Chapter 2
Erica
M usic wafts toward me as I walk into the party.
It is some sort of rendition of a popular eighties song, but they are butchering it so badly, I can hardly put an ear to it to figure out which one it is.
Despite the lousy band, I’m excited to be here.
Nervous even. This is our first big party at The NY News Daily.
Even though we aren’t even through a full calendar year yet, my boss, and the owner of the paper, insisted on celebrating our first few quarters’ success.
As I stand next to him now, I can see him beaming.
He’s even tapping his foot along to this awful music. He must be drunk.
I smile at him, feeling lucky that I ran into him outside of the bathrooms just now.
I feel his pride in this paper he’s built, the one I’ve been proudly working at for the past few years.
I’ve been a junior level journalist who's been here since the beginning because I believed in our voices being heard and not run over by some mainstream media publication. It hasn’t been easy.
Along with writing my political column, in the beginning I also had my hand in everything from fixing printers at the very start to passing out free papers on the street.
I wondered if we would ever get our feet off the ground.
There were plenty of times I wanted to quit.
In fact, my family encouraged it, but that isn’t surprising as I’m practically the black sheep of the family because I chose not to follow in my father’s footsteps.
Not that he would fully let me, anyway. I love him, but he’s a chauvinist and will never accept a woman taking over his position of CEO. That dream was for my brother.
Still, he thought I would work under him in some capacity, and when I chose my own path, his disapproval was palpable.
My brother, Troy, had worked for him for practically his whole adult life, until that went south after a big blowout they had a year ago.
I still don’t know the extent of everything, despite how close my brother and I are.
Since he’s older, he always feels like he should protect me, even from our own father.
He and my father have patched things up slightly, thanks to Troy starting a family with his wife, Monica.
No one can quite resist their adorable son, TJ.
He has everyone wrapped around his little finger.
I look around now for Troy’s wife, the reason our paper has picked up so much traction over the past year.
Since she started writing short stories, sales have been up and our online audience is more active than ever.
It’s not surprising, as she is a well-known author.
Her fanbase has flocked to get more of her work at our paper.
She’s our upper hand, and I’m the one who’d secured her, which is why George has coyly brought up the idea of a promotion a few times in the past few weeks.
I feel like tonight might be the night, which is why I spent way too much money on this dress.
I dragged my two best friends with me to a store I couldn’t afford, and tried on so many dresses you would have thought I was getting married.
Eventually, I settled on this one, a strapless, form-fitting dress that skims the floor.
It wasn’t like me at all, but my friends insisted it would either get me promoted or laid. Both are welcome at this point.
To complete the look, I even bought some new makeup at Sephora, going a little more heavy-handed than usual.
I had been saving up for months to afford everything for tonight, ever since I got word there might be some sort of party, something we never did.
I knew tonight would be my chance to meet some of the big-wigs in publishing and get a little more face time with my bosses.
It’s not easy getting a word in with them on a normal workday.
Junior level journalists aren’t exactly at the top of their priority list, no matter how long you’ve worked for them.
I figured dressing up would give me the little boost of confidence I needed.
I suddenly remember that Monica is in the Bahamas with Troy and TJ for a little family getaway.
My stomach sinks slightly. I’m on my own for tonight.
As George bobs his head next to me, my shoes are pinching at my feet, and I’m wondering if the six hours I spent getting ready today will be worth it.
I wish the dress and the shoes and the makeup would give me the confidence to bring up the promotion he’s been dangling in front of me.
But now, in the midst of the party, I’m just hoping I don’t say anything stupid or trip over my own feet in these strappy heels.
I need champagne to ease my nerves. I wave over a blonde cocktail waitress who is balancing a tray of full champagne glasses.
She walks over, somewhat annoyed, as if I’ve ripped her away from something important.
I ignore her bad attitude and thank her as I take two glasses.
I hand one to George, bringing his attention back to me and away from the band who has slowed down to a cover ballad.
I take a deep breath, and hope the words come out confident. Fake it ’til you make it, right?
“Cheers,” I say, holding up my glass. “To everything you’ve built here at The NY News Daily. It’s been one hell of a ride.”
“And cheers to you, Erica. You’ve been here from the very beginning,” says George, clinking his glass to mine.
He takes a sip, and I follow suit, nervously consuming more than I intended. I let out a little choke, immediately embarrassed. He just chuckles softly as my face burns red.
“You know, it’s not lost on me that you’ve been fully committed to this paper. Being the daughter of Bryce Gunner, you have endless options, yet you choose to stay here.”
I try to hide the grimace of him mentioning my father’s name, as if it’s something I should take pride in. I wish I could be seen as something other than that.
“I want to be here,” I say firmly. Or at least I hope it’s firm.
George nods. “I know that. Which is why I’ve been talking to…”
I suck in a breath and feel like I’m about to freefall off of a ledge to everything I’ve ever wanted. He’s about to offer me a team lead position. Isn’t he?
But a low trickle of words interrupts him and settle between us.
“The Shark is here.”
George’s mouth snaps shut and the words I wished he’d say stay trapped within him as he looks around with concern in his eyes.
I follow his gaze as he scans the party.
The Shark is a nickname for Mr. Vallejo, a notorious businessman who has been after the paper lately.
Though George has refused him, I’m not sure if his resolve will last much longer, especially if Mr. Vallejo keeps increasing his offer.
Word around the office is that he isn’t taking no for an answer.
But why is he here? Surely, George didn’t invite him.
The thought alarms me. If he came of his own accord, then he is determined.
If he somehow gets ahold of our paper, my dream of a promotion would be out the window.
Everything I have worked for would be gone.
I know from his reputation that as soon as he takes over a company, he lays off several employees.
He has no loyalty to me or anyone. I can’t go crawling back to my father.
I just can’t. My alarm suddenly turns to anger.
I know Mr. Vallejo has no real interest in journalism or in our small paper with humble beginnings. He has probably never had to work that hard in his life to have something this important. He just buys up businesses and turns them over for profit. He has no real passion. Money is his passion.
His global company boasts hundreds of newspapers around the world, that he’s all digitized and downsized staff because there was no use for them in his digital landscape of news.
Now he’s determined to buy the New York market and do the same.
He’s already acquired two of our competitors.
They couldn’t turn down his offer. I hate the idea of him getting his greedy hands on our newspaper and changing everything.
There would be no more holding the black and white soft pages in my hands as I drink my morning coffee.
The thought of print being bought out saddens me, and I can see why George is concerned that this greedy man is here crashing his party.
“Is he really here? Did you….” I start.
“Not now,” says George, a shortness to his voice, making me realize our conversation is over. My stomach sinks. It had not gone in the way I had hoped. It hadn’t gone anywhere because of the interruption.
I swallow hard as I look around the room, trying to spot this notorious businessman that everyone seems to know by name, but is a mystery when it comes to faces.
I’m looking for a sixty-year-old man with the face of a snake, but I can’t find anyone matching that made-up depiction among the party that comprises strangers and a lot of people I love.
People who would also lose their jobs if he takes over. The thought makes me sick.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I say, trying again. I touch George’s arm softly.
He lets out a small harumph in reply.
“He’s just here to schmooze you. You have something he wants. Something special. You have the upper hand.”
George nods absentmindedly, and I know I’ve lost him to his thoughts.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he says as he turns and walks into the crowd of people who are all murmuring about this possible threat among us.
As if on cue, the music picks up into a pop hit, and as much as I wish I could let it distract me, my job is on the line.
The night has taken a serious turn. I look down at the champagne dress that could have paid my rent and try not to feel foolish for buying it.
I smooth my hands down the front of it and take a deep breath.
I refused to let this go to waste. The night was not over yet.
I’m not about to let this Mr. Vallejo ruin everything I’ve worked for.
I have to find George, but first I need something stronger than the champagne in my hand.
I give myself a reassuring nod and turn to walk toward the bar. As I turn, I walk face-first into someone, causing me to stumble backward slightly and the champagne in my glass to pour all over them. I gasp as I see the liquid seep into the person’s gray suit, darkening it.
“Oh, my gosh,” I stammer, as I steady myself. “I’m so sorry. I—”
I try to get out another apology, but my eyes have found the man’s in front of me and words have left me entirely.
Staring back at me has to be the most handsome man I have ever seen.
His eyes are a mocha color that are darkening into molten pools the longer they stay locked with mine.
His dark hair is pushed to the side in a perfect swoosh, and his hand is running through it now.
I can’t help but notice how long his fingers are as they move through it.
I suddenly have no idea where I am. Who I am. I just need to know who he is.