Chapter 15
BECCA
"Earth to Becca, Earth to Becca. Come in, Becca."
"Hmmm?" I looked up from my laptop. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was miles away."
"Obviously. Which universe were you in?" Dariah pushed several strands of stray, red hair back from her face.
She was the office gossip, but most of the time, she meant well.
At least compared to Harvey. She wanted to know everyone's business for her own amusement, not to make a buck or destroy a career.
Unfortunately, her absolute lack of discretion also made her the perfect target for people like Harvey, who only needed to ask a few questions, not even subtle ones, to get her to open up. She was the human equivalent of a fountain.
Office rule number one, don't confide in Dariah. Unless of course you wanted everyone to know your business by lunchtime. If so, it would circulate faster than an email from management.
"The universe where I get a pay raise?" I suggested lightly. I gave an 'amiright' grimace and a shrug.
She responded with a tilt of her head and a vigorous nod. "Right. I want in on that universe too. Can we get a cappuccino machine in the staff lounge too?"
"And a staff lounge to put it in." We'd one once, apparently, but it was taken by the boss now, and his huge desk.
If Dariah was to be believed, he spent a lot of time after hours on that desk with one of the staff.
That was none of my business, but I made sure not to touch anything when I stepped foot inside.
And if I did, use hand sanitizer after.
As if she read my mind, Dariah said, "Ed wants to see you in his office." She clicked her tongue as if I might be in trouble in some way.
I frowned. "Did he say why?"
"Nope." Dariah shrugged one shoulder and hefted the ream of paper she held in her arms half a centimeter higher. "Just something about getting your cute little ass in there. His words, not mine."
"Ahhh." Of course he wouldn't say that to my face. It would be a sexual harassment case waiting to happen. If Dariah told the police, it would be her word against his, and he'd win because of who he was. And he knew it.
Office bullshit made me miss freelancing, but the regular money was enticing. Maybe if I could make a name for myself…
"I'll be right there," I said finally. I gulped down the last of my cold coffee and made a face.
Still, it was better than no coffee, right?
I licked my lips and imagined for a moment I was licking Hawk's lips instead. Did he taste as good as I remembered? I needed to try again the next time I saw him, maybe. And the time after that. And the time after that, until I memorised his taste. And the feel of his mouth and his hands, and his…
"That pay raise universe must be amazing." Dariah snapped her fingers in front of my face.
I swatted her hand away and laughed, even though her gesture was annoying.
"Yeah, we all had company Ferraris," I joked.
"This just gets better and better. Anyway, I need to get this into the photocopier before someone starts bitching about it being out of paper. Later."
"Yeah, later."
She shuffled away, saying, "Okay, okay, I'm coming," as an angry voice came from the photocopy room.
I wondered if they were trying to photocopy their ass, or something actually useful.
I logged off my account and closed my laptop.
I knew better than to leave it open with people like Harvey hovering around.
I once saw him reading a colleague's screen while they went to the bathroom.
I knew from then on never to leave mine on and open.
Between him, Dariah and a couple of others, I always felt the need to be on guard here. Especially now.
I rose and slipped my feet back into my heels. I preferred to walk around barefoot, but the one time I did that, I stepped on a thumbtack someone dropped.
The pointy end went straight into the arch of my foot. It stuck there while I hopped around in pain. I'd grabbed a wall and balanced against it while I eased the tack out. My eyes watered like crazy, but I managed to pull out the offending sharp object without swearing.
On the outside.
I should win a medal for my restraint.
My head was a battlefield of f-bombs, exploding with each throb of pain. Worse than that, my colleagues laughed, at least they did until they saw blood trickle down my foot.
Now I just wore shoes.
I walked toward Ed's office, wondering if a tack might be easier to deal with than heels.
What was I thinking when I got dressed this morning?
Oh yes, I was feeling pretty for once. Seeing myself through Hawk's eyes made me feel special, sexy.
I couldn't remember the last time I felt that way. I liked it.
My feet did not.
"You wanted to see me?" I stuck my head in through Ed's doorway.
Ed Isaac held the job of editor for the National Daily for over a decade.
His career as a journalist went back so far he probably reported on the comet that wiped out the dinosaurs.
He looked like he should cut down on the mammoth burgers and fries, but he was more or less a human.
His attitude toward women could stand to move forward a century or so.
"Rebecca, come in; sit." For some reason, he never called me Becca.
"Thanks, Edward." I sat and shot him a smile. No one called him Edward but me, and apparently his mother, but only when he did something wrong. So, frequently, according to him.
Ed tapped the side of his nose. "I've heard a rumour about you."
My heart stopped. Oh crap.
"Only one?" I said jokingly. Forget a medal. I deserved an Oscar.
He chuckled, deep in the back of his throat. "Maybe a butt ton, but only one I'm interested in. A little birdie told me you've been spending a lot of time with Conrad 'Hawk' Florence." He curled his fingers into air quotes for his nickname.
Thankfully I was ready for this question. I nodded.
"You told me to interview him," I said evenly. "To get an exclusive."
Ed rubbed his chin. "Seems you were spotted out on the town."
Spotted? By who? I tried to keep my expression neutral.
"How better to get him to open up and tell me all his secrets?" I said uncomfortably.
Ed cut to the chase. "And has he?" he asked.
Uh. Shit.
"He's opened up a bit," I replied carefully.
"Good, because I've been doing some hunting," Ed said.
That sounded ominous.
"Okay," I said slowly, trying to ignore the way my stomach suddenly wanted to relocate to my knees or somewhere around there.
He peeled open his laptop. "I saw the press conference. Nice job on that article, by the way." He stuck on his reading glasses and looked over the frame at me.
"Thanks." I tried not to squirm too much. Someday I'd take praise well, but today was not that day. Especially now.
"I saw his expression when he got to talking about Lori Franks."
I sensed where this was going and my blood went cold. "He looks up to her," I said carefully. "They all do."
"Yeah, she seems like a nice lady," Ed said.
I half expected him to call her a 'broad' and held back a snort. "That's what I gather too."
"Yeah." Ed pushed his glasses up his nose and read from his screen.
"Lori Franks has long been a mother figure for the men on the Humpbacks team. Many feel they could go to her with their problems. Florence, in particular, enjoyed both her support and her cupcakes."
"I hear they're very tasty." Having my words read back to me sounded odd to my ears. Maybe because they were coming from this covert slimeball. "Are you asking me to hunt down the recipe? I'm sure that wouldn't be too difficult. I'll ask around."
Ed looked at me over his glasses again. "No. I got to asking myself why Mr. Florence felt the need of a mother figure. He grew up here in Lowball Bay. Surely a good lad like him visits Mummy every Sunday and sends a card every Mother's Day."
I looked down at my lap, then back up again.
"Then I did more checking and I saw his mother passed away…" He checked the screen. "Five years ago."
I shrugged and tried to pretend it was no big deal. "People lose loved ones. It's a private matter." Most of the time.
"Florence gives a lot of money to cancer charities," Ed stated.
"Lots of people do," I said.
"You see what two and two I'm putting together here," Ed said.
"People like to think they can relate to their heroes.
Knowing what he went through would make it easier for them to deal with their own battles.
People love that shit. When they know, they'll open their bank accounts and give more to charities, to research.
" He rubbed his chin. "Wouldn't you say celebrities have an obligation to talk about this stuff, for the good of everyone? "
I hesitated. Obligation? No, I didn't think that at all. If it helped other people, then I understood what Ed was trying to get at. Celebrities’ private lives weren't usually as private as they'd like, and many came forward for the greater good, even if it hurt them in the process.
That was their choice, though. It wasn't up to people like me to make them talk.
"I think if he has a story to tell, it's up to him to tell it," I said finally. What I wanted to say was “go fuck yourself,” but that wasn’t about to happen.
Ed took off his glasses and set them aside. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. I didn’t miss his eyes bouncing from my chest back up to my face. Creep.
"We're journalists. It's up to us to look for stories and break them," he said slowly. "If you're not up to it, maybe Harvey—"
"No," I said without thinking. "I'll speak to him. I'll try to convince him to talk about his mother." I sincerely doubted he'd even consider it. Her passing was too raw for him, too difficult. Maybe someday…
Ed sat back and smiled. "Great. If anyone can do it, it's you. Stick close to him, you might get all sorts of interesting stories out of him. And the rest of his team. Who knows, you might even get a taste for juicy scandals."
I grimaced. "I don't think so. At least, I hope not. Harvey is better at dumpster diving than I am. He might be pissed if I tried to muscle in on his territory." Plus, I like having a soul. Doing what he did felt like the equivalent of selling it to the lowest bidder.
Ed smirked. "The competition would do him some good." He jerked his chin at me. "I bet you'd get stories out of people he could only dream of. He's a bit lacking in the cute, female department."
"I think it best if I pretend I didn't hear that," I said dryly. He was walking a very fine line.
Ed chuckled. "I'm not wrong though. Unless you find him cute." He spread his hands. "Each to their own."
I grimaced. Cute was the last word I'd use to describe Harvey, but talking about a coworker like this was icky no matter what, to say the least.
"I find it best not to find him at all," I said. "To be honest, I'd prefer to get interviews because I'm trusted, not because of my appearance."
Ed gave me a look which suggested I was dreaming if I thought looking pretty didn't factor into my work life in some way.
I didn't want to admit he might be right, even to myself. I'd have to work hard and keep trying to make people take me seriously.
In the back of my mind, I had the sinking feeling Ed would want this story on Hawk's mom, whether it was written by me, or someone else. I'd have to make sure it was only written by me, if it had to run. At least I could write about Hawk with understanding and compassion.
What I wasn't sure of was what Hawk would think about the article.
The idea of him being angry with me, especially over something I knew was both personal and off limits, made my heart hurt.
Somehow I had to make him understand. It was just work.
Like it or not, I had to do my job, just like he had to do his, including speaking to the press.
I stepped out of Ed's office with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.