooks, pens, tape recorder and batteries.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “Miss Anderson, I have a delivery for you.”

  I turned around to see Caroline holding the most beautiful bouquet of Gerbera daisies. I smiled immediately knowing who sent them.

  “Thank you, Caroline. Please set them on my desk.”

  I was opening the card as Caroline turned to leave.

  “Oh, and Miss Anderson, welcome. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Caroline added with a warm smile.

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  I glanced quickly at my phone, to check the time, realizing I had just enough time to take a peek at the card before I needed to be in Rich’s office.

  I shot Cass a quick text.

  Thanks for the flowers. They are beautiful! And, I’m not cutting Rich any slack. He’s my boss and that’s that. Now please drop it! I will call you tonight and let you know how it goes, bbopof! Love you both! Xxoo

  Cass: Glad you got them! And, STOP being so damn stubborn, will ya? Talk to you later. I’d hate you to get caught texting on your first day of school, errr work! Xxoo

  I had just a minute to spare as I lightly knocked on Rich’s office door. I heard him on the phone, so I quietly let myself in and took a seat on his couch. He was standing with his back to me, looking out toward his view of the D.C. skyline. He was always sexy as sin, but watching him in his element – our element – was spectacular. His suit coat was unbuttoned and hiked up around his waist. I could see the definition of his ass through his loose, black slacks which hung low on his hips. Pure, unadulterated sex on a stick. Just as I was coming back to reality, I heard Rich end his call.

  “Sorry about that, Brooke. It was a call from the advisor of the Department of Homeland Security and it couldn’t wait. I’m working on a series of enterprise pieces and when one of my sources returns a call, I have to make myself available right at that moment,” he said, as he turned to face me.

  “Trust me, Rich. I understand. I‘ve been in this business awhile myself, you know.”

  “Right, of course, I didn’t mean to offend you, Brooke,” Rich said, as he took a seat next to me on the couch. He wasn’t touching me, but I could feel the heat radiating from him, almost as if we would fuse together at any given moment.

  Rich spoke first, breaking the tension that was growing between us. “Brooke, I have your first assignment. As I’m sure you know, Thanksgiving is next week and I was hoping you could write up something about Black Friday and all the hoopla that surrounds it. You’re a girl; I’m sure you’ve stood outside in line for some crazy deal, right?”

  I couldn’t believe that Rich was talking about Black Friday. Had I entered into some sort of parallel universe? I quit my job covering real, albeit small issues, to come to the Washington Post to cover shopping? I had avoided covering fashion bullshit my entire career and now, I’m here at my dream job covering exactly what I’d spent the last five-plus years of my career avoiding.

  “I’m sorry, Rich. I must be misunderstanding you. You want me to write an article about Black Friday deals? What’s next, the fucking White House Christmas tree?”

  “What? It’s a legitimate story, sweetheart. Call a few senators, or their wives. Better yet, give the first lady a shout. Maybe she’s taking her daughters to Target at four in the morning,” he responded, rather flippantly.

  “First of all, DO NOT call me ‘sweetheart’ at work. When we are in this building I am Brooke, or Miss Anderson, unless, of course, you want me to file a sexual harassment suit against you. Actually, on second thought, just drop the sweetheart altogether. OK, pookie?” I responded snidely. “Secondly, you are punishing me, aren’t you? Because I won’t fuck you anymore, you are going to give me the worst possible assignments? I am better than this, Rich, and you damn well know it. You wouldn’t have hired me, if you didn’t know it.”

  “I’m not punishing you, Miss Anderson, and I don’t appreciate your accusations. This story needs to be covered and right now you are my most available reporter. And, actually, if you’d like, you can also take a crack at that White House Christmas tree story you suggested,” he said with a sly smirk on his lips. “Oh, and, Miss Anderson, one more thing … you will fuck me again. Whether you want to admit it or not, you can’t deny this chemistry that’s floating in the air between us right now.”

  I just stared at him with my mouth agape.

  “I have no words, Rich. … No words,” I mumbled. “But,” I said with a bit more voice, “I will take your Black Friday story and I wi
ll make the most of it. It will be the best damn Black Friday story this newspaper has ever seen. I might just use your idea and give the first lady a call. If that’s all, I’ll be leaving. I have an assignment to cover.”

  Without giving him an opportunity to respond, I got up and stormed out of his office. Rich had crossed the line, we both knew it. What we also knew is that I would never do anything about it. Even if I did file a sexual harassment complaint against him, which I wouldn’t do, I would just end up losing my job. I was the new kid and he was the seasoned editor whom everyone loved. Rich Davis had me where he wanted me, and he knew it.

  Over the next two weeks, I begrudgingly covered the stories that Rich assigned to me on my first day and on the mornings that followed. I didn’t have the opportunity to interview the first lady, or any senators’ wives for the Black Friday story. Turns out, they aren’t the easiest contacts to make. Secret Service makes that a little difficult and the White House press secretary was less than forthcoming when it came to the shopping strategies of the first lady and her daughters.

  So, I stuck to the basics and contacted some of the local retailers and took the “shop local” approach to the article. It might not have been my finest work, but I was satisfied with the completed story. It had a little more “meat” to it than just a shopping column and for that, I was pleased. Rich had to leave town to work on his enterprise piece on the Department of Homeland Security, but the news editor, Kyle, who was a step below Rich in the editorial department’s pecking order, seemed pleased as well.

  It was Thanksgiving morning, and I was fortunate to have the day off. Only a few reporters covered the shift on holidays and many chose to work in order to get the additional holiday pay. I only had the one day off, though, so I wasn’t able to go home for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, and I was really missing my dad and the girls.