The Journalist: A Sexy Contemporary Romance

by Tia Lewis

  I stared at him, thinking of how convincing this man could be. His sugar coated tongue could get anyone to do anything he pleased. Why had he not tried using it on his bosses so maybe his job wouldn't be at so much of a risk? Or did he only have this effect on women? Were his bosses men or women? I pushed all of these thoughts down and faced the issue at hand.

  He did have a point. My story seemed like it had potential, but how much of a potential and how far did I really have to go to be able to tell it? Would he have to follow me everywhere I went? Or worse still, would he be in the same room as my client and me? A wave of nausea hit me as the thought came up. That could definitely never happen.

  If I agreed to this eventually, I had to etch that in our agreement.

  "Your offer is quite tempting, Dylan. Except for the fact that you didn't seem to talk about money anywhere. Do I get paid or not?"

  "I have to be honest with you. I'm not sure if you'd be paid. My bosses don't even know about this story yet. The idea just came to me when I found your ID on the floor. I still need to talk to them and all of that."

  "So that means," I started to ask, "That there is a tendency they would kill your story? That all of the things we would work on would be thrown out into the bin?"

  "Well, technically, I need to get permission first before I run with the idea. Which is what I plan to do tomorrow morning. But I can assure you that it's a genius idea that no one would be able to say no to. So, what do you say?"

  "I'll think about it. Get your permission first before you come back to me."

  "Sure. I could do that. But a thought just crossed my mind. Wouldn't it be a great idea to just write the story and then submit it to them? It might have a much greater effect on them than just telling them 'oh I have this story I want to write that I haven't actually started yet.' What do you think?"

  "This journalism thing is your forte. You decide exactly what you want to do and get back to me."

  "Sure will." He said with a smile. I have to admit, his smile was quite cute. He handed my ID to me, and I quickly shoved it into my purse before he changed his mind and decided to use it as ransom. I was quite surprised he gave it back to me. I was half-expecting him to hold onto it until I was ready to agree to his proposition.

  "There is one more thing, Alexa."

  "What?"

  "Promise you'll answer my question."

  "Depends on what it is."

  "You told me something happened to make you quit hooking. Would it be appropriate if I asked you to tell me? I really want to know what could have traumatized you so badly."

  "Why?"

  "Because, weird and quite unbelievable as this might sound, I actually do want to know. It must have been quite traumatizing if it made you leave and it's still haunting you so badly, then it has to be something really serious. I really do want to know."

  "For your journalistic pleasures or just because."

  "Not just because. Because I actually do care. What happened to you?"

  "It's not something that I like to discuss with strangers."

  "Right now, I am a stranger but soon, we'd be working together, and we would be kind of friends."

  "Kind of friends?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "Fine, acquaintances maybe. But that's not my point. My point is, we would be spending a lot of time with each other, and you seem like a really nice person. And there's the fact that I really would like to know. You know what they say about a problem shared."

  I sighed. I hadn't told anyone about this in a while and even though I didn't know this man that well, I kind of agreed with him that it might help to tell someone. I have carried this on for so long, and it hurts like hell to have to carry all of this weight along with me. I needed to get it off my head and my mind if I wanted to make enough money to be able to go to college. I really needed this money and my sanity as well.

  "So?" he prodded.

  "It happened a year ago." Memories of that night flooded my head, and my heart started to beat violently in my chest. I heaved a deep breath, and instead of it easing my discomfort, it made it even worse. I could scarcely breathe as I felt a hand around my neck, squeezing it tightly. Raising my hand to my neck, I tried to pry the hands on my neck, but I felt nothing. Only then did I realize that the hands squeezing the hell out of my throat were just imaginary. It was nothing but the memories of that night.

  Closing my eyes was a terrible idea as it only made the memories even stronger. The smell of booze filled my nostrils, choking me. Sweat covered my whole body, and I started to shake slightly. I thought I could do this but I couldn't. This was too much for me.

  "Are you alright?" Dylan's voice seeped into my bad episode.

  "I…I don't feel so good."

  "Breathe, Alexa, breathe. You'll be fine. Just breathe. If you don't feel up to this, you can stop right now."

  I wanted to. I really wanted to, but I chose not to. This thing has had a hold on me for a year now, taking every single strength I had. The memories were winning, and I didn't like it one bit. I couldn't afford to let it win anymore. I was stronger than this. "I was on one of my usual rounds when it happened. A man drove up to me and said he wanted me for the night. He was willing to pay far more than any one of my clients ever paid. I was happy. Ecstatic, in fact. This money would go a long way in boosting my savings. So I went to a friend of mine and told her where I was going after agreeing with the man.

  "She seemed to think it was an absolutely terrible idea to go with him for some reason. I didn't know; I thought she was just jealous. I really needed the money to complete my tuition, so it seemed like the best idea at the time. So I shut her up, and I headed straight for his car. I should have known something funny was about to happen when he pulled up to this really fancy looking hotel. But I didn't. That wouldn't be the first time I was taken to such a magnificent place.

  "I thought it was just my luck that I had landed such a big fish. I thought that if I played my cards right, maybe I could get a lot more from him and not only would I be able to top up my savings for tuition, I would be able to have a little extra left. I was wrong."

  I closed my eyes as the memories of that night rushed at me. I shouldn't because it made them stronger, but I did all the same. I couldn't help it. Keeping my eyes open wasn't going to stop them anyway. I was lost in the moment and had no idea where I was anymore. As far as I knew, I was back in that hotel room. It all felt like it was happening right then and there.

  The nightmare came just after I slept with him. As I was getting off the bed, I heard the door open, and I glared at him, asking if he was expecting anyone. Before I could answer, another man came in and immediately started to undress. The man who picked me was casually leaving the room like it was supposed to be a normal thing. I asked him where he thought he was going and what was going on and all he said was what did I think was going on.

  That was when what these bastards had planned dawned on me. Before I could respond, yet another man came in. I immediately jumped off the bed and grabbed my dress.

  "You're all crazy if you think I'm going to sleep with you all," I said and started to pull my dress over my head. I didn't bother with my bra.

  They stared at me in amusement as I pulled on the dress and started toward the door. The one by the door grabbed me by my arm in a vice-like grip and pushed me back in the direction I was coming from.

  "Let me go!" I cried.

  "We can either do this the easy way or the hard way." The one who picked me up said.

  "Fuck you!"

  "The hard way it is," he replied, and before I could react, the other two men rushed at me.

  I was struggling and thrashing as they pushed me back roughly until I hit the bed. My fighting didn't stop them. It seemed like it was exciting them instead. The one who picked me up joined them in trying to pin me to the bed while one of them took his pants off. I continued to kick at the air until my foot connected with flesh. The man howled, and I felt a little victorious. If
I could just continue fighting. The thought had not completely formed in my mind when I heard a smack and the searing pain of bone meeting flesh coursed through me. I cried in pain as the blow to my face caused my mouth to start bleeding. I felt the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

  I tried to kick at him again, and I felt another blow to my face, this time harder. A hand grabbed me by the throat, and another started to tear at my dress. The force on my throat got even harder as I felt the chill of the air on my breast. Two pairs of hands pinned my arms to the bed on either side, and the man grabbing my throat sat astride me, stopping me from kicking at him. Like I even had the strength to. The constriction on my throat was making it increasingly harder to do anything.

  The one astride me pushed my legs apart with his knee and forced himself into me. I groaned in pain as he pounded on inside me, still squeezing my throat. The stench of alcohol and sweat invaded my nostrils as I struggled to breathe. He momentarily released my throat, but he was back at it again soon afterward. Hot tears spilled from the sides of my eyes as I felt him still within me.

  He slipped off me but not without hitting me one last time. I was too weak to fight. They probably sensed it too, because I felt their grip around my wrists slacken. I saw that as my opportunity. I pulled my hand from the grip and grabbed a bedside lamp. Without thinking, I smashed the lamp against the one still holding my hand and rolled off the bed before the others could react. I had no idea where the strength was from. The lamp still in hand, I grabbed the bed sheet and brandished the lamp as I backed out of the door. Fortunately for me, they didn't chase after me for whatever reason it was they had. The stares that followed me as I left the hotel wrapped in just a bed sheet were not what bothered me. It was the dignity that had been torn from me.

  I managed to finish telling Dylan the story without a tear escaping.

  "Oh my God! I'm so sorry." He said to me.

  "You don't have to be. I brought it on myself."

  5

  Dylan

  I sighed and pushed my coffee mug further back on my desk as I sat in my cubicle thinking about last night. My entire being is occupied by nothing but Alexa, and nothing in the office excited me. It's not like there was anything to excite me here anymore. No one respected me here. All they saw was the bum that couldn't come up with a good story. The pathetic bunch they were. It was not their fault. I didn't blame them one bit. It was my fault for not living up to the aspirations I had for myself.

  But that was beside the point.

  Alexa's story last night had touched me more than I thought it would. That I was still thinking about it right now, instead of copy editing the crappy article I had been saddled with, was enough proof of the fact. How could anyone be so utterly cruel as to take advantage of a young, fragile girl?

  So here I was at my desk, thinking of the best possible way to tell Paula, the editor-in-chief of my idea. Given the fact that I hadn't exactly been at my best of late, I didn't know if anyone would take me seriously. But then again, I could only try, right?

  I pushed my chair back, rose off of it, and started to walk toward Paula's office slowly. This place was my haven. The sounds of the tapping keys on the keyboard, the constant humming of people, the rush to get a quality job in before the next print was out; all of these things were what made me feel at home here. I couldn't think of doing anything else but writing. Unfortunately, if I got fired here, I had very little chances elsewhere. Or so I thought. I needed to make one stop first before I went to Paula.

  "Chris!" I said as I entered into my friend's cubicle.

  Chris was the only true friend I had here. I met him when I came here fresh as an intern. He was working here freelance then as a photographer. How he got into the system eventually, I don't know, but then again he is really good at what he does, so I'm not surprised. Chris ran the entertainment beat now. We started out just hanging out every other evening for drinks and then every other weekend for soccer or football. And the rest, they say was history.

  "Hey, Dylan. What's up?"

  "Could be better. What's up with you….and your mess?" I said, pointing at his disorganized desk.

  "We are awesome, thank you. Mess says hi."

  I laughed. How in the world Chris could manage to deal with all the mess he created and live in it was what I never would understand. There was hardly a day one went to his cubicle that his desk wasn't covered in one level of disarray or the other. Today, he was dealing with newspaper clippings, sticky notes, and pictures.

  "I really don't understand how you're able to deal with all of this. How do you even find anything here?"

  "There is an arrangement to my chaos. Order in my disorder. Thank you for your concern."

  "Don't you think you should get someone to clean up this mess? It's an eyesore, Chris. Trust me, it is."

  "That isn't going to happen. And don't you dare think of bringing someone in. What you see is mess but what I see is my things perfectly arranged how I want them to be. Ask me to bring out anything, and I will find it within the twinkling of an eye. Rearrange this place, and I won't find shit."

  I didn't doubt his word on this. I've dared him one too many times before and he actually was able to find whatever what I asked for. Even if it was a pin.

  "So what brings you here?" he asked.

  "I…I wanted to run something by Paula, and I thought I should probably tell you about it first. You know, get your opinion and all before I go see the boss."

  "Hmm. Here? Or should we just head out to Louie's?"

  Louie's was the bar we all hung out at when work was taking a toll on us or when there was hot juicy gossip. The bar was like a sort of rendezvous point for journalists. We hung out there and shared stories, tips, and what not. The plus side to all of this was that Louie's served amazing meals in addition to the atmosphere it provided.

  "Louie's sound like a great idea. You're paying." I said and started to head out of the cubicle.

  "Dude, I pay all the time." Chris protested.

  "I'll pay next time."

  "And you say that all the time. Your tomorrow never comes."

  "That's because I'm broke."

  "Yours is a lost cause. I'm paying for my drink only. Grab a bottle of water from the kitchen and meet me at Louie's." Chris said and walked away from me without looking back.

  I laughed and tried to catch up with him. I guess I should pay for the drinks this time seeing as I was the reason he was going there in the first place. I was able to catch up with him before the elevator door closed, and we rode down in the midst of a chattering group of people that seemed excited about something I couldn't quite place. I never paid attention to what anyone was saying in the elevator. The instant I got in, I tuned them out. I found the loudness of some people in the elevator quite annoying.

  When we got to Louie's the place was quite deserted. I wasn't surprised. It was just about 10 am and people were supposed to be busy with their work and what not. I did a quick scan to see if there was anyone I knew around. No one that would require me to waste time faking smiles and trying to make conversation, thankfully.

  Chris and I found a booth far from the few people around and slid in.

  "So what's up? I suggested Louie's because I assume this is about some important idea you have. The last thing we want right now is someone listening in and stealing your idea."

  I smiled. Chris knew everything about my situation, and I was touched by his reaction.

  "Yeah, it is. I had an idea for a story I want to write, but I need you to tell me if it's good or not before I go ahead to Paula."

  "So what's this Pulitzer-winning…?" Chris stopped as the waitress arrived at our table with our usual, a martini for Chris and scotch on the rocks for me. "What if we wanted something different, Maya?" Chris said playfully.

  "Then you're going to have to drink this, pay for it and order the other one you want. Or I drink them both, and you still pay." She teased back.

  "Hi, Maya," I said to he
r.

  "Hi, Dylan. So which do you guys pick?"

  "Oh, get out of here," Chris said in jest, and Maya left us in peace. "So?"

  "I met someone yesterday." I started to say.

  "Oh come on, Man! This is about a chic and not about work?"

  "Would you calm the fuck down and listen to me, man? I was at a bar last night thinking about my situation when this girl walks up to me and starts to hit on me. I turn her down, and as she leaves, someone bumps into her."

  "Can we get to the part that has anything to do with your idea, Dylan? I have a deadline."

  "Fine. I was thinking of doing a story about her. She's a hooker."

  Chris stared at me blankly. "Seriously? You want to do a story about her because she is a hooker? Are you kidding me? It's a good thing you decided to run this by me first."

  "And she goes to Stanford," I said, and I watched as Chris nearly choked on his drink. "Yeah, buddy. She goes to Stanford."

  "How does a hooker get to go to Stanford and I get to go to some crappy community college in Dallas?"

  "That is my point exactly. I want to do a story on the other lives of these women. From my conversation with her last night, I have come to realize that they go through so much and all that people see them as is just a hooker. Like they don't deserve some of the fine things in life that we all crave.

  "Amongst them are people who are doing it to survive; to feed. Some are into it because they need to pay for school, like my friend here. Some are in it because they have no way else. They have been sold to some pimp who won't let them go until they have 'paid all they owe.' These girls go through so much and we, we don't care one bit."

  "That sounds like something."

  "Maybe my article would be like an expose of sorts about their lives. These girls are beaten, raped, abused, used, starved—the evil things they go through are unthinkable. One would think that some of them are happy with the life they lead, but that is not actually what is happening. Take my subject, for instance; she started this because she wanted a better life. She wanted to go to school and become a success. She was living with a roommate who fell ill and could no longer contribute to the bills. When the landlord came asking for the rent, she didn't have it. He offered her to pay with sexual favors. Eventually, she agreed, and that was just the beginning of months of hooking."