The Editor's Favorite

Chapter 8

“Praise the Lord for a federally mandated lunch break,” I say as I exit the New York skyscraper that houses my office and head to the nearby park. The hot and humid summer air hit me as I turned in the direction of the local park. I breathed in deeply, ignoring the scent of exhaust fumes and the hundreds of people bustling past me, no doubt running to one appointment or another. Or maybe a casting call. I shrug as I take another deep breath, I need to get the smell of the stale, building air out of my lungs.

It may be well over 90 degrees (32 Celsius) and so humid you could see the moisture in the air, but at least I was out of the office and away from my tyrant of a boss. Plus, it was Friday, which meant I had the whole weekend ahead of me... If I could make it through the rest of the afternoon. 

Adele had been on a tear today, worse than usual. She had a real thing about people teasing her about sharing her first name with the British pop singer - except no one ever was. Have you ever looked at Adele’s discography? They’re normal phrases. So, what set her off today? Tasha was discussing deep-fried twinkies for the food column because they were quickly becoming all the rage, and she said “Ugh. The ’90s had the best junk food. Remember when we were young…?” And Adele went off. Yup, ‘When We Were Young’ is a song by Adele. I rolled my eyes as I stood at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change. That girl needs to calm down. 

I watch as brazen New Yorkers step into the street to jaywalk against traffic. Not me. I can just see the headlines now, “Taxi smushes Arizona woman.” A woman brushed past me, calling an apology over her shoulder as she rushed for a bus ahead of us that was beginning to close the doors. She waved frantically at the driver, her stuffed messenger bag bouncing off her back as she ran. I noticed how tired she looked as she met my gaze quickly, and without thinking, I lifted my hand to my mouth and whistled.

I was a great whistler, and the sound cut through the city noise. The driver hesitated, saw the woman, and waited. With a wave, she climbed on the bus, and I fist-bumped the air.

“My good deed for the day,” I muttered, as I crossed the street on my way to the empty benches I could see in the park. As I sat, I bent low, rubbing my calves. I hated high heels, but it was part of the “look” Adele demanded of all the interns in the office. I wore the lowest ones I could get away with, so I didn’t face her wrath, but still, by the end of the day, my legs were always sore. All I wanted was to get home, kick off my heels, pour a large glass of wine, and have a soak in the tub.

Adele was the editor of the assignment desk, which means she doles out all the best and worst assignments, and she ran her department with an iron fist. She simply could not be pleased today. It was rare she could be, and it seemed that the influx of interns milling around the newsroom was setting her off. At least that’s what I hope it was because if she’s like this all the time… I may need to tranq her. 

When I first started at the company, I had looked forward to learning from Adele, but once I began to work under her, I changed my mind. She was catty and unpleasant, only polite to her bosses and the managers she catered to daily. To her underlings, she was dismissive, curt, and at times, cutting. I kept my head down, did my work, and waited patiently for the onboarding process to be over so I could finally get down to brass tacks and get out in the field and report some stories. 

I eat my lunch in blessed silence and enjoy the serene mood of the park, a literal oasis in the middle of the city. 

“Ms. James,” a deep voice cuts through the relative quiet. “Sneaking out of work?”

I look up and see the one man I’ve been trying to avoid all week. Something especially difficult when that man is your boss. 

“Hello, Mr. Williams,” I said as I began to repack my bag and gather my trash. “A lovely afternoon for a walk in the park, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I’m simply cutting through this park as a shortcut back to the office,” he says as he stares at me with those dark eyes of his. Where my eyes were a light green, his were almost emerald with flecks of gold in them. And right now they were assessing me with a skeptical look. “Why don’t I escort you back to the office for the 1:30 pitch meeting. We wouldn’t want you to… run away out of [he hesitates] fear.”

I shoot him a frosty look. 

“I didn’t leave that night out of fear,” I say in what I hope is a calm voice. “You didn’t invite me to stay the night and it seemed… prudent to leave. We were both…  we both had a good time-” he cuts me off as he stops us and grabs the top of my arm. 

“A good time?” Darien asks me angrily through clenched teeth. “That’s what I am to you? Just some rich playboy to use to have a ‘good time’?” 

“That’s not fair Dairen-”

“That’s Mr. Williams to you.”

“I had no idea who you were when I met you at the nightclub that night,” I say slowly. “I would appreciate it if you would let go of my arm. Sir.”

He takes in a quick breath, lets me go, and steps back. After staring at me for a moment, we begin walking back into the office in silence. I notice people staring at us as we enter the building and stand side-by-side as we wait for the elevator.

As we enter the elevator, I close my eyes and wish that this is the quickest elevator ride in the world and it seems as though my prayers are answered.

“We’re not finished, Claudia,” he says in my ear as the elevator doors open. “I’ve had just a small taste and I’m hungry for more.”

I trip out of the elevator as I hear what he whispers in my ear, and I can hear the heel on my shoe break. I’m going down in what is seemingly slow motion when a pair of hands grab me from behind and brings me against a rock hard chest. 

Everything stops for a minute as I have a flashback to the last time I felt his hard chest against me. I suppress a shiver. 

“Ms. James!” An irate voice breaks me out of the spell I’m under. “What ARE you doing?”

I look over to see a large group of my colleagues staring at, what must seem like, a very compromising situation. 

“It seems as though Ms. James is clumsy and may not be able to conform to the high heel rule you enforce, Adele,” he says very drily to my angry boss. “Ms. James if you can’t handle something, shoewear or otherwise, please discuss that with your manager as soon as possible. I won’t always be around to play Superman. See you in 10 minutes at the meeting.”