Since I Found You

by Ashelyn Drake

  Oh God. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Whitney

  I almost can’t even look at Alex right now. After all we’ve been through in a short amount of time, I thought he understood me. But for him to suggest I completely change careers, abandon my art... I put my mother’s portrait on the easel, afraid I’ll break it if I touch it right now. “Please go,” I say, crossing my arms in front of me.

  “Whitney, please let me explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain. I thought you were different. I was wrong. End of story.” I try to walk past him, but he grabs my arm. “Let go of me, Alex.” I glare at him, no longer seeing the man who came to my rescue, the man who took a punch for me, the man I thought I knew.

  He lets go, but he blocks the doorway. “I’m not saying you should stop painting. Not at all. I’m saying you should write to supplement your income until you get back on your feet. I told you I’d help you, and I meant it. This is the way I know how to help. But you shouldn’t stop painting. Not now. Not ever. It’s part of who you are, and I wouldn’t...” He stops and reaches for my hand, which I allow him to take. “I wouldn’t change anything about you. Your art spoke to me before I even laid eyes on you. You can’t deprive the world of that.”

  There’s no doubt in my mind that he means every word of what he just said. Alex is the most genuine person I’ve ever met. It’s why I’ve trusted him so much already. “Do you think I should do this interview?” I ask.

  His brow furrows. “I feel like this is a test, and I really don’t want to fail it, but I’m not sure what to say.”

  Of course, he wants me to do it. It would help him. It might even convince his boss to hire me for a few more stories, which isn’t the worst idea. I’ve always liked to write. I took writing courses in college for fun. And the money would help until I figure out what to do next. So maybe it would help me, too.

  “Look, you said you feel you failed, but it’s not Tuesday yet. Let’s slant this article.” He shrugs one shoulder. “To be honest, I don’t like the idea of this being a manhunt anyway. I get that everyone hates Oliver and Marjorie Strauss, but I’m not comfortable knowing I might be the one to put an entire paper out of a job. We’re talking about more than just two people who don’t deserve to be in charge.”

  He’s right. A lot of people would lose their jobs, just like I’m going to. “So what are you proposing?”

  “Another piece on the murals. Let’s show everyone how much exposure your work has gotten. How art increased the venue coming into three businesses. How it might have saved Bonnie’s Boutique all together.”

  “Whoa.” I hold my hands up to stop him. “Alex, I think you’re going a little too far there.”

  “I don’t. And I don’t think Mrs. Hershel will either.”

  I shake my head, not convinced. “What about Oliver? You’re supposed to be reporting about him, not my work.”

  “It’s all connected. The reporter who resorted to extremely unprofessional conduct to chase a story. I’ll get it all in there and show the true impact your art has had on this town in merely one week.”

  It probably won’t save my job, but maybe it will save the art program. I nod. “Okay,” I say. “On one condition.”

  “Anything.” The way he says it makes my stomach flutter because I can’t help thinking he really would do anything I asked him to.

  “Let’s do this at the office instead of here.”

  He steps toward me, wrapping one arm around my waist. “Afraid we won’t get any work done if we’re alone together?”

  I laugh and swat his arm. “No. I want to check out this paper I might be working for in the near future.”

  He couldn’t look more surprised, but he doesn’t comment.

  “Let me go change.”

  We walk out of my art room, and he sits on the couch while I run upstairs. I feel like I’m on my way to a job interview, which makes deciding on an outfit much more difficult. I settle for black dress pants and a pretty turquoise silk top. I don’t have a portfolio or anything to bring with me, but I’m hoping the fact that they’ve already paid me for one story will be enough. I run a brush through my hair and opt to leave it down. Five minutes later, I’m back downstairs. “Ready.”

  Alex looks me up and down. “How do you manage to look so good in a matter of minutes?”

  “Are you saying I didn’t look good before?” I tease.

  “Not at all.” He stands up and opens the front door for me. “I actually like the yoga pants.”

  He probably also noticed I hadn’t been wearing a bra earlier, but he doesn’t mention it.

  He drives us to For the Record, which is located in a building about half the size of the one Priority News is in. I’m nervous as we take the elevator to the fourth floor.

  “Relax. The staff is great, and since it’s Sunday, barely anyone is in the office today.” He puts a reassuring hand on the small of my back as the elevator doors open.

  I step out, immediately noticing that the desks are all in a circle. Only about a third of them are occupied. There are also no cubicles, so everyone is visible to everyone else. “This is different than I expected,” I say.

  “We’re a tight group,” he whispers as he leads me over to the desks. “David,” he says, stopping next to him.

  “Nice to see you again, Whitney,” David says, standing and offering his hand.

  I shake his hand but remain silent, wondering if David will be my future boss.

  “David, Whitney has agreed to let me interview her for the article,” Alex says.

  I can’t help noticing Alex doesn’t privy David to the slant he’s planning to put on the story. I get the feeling he’s hoping to wow him after the fact rather than try to pitch him now.

  “That’s great. The conference room is available. Almost everyone has gone for the day or is finishing up.” David’s gaze falls on my hands, which are laced in front of me so tightly it looks like I’m trying to strangle some invisible being. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure this hasn’t been easy on you, but you should know Alex has had your back since the beginning.”

  “I do know that,” I say.

  David lowers his arm. “Good. Then I’m out of here. Alex, you can email me your story once it’s ready.”

  Alex nods and then motions for the conference room. Just before we reach it, the office door to the right opens. A man in his late fifties walks out. “Alex,” he says. “I figured you’d be writing your story from home.” His gaze falls to me. “Or from someone’s home at least.”

  I’m pretty sure he meant that last part to be a joke. Before Alex can introduce me, I stick my hand out, knowing who this man is without any introduction. “Hi, I’m Whitney Stillwater. I want to thank you for running my story in the paper.”

  “You wrote a great piece. I would have been stupid not to run it.”

  “Well, if you’re in need of future stories, let me know. I’m looking to expand my resume soon.” It’s a bold thing to say, but I don’t have the luxury of playing it safe right now.

  Mr. Monohan extends his hand to me again. “Terrance Monohan. If you can get used to calling me Terry—something the rest of these characters can’t seem to pull off—then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  I smile as I shake his hand. “I’ve always liked the name Terry.”

  He laughs. “Go let Alex interview you. And you come back when you’re ready to start.” The way he says it indicates he’s fully aware of my situation.

  “Thank you, Terry,” I say, emphasizing his name.

  He winks at me and then pats Alex on the arm before returning to his office.

  I step into the conference room and take a seat at the table. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “Keep up with that ‘let’s get to work’ attitude and you’re going to make the rest of us look bad.” He sits right beside me, his arm pressed against mine.

  “I wouldn’t want to
do that,” I tease.

  He gets right down to the interview questions, and my head lowers. “Alex, hang on.” I press the button on his phone to stop the recording.

  “You okay?” he asks, placing his hand on my arm.

  “I want to thank you. Everything seems so out of control right now, but at the same time I feel like I’m going to pull through it.” Because of him.

  “I’ll be right there with you every step of the way.” He smiles.

  I take a deep breath and then pull his face to mine. My lips crush against his, and I kiss him like my life depends on it.

  The conference room door opens behind us, and someone gasps. “Sorry,” I hear before the door closes again.

  “Oh God,” I say, pulling away from Alex. “Who was that?”

  “Aria, one of your new bosses,” Alex says, only he doesn’t look petrified like I feel. “Relax. She’s with Nate, the advertising editor. A lot of the people here are together or have hooked up with other people on staff. In fact, Mr. Monohan would tell you we’re all...” He stops talking, and I’m sure the look of horror on my face is the reason. “It’s really not that bad,” he assures me.

  Another knock comes on the door. “Alex?”

  “That’s Aria again.” Alex gets up and opens the door. “Sorry about that,” he tells her.

  She shakes her head and walks into the room. She’s holding an iPad, and she places it on the table in front of me. “You should see this.”

  I read the headline, and my stomach sinks. “For the Record Reporter Covers Up Art Scandal.” Oliver Straus struck first.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alex

  Oliver Strauss’s attack on me probably didn’t have the reaction he expected. All it did was fuel me to write the article that brings Priority News to its feet. Whitney was a mess over it, but I calmed her down long enough to interview her. I drove her home after that and called the three business owners, apologizing for the fact that it was Sunday evening. Luckily, all three were working anyway.

  After submitting my story to David at 9:42 p.m., I finally leave the office. I call Whitney to check on her, figuring she probably isn’t asleep because she’s too upset and nervous to close her eyes.

  She answers on the second ring. “Hey. Are you finished writing it?”

  “Yeah, I just left the office. I’m heading home now.”

  “Would you mind...?” She sighs. “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

  I turn around and head to her place. “I’m on my way. I didn’t bring any pajamas, though,” I tease.

  “I think you can do without them.” She’s quiet for a second, and then she laughs. “That sounded like such a line, didn’t it?”

  I was hoping that was how she meant it. “Do you want me to pick up some food on the way?” I offer.

  “No. I’ll order in if you’re hungry. What are you in the mood for?”

  I’m sure she hasn’t eaten either. “How about a calzone?” It will be big enough for us to share.

  “I’ll order now so it will be ready sooner.” Before I can thank her she adds, “And Alex, thanks for coming over. I hate that I’m relying on you so much right now. I tried to call Elana, but she’s on a date and I didn’t want to ruin it for her. She hasn’t gone out with the same guy three nights in a row in ages.”

  “No need to explain. I told you we’re in this together.” We hang up, and I drive the rest of the way in silence. No radio. Just silence. It’s peaceful, something my life hasn’t been much lately. If all goes well, my article will cause quite a stir and I won’t have to worry about Oliver Strauss writing any more slanted pieces on me. All his article really did was prove what I was reporting anyway. He’s resulting to lies and behavior unfit of a news reporter. He’s digging his own grave. All I’m doing is filling in the dirt back on top of him.

  The porch light is on when I arrive at Whitney’s. I knock softly, not wanting to wake her neighbors. I imagine sharing a house makes it very easy to hear each other at night. She opens the door and ushers me inside with a smile.

  “The food should be here in about twenty minutes,” she says.

  I can’t keep my mind from wandering to all the things we could do in twenty minutes. Despite the cold October evenings we’ve been having, Whitney is dressed in shorts and another off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. She must notice me staring because she looks down at her outfit. “I know fuzzy slippers are meant for kids, but they’re too comfortable not to wear,” she says.

  I laugh, having not even noticed them before. My gaze doesn’t linger on the neon green slippers, though. It’s already trailing back up her legs. Whitney isn’t that tall. I’d guess around five foot four, but her legs look long in the tiny shorts. For a moment I question if she dressed this way on purpose since she knew I was coming over. Is she trying to seduce me? Was I right when I thought her earlier comment about me not having pajamas with me was intentionally suggestive?

  I take a chance and step toward her. She meets me halfway, looping her arms around my waist. “Were you really having trouble sleeping?” I ask her.

  She nods, her eyes locked on mine. “But not for the reason you’re thinking.” She reaches up on her toes so our faces are mere inches apart. “My world is most likely going to come crashing down tomorrow morning. I already received an email asking me to report to the office first thing upon arrival.”

  I wrap my arms around her, ready to console her, because an email worded that way can only mean the administration is letting her go. But Whitney pulls back and takes my hands in hers. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want tonight to be...” She exhales. “Just us. Nothing else. I want to pretend everything else is fine. That—”

  I press my lips to hers, and she immediately stops trying to explain. She wants one night without the stress of the world on her shoulders. I get that, and more important, I can give her that. I reach down, grabbing her legs, and pull her up so she’s wrapped around my waist. She drapes her arms over my shoulders and continues to kiss me. I walk us over to the couch and sit down. Whitney folds her legs so she’s straddling me. She breaks the kiss long enough to pull her sweatshirt over her head and fling it onto the floor. Once again, she’s not wearing a bra. I nearly come undone as she dips her head and kisses my neck. I take her breasts in my hands and start massaging them, which makes her push her weight down on my lap.

  I attempt to move us to a reclined position, but she stops me. She wants to be in control, and I get that. I nod, and she kisses me hard, her hands groping my chest through my shirt. She breaks away, and this time it’s my shirt she removes before kissing my bare chest. She starts rocking slightly on my lap as her mouth trails up to meet mine. I can’t take not touching her, so I tilt my head and kiss her neck. She arches her back, and I use the maneuver to lower my head and claim a nipple with my mouth. She cries out, and I don’t think she cares about control anymore. She’s willing to let me be an equal participant, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.

  When I step off the elevator Monday morning, I’m surprised to find the newsroom floor empty. I was sure everyone would be here to witness me wearing the exact same clothes I left in yesterday. I had fully intended to drive home and change this morning, but Whitney needed me. She fell asleep in my arms, her body draped on top of mine. And when she woke up, she was looking for round two. I wasn’t about to deny either one of us of that pleasure.

  I toss my bag on my desk and find a note in David’s handwriting. I always thought it was funny that we leave each other notes on our desks like we’re in high school. All it says is “Conference room.”

  I walk toward the conference room. The door is shut, which is odd since there’s no one around. No voices trail under the door either. How can a meeting possibly be going on when it’s that quiet? Unless things are so bad everyone is speechless. I never checked Priority News on my phone this morning. Did Oliver print another story? One that’s damaging to me or, worse, For the Record?

  I
knock on the door, not wanting to barge right in.

  “Come in, Alex,” Mr. Monohan barks, making me jump. At least no one was in the office to see me do that.

  I take a deep breath to steady my nerves before opening the door.

  “Surprise!”

  Confetti is thrown in my face, and Emily blows a noisemaker. The entire staff is crammed into the conference room, smiling at me like it’s my birthday. But it’s not. Not even close.

  “I’m confused,” I say, looking to Cheryl, who is suddenly standing beside me.

  “You did it, Alex,” she says, patting me on the back.

  “Okay, okay,” Mr. Monohan says from the head of the table. “Let’s give the man some breathing room. The rest of you go back to eating your donuts.” He shoos everyone away from me and motions to the empty seat, which I’m assuming is meant for me.

  I sit down and look around at everyone. They’re all insanely happy. “What’s going on?” I finally ask.

  Mr. Monohan leans over the table, placing both palms face down on the wood surface. “David posted your article late last night.”

  My eyes go to David, who nods. “It was brilliant,” he says.

  “First thing this morning, there were people protesting outside of Priority News,” Mr. Monohan continues. “They had signs and everything claiming Oliver Strauss is an art hater and a womanizer.”

  “What? I never said—”

  Mr. Monohan holds up his hand. “You didn’t, but people will think what they want. As it turns out, a few other women went down to the police station and filed complaints against Oliver, saying he stalked them and forced entry into their homes in the name of journalism.”

  I can’t believe it. Oliver is more unhinged than I realized.

  “He’s going to be slapped with some restraining orders,” David says. “I wrote that story myself.” He smiles. “Gave me great pleasure to do it, too.”

  “You haven’t even heard the best part,” Aria says. “The entire staff of Priority News staged a mass walkout this morning. No one wanted to be associated with Oliver or his mother.”